"But maman, I'm on vacation! We are both on vacation."
"You see? You see? That is exactly what I'm talking about!
"I tell you one thing by way of good advice, and you come back with another that has nothing at all to do with the subject under discussion."
"But maman, we weren't talking about anything."
Her mother rolls her eyes, the whites visible, even behind the dark blue tint of the lenses of her sunglasses.
"Vivi, it is precisely because we are on vacation that you must be so careful.
"We are in a strange environment, two women, all alone here at this resort, this rather tacky resort, I might add, thanks to your father and his nearby business conference.
"Why we couldn't have gone directly to Florida, instead of this, this ... limbo, while he finishes whatever it is he's up to, I will never-"
"Maman, ees that rilly a mattair for discussion, entre nous?
"Ah min, yew and papa, you 'ave your leetle disagreements, non?
"Bot zat ees no rizzon for me to be involve weeth tekking sides, d'accord?"
"Vivi, will you stop with the stupid French accent?
"And you are an American girl and we are in the United States and I didn't want you to go to school in Switzerland in the first place, so would you kindly speak in your natural voice?
"And stop calling me maman.
"I don't care what you call your father, but I am either Mom, of Mother.
"Oui, maman. Je compren-"
"Oh! You are impossible! You are simply-"
And she cuts herself off in mid-sentence.
And raises her sunglasses as a man, muscles rippling, the sun glinting off his oiled, deep tan, his impossibly brief bathing suit more suitable for the Riviera, strolls by, towel in hand, eyes hidden behind opaquely dark sunglasses.
And she watches as he seats himself on a chaise at the far end of the pool.
"Now then," Celeste, Vivi's mother, resumes, "Where were we?"
"Tacky," Vivi prompts. "This is a tacky resort."
"You don't like it here."
Or didn't until just now, she adds, to herself.
"Now, I know I didn't go that far," Celeste says.
"After all, your father works very hard to support us in the manner to which we have become accustomed.
"And I suppose the least we can do-the very least-is to support him with the occasional minor concession."
"And besides, that was not the main topic under consideration.
"I can't watch you every minute, you know.
"There are times when you'll have to be on your own here.
"Especially-never mind."
"I'm on the pill, you know."
"Ohoho, you don't have to tell me! I saw to that myself!
"Still, one must be very, very careful whom one picks and chooses.
"And I consider myself a very liberal mother, you know.
"I don't say don't, I merely say select, don't settle."
"That man over there-" Vivi begins. "Is old enough to be your father," Celeste completes.
Vivi smiles.
And Celeste reddens beneath her deep tan.
Because Vivi did not point, did not so much as look in the man's direction, but Celeste knew at once exactly to whom she was referring.
Vivi has caught her again.
"You always were too damned smart for your own good," Celeste says, teeth gritted, revealing her rather common background.
She comes from money, but it is real estate hustler money, her father a fast-talking, wheeler-dealer of a land speculator, all boom and bust and move on and devil take the hindmost.
So that Celeste should be the last to caution Vivi, her own free-wheeling lifestyle being patterned after that of her father, her mother having divorced him and remarried when she was very, very young, leaving her to him by default.
Here today, gone tomorrow, eat, drink and be merry.
And it was precisely this wild, free-spiritedness which had attracted Vivi's father to her.
Theirs was not a lengthy courtship or his a rational decision.
Because Celeste was a fire in his blood.
Was, and still is.
To the point that Vivi wonders if her father ever really loved her mother.
And was not, rather, drawn to her like a moth to a flame, unable to help himself, unable to resist, to do without her, to give her up.
Not even after he, the moth, had had his wings singed on several occasions, occasions which would have resulted in a divorce totally in his favor, had he not been who he is, that is, the sap who is thus enchanted by her.
Still, he let her know.
He would rather be thought of as helpless than stupid.
Let her play her games, if she must, but he is neither blind nor a complete imbecile.
Although, where she is concerned, he suspects he comes very close to this last.
And this interim location, this resort here in the hills of Pennsylvania is but a feeble attempt on his part to retain some control, to reduce the temptations that await Celeste on the gold coast of Florida.
Or delay them by a week, Vivi thinks.
Because Celeste may have learned to speak correctly, in cultured tones, even on cultural subjects, but there is that about her, a certain aura, that says, simply, yes.
Yes you may speak with me, even though we have never met, never been introduced and have no legitimate reason to speak.
Yes you may buy me a drink.
Or several.
And of course, dinner. And do you mind if my daughter joins us? Vivi, this is-I'm so sorry, I'm simply terrible at names.
And, later on, Don't wait up for me.
And so it has gone, so it goes, so it will go.
And yes, Celeste is indeed terrible at names.
And why not?
After all, she will probably never see the man again.
And when she does, Vivi cannot help but snicker.
Because she is as bad at faces as she is at names.
The guy at the end of the pool?
The only way she will recognize him again after this week is by his buns!
Yet, Vivi reflects, she must give credit where credit is due.
And her mother is terrific at bodies.
Faces?
Well, the only requirement is that they not be repulsive.
Actually, Vivi thinks, Celeste would not mind if all the men in the world had those white, styrofoam eggs for heads, like wig stands or cheap store dummies.
She likes her men from the neck down, her mother.
Actually, Vivi thinks, in a way, her father is lucky. Because Celeste will never be properly said to belong to another man. The longest affair?
Vivi cannot know for sure, of course, having spent the last three years, all but the summers, in Switzerland, at an exclusive girl's school, her father's idea, prompted, she suspects, in order to keep her free of Celeste's influence by example.
But she would say, maybe, four months, at the outside.
And that would be for a particularly fascinating, outstandingly well built man.
So yes, four months, if the guy was lucky.
At the end of that time, Celeste would have explored-and exhausted-his possibilities.
So that they would have nothing more to say, nothing more to do with one another that had not already been said or done.
And Celeste would become once more the faithful wife.
For anywhere from a day to a month, Vivi estimates.
And then, the fever would hit.
So that Vivi wonders if Celeste doesn't have to wear a tampon at all times, just in case her pussy starts drooling-again.
And this is the woman who is telling her to be careful?
Do as I say, not as I do, is that it?
On what grounds?
That she is a responsible mother?
Or something more practical, such as never finding what she was looking for, thus sparing her the futility, the disappointment of a fruitless and protraced search.
As though Vivi were so stupid as to buy the long-and-futile-search-for-the-unknown bit.
Which is bullshit, and Vivi knows it.
Searching, in the sense of some lofty goal, some ideal, has nothing to do with it.
Men do not come in that particular, that ideal model.
Rather, each affair is a separate and discrete (or indiscrete, sometimes) adventure, complete in and of itself.
Her mother goes through men as one would paintings at an exhibition.
Yes, by all means examine this one at length, savor it, admire it thoroughly-but then, time to move on to the next.
And the next and the next.
This is not a game or a sport or a pastime with her mother, but a hobby.
She is simply not the crochet or needlepoint type.
Maybe, Vivi thinks, it is not her mother's fault, so much as it is that fantastic body of hers which cries out for exactly the use to which she so persistently, insistently puts it.
That body.
Which at one time prompted some stud to overplay his hand.
And Vivi checks it out in her mind again, one of her favorite panoramas.
"Lady, if you don't use that body as nature intended it, it'd be a cryin' shame!"
This was one of the very few times (the only time, now she thinks about it) that she was proud of Celeste.
"How very sad," Celeste replied, very icy, very cool, as Vivi recalls. "Such a beautiful, passionate thought.
"Which becomes vulgar, crude, self-defeating when given verbal expression.
"If only you had thought that and then had the good sense to say something else.
"If only your enthusiasm had not blinded you to the presence of my daughter here (she was fourteen, or was it fifteen, at the time) and thereby closed forever what could have been an interesting door for both of us.
"I admire the cut of your jib, sailor, but you just overshot the dock and the current is a killer.
"Good luck downstream."
And the man, his stones thus devastatingly crushed, melted, red-faced and silent, into the background of the outdoor restaurant, just as her father appeared, joining them for lunch.
"Who was that man?" he asked.
"I don't think we shall ever know," Celeste replied.
And they had a great lunch.
Because her mother showed class-once.
Unlike now, she thinks, knowing the drill, from long experience.
She will avoid looking at him directly, of course.
But her peripheral vision is excellent-the result, no doubt, of long and purposeful practice.
So that she will see him, if and when he moves.
Knowing, as does Vivi, that the only reason for such movement is not to cool off in the water-his tan is much too perfect for that-but rather to use the pool as a meeting place, accidentally on purpose.
And more than a meeting place, an invitation.
Join me and we will encounter one another.
Join me and we will speak.
Join me and we will get on famously.
Or rather, infamously.
And of course, there will be the usual-dinner under the stars for the three of them, the stud gallantly dancing with Vivi as well as Celeste.
And a walk along the lake in the moonlight, just the two of them, he and Celeste, as Vivi is left to her own devices, with a warning look, meaning be careful, and instructions not to wait up for her, as she and the gentleman are going to "walk and talk", har har.
A good plan, at least on Celeste's part.
Good, clean fun.
The usual mini-adventure.
Except that Vivi, for all her youth, can sometimes see more clearly than Celeste.
She has seen this type of gentleman before.
Indeed, he infests the beaches of Europe.
She and her classmates have learned to spot him a mile away, snickering to one another in recognition, laughing salaciously as, shark-like, he hits on some likely matron, some female who looks like money.
The beaches, the cafs, the bars and casinos- he prowls them all.
His tan is much too dark, much too early.
His body is too well kept, too lacking in any telltale flaw, caused by the practice of trade or profession.
Because the fact that he is around is, in and of itself, the indicator that he is practicing his profession.
And you would think, after all this time, that Celeste would have learned to recognize him.
Because it is not as though she has not been stung this way before.
To come skulking back to their room, be it at Monte Carlo, Biarritz or Gstad, having charmed, scintillated, and given her all-only to be hit up for a few hundred until he can get in contact with his bank, until he can wire for funds from London or Paris or wherever.
At least, Vivi tells herself, Celeste is smart enough not to fall for that, but to leave at once, when it happens, in whatever form, in whatever terms expressed.
If the hand comes out at any time, for any reason, it's goodbye Charley.
Fucking gigolo.
And Vivi suspects that it isn't so much the con game as it is the attitude that underlies it.
Just who is doing whom the great favor, the big honors here?
This grinning grease ball or herself, with her fabulous bod?
And yes, Vivi has had to listen to this in the darkness, in the wee hours of the morning.
And sometimes more than just listen.
As Celeste reaches for her, there in the darkness, in the single bed she insists on whenever they travel together.
And murmurs the only phrase she ever uses in French, as if the foreign language, combined with the darkness, will somehow isolate what is about to happen, will take it out of the stream of time, will cause it not to be written in the record of all events that is the unseen history of this world.
Entre nous femmes.
Between us women.
Oh, right, Celeste, Vivi thinks. Like this is common practice among women, especially mothers and daughters, whenever one or the other gets her chops busted by some schmuck.
Still, Celeste has a point.
And the thing is not without its logic.
Because she does have a voluptuous, totally sexy body.
And is, in that sense, correct, on a purely physical basis.
In that the guy should have had the good sense and the good taste to recognize grade A prime and suspend his scam, taking a true vacation, giving himself a treat instead of trying to give her a treatment.
But of course, that is not how the type makes its living.
A fact which Celeste has never accepted, never understood.
And, in a way, Vivi has found herself looking forward to this, in a perverse way.
Because, a., it serves Celeste right for running around on her father and b., ever since puberty, when Celeste took to doing more than merely hugging her to her breast at such times, they have had one hot old session of it.
Entre nous femmes.
Cush!
There he goes, right on schedule, Vivi thinks.
"Phew! Hot out here in the sun, for as far north as we are, for as early in the season as it is, don't you think?"
"Oui, maman."
But Celeste is in heat and does not actually hear the reply, the impertinence.
She is too busy removing her straw hat, fluffing out the platinum blonde hair, a striking contrast to her deep tan, removing her sunglasses and placing them on the broad arm of her chaise, adjusting the totally inadequate back of her bikini bottoms between (since there is not enough fabric to fit over) the rounded cheeks of her ass, and gracefully, youthfully plunging into the water herself.
Invitation and acceptance.
Vivi could be wrong, of course.
He could be up here on vacation.
But more likely is that he has come to this second-rate resort to dazzle, to pick and choose unobstructed, the field all to himself.
Of course, Vivi reasons, a cock hound, a superstud could do the same thing for the same reason.
But the man is, as Celeste said, old enough to be Vivi's father.
So that the sap no longer runs, copious and hot, through his veins.
No, he is marvelously well preserved, but at the stage where such forces as he has at his disposal must be deployed strategically, rather than casually broadcast.
Still, there is a possibility that whoever, whatever he is or is not, he is drawn to her for her own sake.
A remote possibility, Vivi adds to herself, cynically.
And Vivi closes her eyes, removing her sunglasses to avoid the raccoon look.
She will get a radiant tan.
And her body will retain the heat of it tonight.
When her mother comes to her, angry and disappointed, in the darkness.
To receive the appreciation earlier denied her so maliciously, so unjustly.
Entre nous femmes.
* * *
The breasts awaken her.
Lightly, insistently, they brush her lips, back and forth, back and forth.
And she knows them for what they are at once.
And captures one with her lips.
And sucks it, the doorbell of a nipple, squeezing, fondling the gland behind it, using both hands, knowing that Celeste delights in the size as well as the firmness of her breasts.
And feeling it respond.
Feeling the nipple go firm and rubbery, the breast itself extra firm.
"That's right, my darling!
"Suck them, squeeze them, lose yourself in them!"
Obediently, feeling the first stirrings of arousal in the depths of her abdomen, Vivi complies.
Because she is familiar with this drill as well.
First, hovering over her, breasts hanging huge and heavy in her face.
And then, twisting around as Vivi scoots lower down in the bed, giving Celeste the room she needs to bridge her in reverse.
So that Celeste can plant her knees on either side of Vivi as her face hovers over Vivi's snatch, there in the darkness.
So that she can guide Celeste's flaring hips, a hand on each rounded mass of buttock, down, down, down onto he face, onto her mouth, even as Celeste lowers her own face, mouth open, tongue extended, searching, already flickering.
Contact!
As they find each others' joy buzzers and suck them with their lips and strum them with the tips of their tongues.
Entre nous femmes, eh, maman? Vivi thinks.
And she is glad.
She is glad there were no cute boys, no college types, all hard, muscular body and eager, naive face and awkward line of bullshit.
Because then she would not have been here for Celeste, for herself.
Yes, it is true that this is no longer an adventure for her, but Celeste is as luscious as ever, as responsive as always.
True, this may be a reaction, a kind of symbolic revenge on the man who offended her, on all men everywhere.
But, whatever the motivation, the results are, as always, sexually spectacular.
Because there is no holding back.
There is an eagerness, a hunger, an intensity to Celeste at such times, including this one, which leads to a rush to generate the pleasure beyond pleasure.
Here is no lingering, casual, sensuous exploration.
Those take place of a lazy morning.
Those happen when the sunlight plays off a curved thigh, a rounded, jiggling breast, in the hairs of a pussy, glistening with fresh saliva and its own hot, clear juices, on an ass hole, large and slack and freshly rimmed.
No, this is not like that, not at all.
This is the rush to climax.
This is the summoning, the urgent drawing forth, drawing out, drawing up from the depths of the other and thereby from within oneself the ultimate pleasure.
As they tongue fuck each other.
As they both become hotter and hotter, redoubling their efforts, going for one, single objective, as fast as they can get there.
And making it.
And continuing to thrust tongues in and out of hot, drooling pussies over engorged, rubbery clits.
Even as spasm after spasm of their shared series of multiple orgasms convulses their cunts, again and again.
As Celeste proves her point of the moment.
Which is that men are not necessary to her, not even for the greatest of all possible physical experiences.
And now, their orgasms subside, then cease.
And they are left drenched in sexual perspiration, crotches and surrounding area a warm, sticky mess, breath labored and panting.
And Celeste dismounts and lies there in the darkness, reversed in the bed, not touching Vivi, who also lies there, feeling her throbbing circulation slowly return to normal.
And they get up and Celeste turns on the bathroom light.
And they shower together.
And Vivi notices that her body is almost as filled out as that of her mother.
So that now, in every sense, when it comes to sex between them, she can give as good as she gets.
CHAPTER 2
"Aren't you going to ask me how it went last night?" Celeste asks, as they breakfast on the patio, under the awnings.
"I believe I got the answer to that sometime in the wee hours of this morning-maman."
"You see, Vivi?
"That's where you're wrong.
"It wasn't at all the way you think."
"Very well-maman; how did it go, and so on?"
"Terrific, in fact!"
"Then why did you, did we-"
Celeste puts a finger to her lips, cutting her off.
She looks around.
"Why did we make love?
"Call it-overflow.
"Simply the excess, the leftover abundance of my own sensuality."
"You saying you're a nympho-maman?"
"You have such a demeaning way of expressing things, dear.
"You really should watch that manner of speech, labels and such.
"Another might have been offended.
"Fortunately, I am not so thin-skinned.
"And no, I am not a nympho, merely a woman responding to nature's generosity to her.
"If I had less, then in all probability I would want less."
"Sounds reasonable," Vivi concedes. "So. Who and or what was he?"
"Is he," Celeste corrects. "He's still here."
"Extended his stay, did he?"
"What a flattering thought, dear!
"But no, he's a lawyer.
"And he's meeting a client for a confidential meeting, here at this, this ... resort."
"And the tan, and the bod?"
"Sunlamp, health club.
"Anything else?"
"What kind of a lawyer?"
"A lawyer lawyer, all right? How the fu-I mean, how should I know?
"Really, Vivi, you can be so exasperating at times!
"Sometimes I think you simply hate to see me in a good mood."
"Well, good morning, Celeste!"
"Good morning to you, Philip!
"Philip, I'd like you to meet my daughter, Vivi."
"Enchant," he says, taking a surprised Vivi's hand and kissing the back of her wrist lightly, drily, before releasing it.
"That the way the Swiss do it?" he asks. "And I understand you speak French.
"Peut-etre que nous aurons l'occasion de causer de longue en large quelquefois, n'est-ce pas?"
"Perhaps. Although I doubt we have anything to discuss at length," Vivi replies, smiling guardedly. "I understand you're a lawyer."
"The bar association is under the same impression," he replies, chuckling, as Celeste casts Vivi dark looks.
How dare she doubt the man?
"Really, Philip, I must apologize for my daughter.
"Vivi, how could you be so rude?"
"Oh, not at all, not at all.
"I understand perfectly.
"A strange man in a strange place and your daughter is concerned for you.
"I think that shows a true daughterly attitude.
"I'd offer you my card, Vivi, but as you can see-"
And he gestures down at himself, a terry cloth robe covering what is probably his bathing suit.
"Care to join us?" Celeste asks.
"Yes, please," Vivi adds, as though to make up for her suspicions.
"Oh, no thank you.
"I have a preliminary meeting with my client this morning and I want to get in a few laps before breakfast.
"In fact, if you'll excuse me-"
"Certainly."
"And Vivi, it was very nice meeting you."
"Same here."
And he goes to the far end of the pool, well away from where he might splash the breakfast crowd.
"A preliminary meeting," Vivi says. "Preliminary to what, do you suppose?"
"That will be quite enough, young lady.
"First, you don't think he's really a lawyer, now you want to know what he's working on.
"Really, Vivi, I can assure you that your father and I are quite happy together.
"I have no intention of marrying the man, after all.
"He's merely an interesting... companion.
"After this week, I shall probably never see him again."
"Yes," Vivi sighs, "I suppose he is much more interesting than a vibrator."
Celeste looks at her sharply, then relaxes, spooning up another bite of melon.
"You know I never go anywhere without my toys," Celeste says, not looking at her. "One never knows when one may be ... stuck.
"When you're older, you'll understand."
Tricky, tricky Celeste, Vivi thinks. Ever ready, willing and able to convince Vivi, or perhaps even herself, that she is just a normal, healthy woman entering her forties.
Lesbian incest? Entre nous femmes.
Masturbation? Part of the aging process.
Adultery? A lusty appetite to go with a lusty body.
Nothing abnormal, or perverted, or sick about Celeste, nosirree!
And this is Mother?
Vivi looks out from beneath the shade of the awning, to where Philip, true to his word, is doing laps, his smooth, even stroke causing small plumes of white against the clear azure of the water, through which he cuts as smoothly, as evenly as any speedboat.
A neat guy, she thinks. Maman has lucked out, this time.
But of course, maman carries her luck with her- two insurance policies up front, two in the back, and all sorts of binders in between.
Yes, by strictly physical standards, Celeste rates the best studs in the barn.
And myself too, Vivi thinks.
Because she has blossomed nicely.
True, she will have a weight problem later on, just like Celeste, but if she can keep it trimmed down, under control-just like Celeste-then there will be no problem being sexy.
Just like Celeste.
But does she really want to be that sexy?
Does she want to be preoccupied with her own body and its sexual gratification as a constant, ongoing project, as a hobby and more than a hobby, a compulsion.
Carrying her toys with her, just in case.
In case what, maman?
In case, heaven forbid, you end up not getting laid for, say, two whole days?
And it seems to her that her mother is getting worse with the passage of time.
This is the first time she can remember when they made it together after she had had, not an unsatisfactory but rather a completely successful assignation with a perfectly adequate stud.
To handle her overflow?
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
That the guy didn't satisfy her, appearances notwithstanding?
But he did; Vivi knows this, somehow.
Ah, today's meeting with his client!
That's it!
A one shot, rather than an all nighter, because he has to get up early, has to be sharp and like that.
Still, why-aha!
A light dawns!
His client is a woman.
And a woman who expects his services to include the obvious.
Of course, a stud like him!
His body is a tool of the trade.
Because the phone books are full of lawyers and law firms.
A fiercely competitive field, she imagines.
So that it was not ordinary fatigue or the possibility thereof that cut short last night's festivities between him and Celeste.
His steady, strong stroke in the pool there is proof of that.
But he has to save some juice for the paying clients.
She had him spotted correctly after all, she reflects.
Except that he is a gigolo of a different sort.
No, that's not fair, she supposes.
True, he uses sex as a lure, to get his foot in the door.
An unfair advantage over less attractive lawyers, but still, one creates an edge however and wherever one can in business, she supposes.
And he is required to perform, after all, and not merely in bed.
So that there must be technical as well as sexual fulfillment involved, if he is to be successful.
So, Vivi realizes, last night was not an unqualified success for Celeste.
The goodies were available for the moment, but only for the moment.
A preliminary meeting.
Meaning that there are more meetings to come.
Meaning that the matter is complex, requiring time and effort to be resolved, whatever it is.
Especially time, Vivi suspects.
And the meeting is not so much confidential as it is discrete.
The official matters are not all that sensitive; rather, it is the sessions between which require this remoteness.
And of course, lawyers bill on hours.
She saw that on TV once.
So that he will, in essence, be charging the client for his time.
And she wonders, idly, if and when he goes off the clock.
Or if the meter will be running throughout this whole trip.
So that he will be charging the client for time spent in bed with Celeste.
Interesting.
And Vivi wonders how much of this Celeste has managed to work out for herself.
Probably none.
Oh, she is smart enough, she just can't be bothered.
Too busy keeping her eyes on the horizon, scanning for her next boff.
"So, Mom, when's your next date with, uh, the swimming lawyer there?"
"We made no plans.
"And now it's Mom, is it?"
"What about-Celeste?"
"No. I think not.
"The relationship is too important and that would be odd."
Oh, Vivi thinks. That would be odd.
Eating my box, washing my face with your muff, that's okay.
First name basis, that's odd. Go figure.
Aloud, "Have it your way.
"But back to the subject at hand.
"What about Philip there?"
Celeste shrugs.
"Doesn't really matter, one way or the other, does it?
"Your father will be here, end of the week, and we're off to Florida."
"Where life can begin in earnest, right?"
"We're not really having such a bad time of it here, are we?" Celeste asks.
Vivi mimics her shrug.
"There are times and there are times."
"Listen, uh, Vivi.
"There are hiking trails and the horses and canoes on the lake and fishing where somebody else will bait your hooks and unload them.
"Plenty to do here, so why don't you find ways to amuse yourself.
"Or you can simply lie around the pool, if you want.
"But be on your own for awhile, okay? "Because I want to be alone to sort some things out."
Yeah, Ma, Vivi thinks. I can see you're the really introspective type.
What her mother means is that she wants to be free to pick something of lesser quality and does not care to have her daughter know about it.
Fine with Vivi.
Who has begun to get a germ of an idea.
Maybe it's all those Nancy Drew detective stories she read in junior high, but she has always had this urge to play sleuth.
And now's her chance.
The Case of the Lascivious Lawyer.
And, of lesser interest, perhaps, the Case of the Hungry Snatch.
And she can work on neither one, cramping her mother's style by hanging about the pool.
So-
"Don't worry about me, Mother. I'll be fine."
"Vivi?"
Vivi turns, halfway to the French doors.
"Be careful, Vivi," she cautions.
"Of course I will, Mother. Any other way and it won't work."
"What?"
But she is already gone.
* * *
In shorts and tube top, both a faded dark blue, Vivi waits in the lobby, reading a newspaper, as she has seen on TV.
Surveillance, it's called.
Carefully, she has matched numbers to positions in the cubbyholes behind the desk clerk that hold keys, messages and mail.
She has not long to wait.
Philip comes into the lobby, the body beautiful concealed by his robe, a towel around his neck.
"One fifteen, please," he says.
Rats! Vivi thinks. All that counting for nothing.
"Oh, and has a Mrs. Trowbridge checked in yet?"
"I'll check, sir."
The clerk shuffles through the reservations.
"Not yet, Mister Duval, but she is expected."
"By both of us," Philip replies.
And goes to his room.
So. His client's name is Mrs. Trowbridge.
If he is a lawyer.
And if she is a client.
Come on, Trowbridge! Vivi wills. Because Nancy Drew never has a gap in the action.
And-here she comes.
Vivi knows it is her, without having to be told.
Black straw hat, black veil over the face, lightweight but all-concealing dress over massive bosom and well-spread hips, muscular calves above black high heels, it just has to be.
Or Celest in another fifteen years.
Or herself in another-no. She will not let that happen, she vows.
"Yes ma'am?" the clerk asks.
"Agatha Trowbridge."
Agatha, yet!
"Ah yes, Mrs. Trowbridge! You have a cabin, I believe... yes, here it is!"
"It had better be more than a cabin," she says.
"Please don't be concerned. We only call them that. Actually, you'll find them fully equipped with bath and kitchen.
"Yours is... number twenty-one, Mohawk Lane.
"That's down on the right, second cabin from the end."
He hands her the key.
She turns to leave.
"Oh, and uh, Miz Trowbridge?"
"Yes?" she asks, turning.
"One of the other guests, a Mr. Duval, was asking if you had arrived."
"Tell him I have and to give me about a half hour, please."
"Will do, Miz Trowbridge. And have a pleasant stay."
Oh, it will be, Vivi thinks, as Agatha exits and Vivi hears a car start up outside.
As, in the foreground, the clerk relays the message into the house phone.
Vivi puts the newspaper down and glides out the main door of the hotel as inconspicuously as possible.
Telling herself, detective style, that she feels the sudden urge for a hike in the woods around the area of Twenty-one Mohawk Lane.
* * *
Oh, this is just great! Vivi thinks. One window at the rear of the cabin, and of course it holds the air conditioning unit.
Silent right now, of course, but when Trowbridge turns it on, she will be able to hear nothing.
Unless-aha!
Another window, this one facing the last cabin on the little street, which ends in thick woods.
And if that one is empty-
Quickly, she goes to the back of that one and checks the interior.
Excellent!
It is not occupied, being, like Trowbridge's cabin, all neat as a pin at this hour of the morning.
And the cleaning crew has not been, will not be around to take care of it.
And no traffic.
So she has a perfect visual observation point, at least.
Baroom!
Agatha has found the air conditioning.
Where did they get that thing, Vivi wonders, out of an airplane?
But now, she hears it quiet down to a barely perceptible hum, as Agatha turns it to low or automatic or whatever.
She stays where she is, behind the last cabin, watching, as Agatha drops the Venetian blind, but does not close the slats.
She goes from where she is to the back of Agatha's cabin.
And tears a branch from a young oak, holding it before her face as she peers into the window, between the slats of the blind.
To see Agatha, naked, breasts huge before her as she bends over a suitcase, unpacking.
And, if the breasts were boulders, no less so are the great, rounded cheeks of her ass as she turns, putting things away in the closet beside the bathroom.
There is another suitcase on the bed, its contents consigned to the chest of drawers.
So that Vivi is treated to the profile.
Not bad, she reflects.
Because, for all their weight, Agatha's breasts sag only slightly.
And she has a paunch, but not enough to detract from her large, hourglass figure, although the sand would not have too much trouble getting from one part to the other.
All in all, a rather sexy, Reubenesque figure.
Agatha stands up now, her unpacking completed.
And squats before the mirror over the dresser, watching herself stick a finger into her cunt, then pulling it out, putting it to her nose, sniffing and shrugging.
And now, reaching behind herself, she digs into the deep crevice between her protruding ass cheeks.
And gives the digital probe the sniff test.
Skank! Vivi thinks. Take a fucking shower, will you?
And, as though accepting that command, Agatha goes into the bathroom, turning on the light.
And Vivi can see her, body a hazy mass of pale movement through the translucent, frosted glass of the shower enclosure.
For a woman who was debating whether or not to take one, she's sure going slow in the shower, Vivi thinks.
At last, Agatha emerges, drying herself off, paying particular attention to the undersides of her breasts, the crack of her ass, and her hairy snatch.
She removes her shower cap.
And fussily picks at her hair with her fingers, making unpleasant faces in the mirror as she does so.
Satisfied at last, she selects a floral dressing gown from the closet and puts it on.
And carefully spreads the decolletage to reveal as much of her breasts as she can without showing the large, reddish-brown doorbells of her nipples.
Surprise, surprise, Vivi thinks. Going to be a tempting morsel, are we?
Vivi can barely hear the air conditioner.
But she wonders if she will be able to pick up on the conversation inside.
Odd, she thinks. She will be able to see all the action perfectly, but will have a problem picking up on conversation.
She did not, for instance, hear the knock on the door.
But there was one.
Because, even now, Agatha looks up from where she was reclining on the bed, looking through an entertainment guide of some kind provided by the resort, and strides to the door.
"Philip?"
"And you, of course, are Agatha."
But it comes through to Vivi as, "'hilh'?"
"'nnoo'o'mmmeeaguhuh." Damned air conditioner!
She gestures for him to take a seat at the table in a corner of the room.
He does.
And actually opens up the briefcase he has brought with him.
And he has on a white shirt, even though it is a sport shirt.
And-yes-he actually is pulling out a sheaf of papers.
Don't tell me this is completely on the up and up after all, Vivi thinks, dismayed.
Because Nancy Drew never pursues things to a dead end.
And now, she sits in a chair next to him, facing him in profile, as he selects and hands her one of the papers.
Mercifully, the air conditioner has reached the proper temperature and shuts itself off.
"... so that you can never have more than one last will and testament in force at one time, Agatha."
Faint, Vivi thinks, but at least she can hear every word.
Even though she had no idea it was going to be so mundane a conversation.
"And the trusts?"
"Well, those are a different matter.
"Actually, I find that, as they are presently drawn up, you have no need of legal counsel or other documentation.
"You've paid the taxes on them right along and the only thing that is required for the beneficiaries to take them over and/or liquidate them."
"Then I could do the same with the rest of my cash."
"Could, yes. However, such investments are not as liquid...
Oh, like I really needed to hear this shit, Vivi thinks.
"Well, you see, that is why I have to have advice from such as yourself, Philip.
"I have to explore my options.
"That's why this preliminary meeting, Philip.
"In order to find out what's best for me, you have to get to know me.
"And there's only one way to really accomplish that, don't you agree?"
Bingo! Vivi thinks.
As Agatha stands up and removes her gown.
Standing up and removing his shirt, Philip replies, "If I didn't, Agatha, I would hardly have agreed to this meeting."
CHAPTER 3
Elaborate and expensive, Vivi thinks.
With her equipment, Agatha has no need to go to such lengths for a decent fuck.
If nothing else, she could get an escort service, so called, who, for a fee, would procure for her the stud of her specification.
Because, willy-nilly, Philip's last remark has made it seem very cut and dried.
But if Agatha noticed this, she gives no indication.
Instead, she lies down on the bed, on her side, as Philip removes his shorts and bikini underwear which, Vivi cannot help but notice, happens to cover more than does his swim suit.
"Nice tan," Agatha remarks.
"Sorry about the racing stripe," Philip replies. "Haven't been able to make it to the nude beach yet this year."
And he lies down beside her.
"You know of such a place, then?" she asks.
"Right across the river and down the shoreline from my office, give or take an hour or so's ride through miserable traffic."
"Perhaps you could take me there some time," Agatha says, running a lacquered nail down the center-line of his body, into his bush, above his long, thick, but flaccid prick, its large, rounded head resting on the bed as he reclines on his side, head supported on one hand, facing her.
"Sure, why not?"
Too fast. Too glib. No thought behind it. Or any intention of making it happen.
No date set, no appointment made.
And Philip has already forgotten it, put it out of his mind.
Did Agatha notice? Vivi wonders. Or is she like her mother, willing to suspend judgment in the heat of her arousal?
Or is she helpless, temporarily stupid in the throes of her desire?
And does the condition worsen with age?
And if so, are we not better off not to give it a foot in the door, this blind lust?
But even as she thinks this, Vivi knows that no such considerations figure at all in what is happening inside the room.
As Philip slides down a little in the bed, so that he can reach Agatha's ponderous breasts, one stacked now atop the other in voluptuous panorama, presented for his delectation, with mouth and hand and eye.
And now, Philip begins sucking her tits.
He sucks first one, then the other, kneading and fondling both with his hands, pulling back to gaze at them in lustful appreciation.
Permitting himself a moment of sincerity at the sight and taste and feel of one of the true wonders of nature.
Because she is big, big, big.
And also, Vivi knows, because Philip can afford it.
To relax, that is.
To let himself go.
To permit himself to become lost in her femininity.
To wallow in her femaleness, in the most obvious hallmarks and symbols thereof.
Because, somewhere deep down inside himself, there is the primordial, the basic, the fundamental essence of his maleness.
And that is no cynical, manipulating user of women.
On the contrary, that knows only a drooling hunger for cunt, pussy, nookie, snatch, twat, gash.
That is as tunnel-visioned, as stupid, if you will, in its own way as is the lust which descends upon the likes of Celeste and Agatha.
And is, in fact, more urgent in its natural state than is their raw sexual desire.
Because it is aggressive.
Because upon it depends (or at one time depended) the survival of the species.
Ah, but civilization, society has changed all that!
And the liberation of women has not been helpful in this regard.
Vivi sees that now.
It has given women many valuable, even necessary rights and freedoms.
But it has also unleashed what could well become, is fully capable of turning into, the monster which is willing to destroy a woman.
Her own sexuality.
That form of sexuality peculiar to those who are particularly well endowed.
And Vivi knows what it is.
Feedback.
The values of tastes, desires, preferences and observations of men, reflected back into the minds of these women.
Big tits are good, bigger tits are better, biggest tits are best.
And wide hips.
And round, jolly asses.
These are the turn-ons!
Ask nine out of ten men!
Better yet, don't even bother to take a poll, just watch.
Watch as their eyes pop out of their heads, their tongues loll out of their mouths, their faces turn red with arousal at the mere sight of a bust-line or ass of particularly generous proportion.
Yes, it will literally take their breaths away!
And face it, Vivi thinks, we like it.
And some of us more than like it, we seek it out.
And always, always, we carry the potential for it within ourselves.
Until our enthusiasm reaches the same level as does theirs.
Except that we know no relief.
It lies within ourselves, this lusty and lustful enthusiasm.
Because, like that guy Celeste shot down that time said, it would be a waste for us not to use what we've got, as often as possible.
As often as possible.
But how often is that?
And who is to say what is possible?
Yes, it's possible for Agatha here to spend a few days, to have a marathon fuckathon with the likes of Philip here.
To do so, she has had to utilize her considerable financial resources, applying them in a particular, highly specialized way to get Philip into the sack.
Which is rather absurd, when you stop to think about it.
A stud, at lawyers' rates?
Vivi knows that lawyers come high.
She has often heard her father discussing that very thing, even to the extent of quoting Benjamin Franklin: In law, nothing is certain but the expense.
So expensive, so unnecessary, so inappropriate.
Because, face it, we are not looking at a corporate merger here.
We are, however, looking at a merger of a much different sort, Vivi realizes.
Because now, Philip has taken the heat.
The spark of his arousal has been kindled.
So that now he has a lazy hard-on, as he slides down further in the bed.
And gets up onto his knees.
As Agatha turns onto her back and raises and spreads her hefty thighs.
And sighs in lustful contentment, eyes closed, a smile on her flushed face.
As Philip dives into her muff, mouth open, tongue extended.
And burrows into her crotch, chewing on both halves of her hairy split peach.
Gladja washed it out before, huh, Aggie? Vivi asks silently.
Because now Philip is making a meal of her snatchola.
As his tongue seeks and finds the gash.
As it travels up to the top, to where Agatha's large joy buzzer awaits its share of the attention.
And has not long to wait.
Because even now, eyes still closed, face more flushed than ever, chin in the air, a grimace of arousal on her lips, Agatha rocks back and forth as Philip's tongue, long and thick and strong, does its work.
So that here, now, he is making it happen.
All the pretexts, all the excuses, all the twisted reasoning and hokey planning are paying off for Agatha.
And for Philip as well.
Because there is no falseness in his enthusiasm now.
There is no fakery, no pretense in his hunger.
No, he is snuffling and drooling and cannot get enough of that big, hot, juicy, hairy cunt.
As now he fucks her with his tongue.
As now he moves it in and out of her hot, drooling box.
As now he runs his tongue across her clit as far as it will go out of his skull, only to reverse it and rub the engorged knob the other way.
So that the stimulation of it, the movement of tongue against clit is constant.
As Agatha, grasping both nipples between thumb and forefinger of each hand, tugs on them as though they were made of latex.
To stop the delightful itch of her arousal as it radiates up, down, in all directions, her clit a beacon at the tip of his ever-working tongue.
The pleasure and the pleasure and the pleasure, filling her, fulfilling her.
Form follows function, function dictates form, and form and function are united within her now.
She was made for this!
This, this, this! is the purpose for which she is here, is alive!
To have what it takes, to know how to use it-and to use and use it.
Because you can't get enough of a good thing.
But Vivi suspects that some women can't get enough, period.
So that they are never happy, except when they are being serviced, getting royally fucked by some hot stud.
But Vivi knows that, even in the act, still there is unslaked desire, unsatisfied hunger.
As even now, she sees Agatha there on the bed, being driven higher and higher up the rainbow of her arousal.
Because Vivi knows about the two-step of hunger and satisfaction.
And yes the stimulation, the arousal, the feeling of rampant lasciviousness is delightful, even ecstatic.
But.
There is that within the hot woman, within Agatha, that demands.
More! it shouts, it insists, it blatantly commands.
More, more, more!
And behold, here is more.
And thus the next level is attained.
Which is glorious.
Which brings the sexual electricity within her to newer, higher voltage.
But which wants-more.
Wants, demands, insists upon, gets.
And this too is glorious, even more glorious than before.
So that she rises higher and higher, transcending level after level of her sexual pleasure, each stage more intense, more pleasureful.
But accompanied, always accompanied, by this insatiable hunger.
So that a part of her remains hungry, no matter how great the pleasure.
Until-
The pleasure beyond pleasure seizes Agatha, seizes Philip.
And yes, Philip, that sneak, has taken the easy way out.
He has not held back, has not exercized that expertise, that control which, Vivi is certain, he possesses.
He has not chosen the route of prolongation, of exquisitely supervised arousal which leads to tarrying along the way, to smelling the flowers of each next and higher chamber of a private sexual paradise.
He has not calmed her fierce, her ravenous hunger by calming, by reassuring her that there is no great haste here, that they have all the time in the world to sample the delights of each level of their shared arousal.
No indeed!
Rather, he has put nothing of himself into this fuck, nothing other than his animal reflexes.
He has utilized her generous attributes to work himself into a state of erection.
And, that once achieved, has let the beast within take over at once.
So that, once his cock was inside her snapper of a pussy, he could ride her all the way home, mindlessly, effortlessly.
And now, Vivi watches as his mighty meat piston continues to plow in and out of her with mechanical efficiency.
As the spasms of her multiple orgasms milk him of his load.
And she sees, in intimate detail the ring of pearlescent, fresh, hot jism as it forms around the juncture of pouting, pink pussy lips and ramming, cramming stud baton.
Is this the way you short-changed my mother, Philip? Vivi wonders.
Is this the way you used what she has to serve yourself and save your energy at the same time?
And Vivi looks on in distaste as, the last spasm of his climax passed, Philip allows himself to collapse onto Agatha's big body.
The runner who has given his all.
The athlete who has broken the record and collapsed at the moment of triumph.
Yeah, right, Vivi thinks. And if you believe that-
But she does.
She does because she wants to, wants to believe that her great equipment has done him in, has truly made him die the little death on her behalf, in her cause.
As she pats him gently on the back, a mother putting her baby to sleep.
How utterly touching, Vivi thinks.
But even so, she has to believe that a part of Agatha knows better.
And that that part, however small, is stronger, is sending out its message to her brain more clearly, now that she has gotten herself off.
Yes, that's right, herself.
Using him.
Using him like a dildo, a vibrator, her finger, anything, just to get herself off, just to once more satisfy herself that function has once again confirmed the validity of form.
She's got what it takes and she knows how to use it.
If only it were that way!
Disposable, interchangeable men.
And she would like to believe that, at her best, that is how Celeste thinks of her affairs.
How she thinks, how she operates.
Not making much of men; on the contrary, rendering them nothing and less than nothing, creatures of a lower order, objects to be used and thrown away.
Sophisticated tampons.
But she knows that that is not the case here.
"Can you-spend the night?"
"Of course."
Of course! Vivi mimics, silently.
Why not?
You're paying for it, after all, rich bitch.
Just don't expect anything by way of performance better than what you already got, though, 'cause it ain't gonna happen.
Still, what can she expect, realistically?
He is twenty or so years her junior, in the prime of his life and in prime condition.
And he is here on the pretext, or rather precisely because, she is not.
Because it is obvious from the snatches of conversation Vivi heard before that Philip's area of specialization-at least one of them-is wills, trusts and estates.
And it is oh so very reasonable for Agatha to be taking care of such things at this time of her life, utilizing what is in essence a portion of what is left to her existence to do so.
And Vivi wonders.
Is Agatha perhaps ready to give up the lusty life, the life of the body sexual?
Could this be the last rites of this aspect of her life?
No.
Too soon.
Way, way too soon.
Because there is too much of her in too good a condition for that.
Still, these procedings-the legal ones, that is- must be delivering their message to her.
Which cannot help but be depressing.
And now, Philip dismounts.
And turns quickly away from her, seating himself on the edge of the bed.
So that Agatha cannot see the slimy, detumescing, wrung out rag of his cock.
"Why don't we," he begins.
And Vivi does not like the transparent manipulation in his voice.
"Why don't we give me a chance to work up some language into some kind of form on some of your options?
"We can meet for supper at, say, eight?
"I'll spend the night with you, and we'll look the stuff over in the morning.
"Strictly first draft, understand."
"That sounds ... reasonable," she replies.
Even though, dearly, it isn't what she had in mind.
Still, she has no choice.
Not that she is accountable to anyone other than herself, but she still has a few scraps of dignity left.
Yes, Vivi thinks, we must make the sex incidental, mustn't we?
The prime objective here is to finalize the estate of one Agatha Trowbridge.
And if lawyer and client happen to be drawn to one another physically, well, that's just icing on the cake.
And never, never anything more.
Because she still has the equipment that can do that to a man.
And he, young and lusty stud that he is, cannot do other than respond favorably to her physical generosity.
So that yes, she will allow him his working time.
To which play must be, now and forever, subordinate.
"Listen, would you mind terribly if I take the first shower?" he asks. "I mean, I can hardly return to the hotel looking, uh... "
"I thought that we-never mind.
"Of course. Help yourself."
You thought that you would do something romantic, like taking a shower together, did you, you fucking cow? Vivi mocks, in her mind. Well, Aggie, old girl, that ain't the way it's goin' down.
Y'see, Aggie, it's like this.
The man has a job to do.
Two jobs, actually, the one giving him the right to do the other.
Not his rules, Aggie, give him that much, anyway, but yours.
But not the game as you would like it to be; rather, the game as it has to be, the only way it can be.
Because face it, Aggie, you and Philip here make many things together, perhaps.
But lovely couple isn't one of them.
And those seeing you at the dinner table tonight will not be deceived on that score.
Isn't that nice? some of them will say. A young man taking his mother to dinner, and Mother's Day barely a month past.
But that's okay, folks.
Even though she's not his mother, he is a motherfucker, har, har.
And Vivi wonders if he will buy her an orchid at the gift shop.
And now, she sees Agatha go over to the table, as Philip takes his shower in the background.
She looks down at the papers, frowning in distaste.
She does not want to do this part of the gig, Vivi thinks.
And this is confirmed as, looking at them, a shorter and shorter length of time each piece, Agatha finally gives them a flick, firing her middle finger off her thumb.
And softly exclaiming, "Shit!" when they unintentionally scatter across the table, some of them falling on the floor, on the far side, just below the air conditioner.
Which picks the moment she is under the table picking them up to turn itself back on with a sudden roar, startling her, making her straighten up and crack her head on the bottom of the table.
She rolls back out from under it and stand there, facing Vivi.
But it's all right.
Her eyes are closed, frozen in a wince of pain, as she rubs her scalp, as though that will somehow ease the ache.
She gets a large, soft-sided bag from the closet and, anxiously glancing in the direction of the bathroom, unzips it.
And begins digging inside it, pulling out bottle after bottle of prescription pills.
Vivi cannot believe it!
Nobody, no one person could have that much wrong with them and still be walking around sucking air, nobody!
Finally, she finds what she is looking for.
Aspirin.
Philip turns off the shower.
Frantically, she scoops the bottles back into the bag, except for the aspirin.
Even this, she plows under the pillow, into the tucked fold of the bedspread.
And then literally throws the bag back in the closet, slamming the sliding door shut.
As Philip, towelling his body vigorously, emerges from the bathroom.
"Thanks for letting me go first," he says.
"Not at all," she replies.
And stands very close to him, breasts like two armed warheads the leading edge of her presence, looking to, to-what?
Philip says something to her, but Vivi can't make it out, thanks to the air conditioner.
She read their lips on this last exchange, but now they lose her.
As Philip backs away from her, talking all the while, then turns suddenly, grabbing his clothes, hastily putting them on.
And, with equal speed, gathering the papers on the table, stuffing them into his briefcase.
"I'll work on these at once."
That part she almost made out, lip reading plus sound.
And he kisses her quickly, unexpectedly, on the cheek.
And is gone before she can respond.
Clearly dejected (and somewhat rejected?), Agatha turns away from the door.
And looks at herself naked in the dresser mirror, turning this way and that, lifting and then releasing her breasts.
Yeah, Aggie, Vivi thinks, you still got it.
All that any man could ever want, more than most men could ever use.
And now, all you gotta do is kill the next eight hours or so, up here in the boonies.
But you know how the song goes, Aggie.
In the mornin', in the evenin', ain't we got fun?
But suddenly, Vivi has an idea for an interesting afternoon as well.
A most interesting idea... with, perhaps, most interesting consequences.
But you know what they say-nothing ventured, nothing gained.
They also say something else, in health spas-no pain, no gain.
CHAPTER 4
Come on Aggie, Vivi silently commands, still watching at the window through her camouflage, move!
At least, take a fucking shower, skank!
Go on, you'll feel better.
But Agatha continues to sit there, slumped on the bed, apparently waiting for the aspirin she has popped to take effect.
And looking rather dejected in the interim.
Still, Vivi is relieved to see that she takes no other pills, leaving the bag in the closet where she threw it, not even bothering to check or straighten it out.
And at last, she gets up.
And goes into the bathroom and takes her shower, this time washing her hair as well.
Why not? Vivi thinks. She certainly has the time.
Still, she cannot believe that Agatha will want to stay cooped up in the little cabin between now and then.
For one thing, there is the continuous buffet, the source of food for all the guests at lunch time.
Not that Agatha couldn't afford to skip a few meals.
It's just that she doesn't look the type to do so.
And it is vital to Vivi's intentions that Agatha decide to leave the confines of the cabin.
The shower completed, Agatha dries her hair.
And now, sits naked before the dresser, looking into the mirror, combing, then brushing it, before making a turban of a towel.
And Vivi must admit that Agatha looks quite exotic, in fact erotically exotic, parading around the room, clad only in a turban as she flits from closet to dresser and back, trying, evidently, to decide what to wear now.
A good sign, Vivi thinks.
Finally, Agatha decides on shorts and a halter.
And looks-face it-sexy as hell in them, her breasts ballooning above the halter's confines, the cheeks of her ass prominent against the back of the shorts.
Platform sandals, and she is ready to go.
Quickly, Vivi drops the branch she was using to peer through and dashes to the head of Mohawk Lane, at the far end of the short street.
And begins to walk slowly back down the street.
So that she is walking toward her, just as Agatha is headed toward the hotel.
"Hello."
"Hello."
As sex recognizes sex.
Because Vivi fills her own brief costume quite voluminously.
"Are you, uh, staying in one of the cabins?" Agatha asks.
"No, at the hotel, actually.
"Just wandering around, exploring, nothing to do, nobody to do it with and like that."
"With all that-never mind."
But Vivi knows.
With all that equipment and being so damned young, right, Aggie?
"Have you had lunch yet?" Aggie asks.
"No, I haven't."
"Something to do," Aggie thinks. "And uh, somebody to do it with."
She points to herself, finger directing attention to her cleavage.
Subtle, Aggie. Very subtle.
"Why not?"
And they walk together.
"You here with a group?" Aggie asks.
"With my mother.
"But she's... busy."
"She works here, does she?"
"No. But play can sometimes keep a person as busy as work."
"I know that situation," Aggie smiles.
"Yes, well, she wants me out from underfoot while she plays."
"Bit old for being kept out from underfoot, aren't you:
"That depends on what she's playing and with whom she's playing it."
"Uh-huh."
Having had no children during her thirty years of marriage to her late husband, Agatha cannot say that she knows the problem directly, but can see, considering Vivi's generous attributes, where that could cramp her mother's style.
More than enough of the right stuff, plus youth, plus being footloose and fancy free or at least at liberty to be so, this kid can't miss, alone or in competition.
Which is what it would undoubtedly become, should she hang around her mother.
The buffet is on trestle tables covered with white tablecloths and runs the length of the patio, blocking the entrance into the hotel that way, in order to permit passage of food to and from the hotel's kitchen.
Guests line up at one end, loading their plates as they go, then sit around the little round tables under the umbrellas on the patio, eating and drinking.
Whatever Agatha's problems which cause her to have all that medication, Vivi notices, none of them apparently involves the digestive tract.
Because Aggie is most generous with herself.
As they take their plates beneath an umbrella and sit down, Agatha says, "I make it a point to treat all my appetites well.
"After all, we only go around once."
"No, I believe you're allowed to have seconds," Vivi replies.
"That isn't what I meant, dear."
"Oh."
Because it will not do, for Vivi's purposes, to appear overly intelligent.
"You're allowed to have seconds," Agatha murmurs to herself, chuckling as she shovels in a mouthful of potato salad.
Celeste walks by them, closely trailed by a swarthy, barrel-chested man, thick calves bulging below his Bermuda shorts, dark hair curling thickly from the vee of his open-necked, loudly designed sport shirt.
She looks at Vivi, Vivi looks at her, and Celeste passes on, turning to speak with her newly acquired pet gorilla.
"That's odd," Vivi says.
"What is, dear?"
"My mother just walked by me with a man and didn't say a word.
"She really should be wearing her glasses, instead of just sunglasses.
"You can get snap-on sunglasses to wear over regular glasses, you know."
"Certainly a valid suggestion, the next time you get close enough to her to be recognized, dear," Agatha chuckles.
And Agatha is obviously amused by this display of youthful naivete.
Speaking of people recognizing people, however, Agatha peers around, all around, repeatedly.
And Vivi knows the object of her scanning.
But Philip is nowhere in sight.
Up in his room, no doubt, working on Agatha's estate options.
Or so Agatha chooses to believe, apparently.
Because now she focuses her attention on Vivi.
"I'm Agatha, by the way."
"Vivi."
"That's ... unusual."
"Vivian, actually. But we travelled quite a bit in Europe and I went to school in Switzerland, so Vivi seemed to fit.
"It sounds continental. At least, that's what mother says."
"Oh, it does, it does."
"Do you have any children-Agatha?"
"No, we never did.
"I'm a widow, and childless."
"I'm sorry."
"About what, dear?"
"Both... I guess."
Agatha laughs.
"Ah, the Swiss finishing school product! The form but not the content!"
And she grasps Vivi's knee.
"I'm sorry," Agatha says, "just having a little fun with you.
"Actually, yours was the correct response to information like that and mine the totally uncalled- for follow-up.
"Forgive me?"
"Sure, why not?"
"Attagirl!
"Well. If we've quite stuffed our faces, I'd say it was time to work off what we stuffed them with, wouldn't you?"
"I guess."
"You don't sound very enthusiastic, I must say.
"Why so glum, chum?"
"Oh, it's... nothing.
"Only, well, I thought there'd be some guys my own age around here."
"I've seen a few."
"Yes, but... I don't know, I thought there'd be something, something more in line with what I expected."
"Handsome, broad-shouldered, body of a Greek god and like that, you mean?" Agatha asks, probing. "Childish, huh?
"I know, I know. Beauty is only skin deep."
"But until people start walking around without their skins, that'll have to do, Vivi.
"You certainly don't have to compromise, not with all you've got to offer.
"I didn't."
"But didn't it get lonely once in a while?"
"My dear, it was lonely more often than not.
"Oh, there were a few dream boats along the way to make up for it, but the true Mister Right never did come along."
"But you did get married, right?"
"Right. But not to Mister Right."
"Then-why?"
"If you can't marry Mister Right, my dear, then you must settle for Mister Green.
"When I saw that going for the gusto was getting me nowhere, I went for the gold."
"You mean-you married for money?"
"In a nutshell.
"They say it's as easy to love a rich man as a poor one.
"Personally, I wouldn't know, never having been in love with anyone.
"Still, I can't complain.
"It was a good life, and one with a lot of goodies left over."
"I see that."
"What?"
"I mean, I see that you're apparently satisfied money-wise, and in obvious good health."
"It's true enough about the money.
"And I suppose I'm in good enough shape physically, if you're willing to overlook a heart murmur, high blood pressure, a touch of diabetes, and a lingering weight problem.
"I take pills for all of this.
"Let the doctors worry about it, let the pills take care of it.
"That way, I'm free to go on about my business- and my pleasure."
"You certainly seem to have it all together," Vivi says.
"Ah, but I don't, not really," Agatha admits. "It's just that I'm not willing to live the life I'd have to, in order to take the kind of care of myself the doctors would like.
"When I was your age, I thought I was immortal and acted that way.
"Now that I'm older and know I'm not, I still act that way.
"Why not?
"Following doctor's orders, I could extend my life five, ten years, perhaps longer.
"But what years would they be?
"Not the ones anyone would really care to live.
"At least I wouldn't, I'm sure.
"For heaven's sake, Vivi, just look at me!
"I've never been better, never been, never felt sexier, more alive!
"But it won't last. It can't.
"Another ten years, if I'm lucky, and then plop!
"Everything sags and we're talking fat old lady.
"So you see, Vivi, that's why I want to live it up, every moment I have left."
Vivi looks around.
"Given a choice," she says, "this doesn't seem to lively a spot for what you have in mind."
"Well, this is sort of a combination of business and pleasure trip for me.
"And more the former than the latter, as it's turning out.
"I'm trying to put my affairs in order, so I'm in conference with a lawyer who does these things.
"He's preparing some papers for me to look at this evening.
"Morbid stuff. Yech!"
"I can certainly see why that would be."
"Yes, well, I'm meeting with him for supper and we'll be spending most of the night going over the wretched stuff, I suppose.
"Something to look forward to, right?"
"You're kidding, right?"
"Of course. How very perceptive of you, my dear.
"I was hoping for some, uh, light-hearted companionship in the interim, but, as you can see, there's not much around here for me, either."
"No, there isn't, is there?
"Not if what I saw my mother with is the best this place has to offer.
"But, uh, would you excuse me, please?
"I have to-oh, but how rude of me!
"Would you care to go to my room with me and freshen up?"
"Why certainly, my dear.
"I'd like to see what the rooms here are like.
"See if they're as dreary as the cabins."
"Here's your chance to judge for yourself."
Vivi retrieves the room key from the desk and they go up.
* * *
"Better," Agatha observes, looking around. "In fact, given it to do all over again, I think I'd prefer this to the cabin.
She makes the grand tour.
"Oh, and I like that shower! So spacious!
"Room to turn around and everything.
"Mine seems an afterthought, compared to this one."
"Yes," Vivi agrees, "there's room for two or more in there."
"There certainly is!"
"I have an idea!" Vivi says. "I'm all sweated up from doing nothing all morning, and we have to go to the bathroom anyway.
"Let's take a shower together!"
Agatha appears to think it over for a moment.
Then, "Why not?"
In less than a minute, they are naked.
"You can use the pot first, dear. You did say you have to go."
"Oh, that's okay. I just have to take a whiz. I can do that in the shower. You go ahead."
"If you insist."
And she watches Vivi's voluptuous curves, the tan lines of her skimpy bikini showing clearly, as Vivi steps into the shower enclosure.
And waits until the water is running before letting go of her bowels.
She gushes and flushes quickly.
"Eeyah!"
This from the shower enclosure.
"Oh, sorry, I didn't think. Cheap plumbing, I should have known!"
And Agatha steps into the shower.
Her hair will be a mess, she realizes, but it will be worth it.
"Hot water getcha, did it?" Agatha asks.
"Here and here," Vivi says, pointing to the tops of each big breast.
"Should I-kiss it and make it well?" Agatha asks, getting hot at the sight of Vivi's nude curves in all their glory.
Time to stop pussy-footing, she tells herself.
First that rather disappointing fuck with Philip and now, from out of nowhere-this.
"Help yourself," Vivi replies.
And Agatha bends down, taking one generous jug in each hand, and sucks Vivi's nipples, one at a time, to rubbery erection.
Oh yes, Agatha thinks, what we have here is a hot number, no question.
As Vivi kneads Agatha's boobs while she sucks the nipples.
And her hands slide slowly down to Agatha's waist as she continues to suck.
And onto the belled flare of her wide hips.
And around-
"Oh, better wait," Agatha cautions. "I never wipe when I'm going right into the shower-after."
And Agatha steps into the middle of the shower enclosure, bends over, and spreads her cheeks, baring her ass hole to the jet of water.
"Check you out," Vivi says.
And a surprised Agatha holds onto the shower knobs, bent over, as Vivi spreads the cheeks of her big ass apart and rolls her tongue around the segments of her ass hole.
"Clean as a whistle," Vivi says, straightening up.
"You're a hot one, aren't you?" Agatha says, clasping Vivi to her, so that their big boobs mash together.
"I never did take that whiz," Vivi says.
And Agatha promptly inserts a hand, palm up, into the warm, wet vee of Vivi's vulva.
"Do it now," Agatha murmurs into her ear.
And she feels the stream of liquid, hotter than the shower, as it gushes under pressure into her hand as Vivi, eyes closed, arm around her waist, leans against her.
And only when Vivi has finished do they release each other and straighten up.
"My hair is going to be hopeless!" Agatha exclaims, moving from the profane to the mundane.
"Don't worry, I'll comb you out and brush you out," Vivi says.
"And you can do the same for me-after."
Ah yes, Agatha thinks. After.
Quickly, they complete their ablutions.
And stand there, reflected in the bathroom mirror, wiggling and jiggling, watching each others' images, as they dry off.
Vivi pulls back the covers.
"Uh, are you certain you want to mess up-"
"Don't worry about it.
"I'm the only one who'll be sleeping here tonight.
"I don't know about the quality of what my mother picked up, but the quantity is bound to be there.
"I know an all nighter when I see one."
So, Agatha thinks, she is not as naive as she appeared to be before.
And our being here like this is undoubtedly just as much her idea as it is mine.
But enough pondering on who has manipulated whom here.
Because now, they practically fall into the bed together.
And Vivi cannot wait to do to Agatha here, in daylight, what her mother did to her last night in the darkness.
So that now, she bridges Agatha's body.
And waits, as Agatha grasps both cheeks of her ass and guides her pelvis, and thereby her cunt, into perfect position.
And then burrows her own face into Agatha's big bush.
Quickly, their tongues find each others' joy buzzers.
And only now do they calm down, slow down, taking their time, savoring every moment and every movement, looking, feeling, tasting, probing.
So that they are with not just any pussy, but this pussy.
So that they are servicing not just another body, but this particular, and particularly voluptuous, particularly well endowed body.
Appreciating one another to the fullest.
Because they are of the same physical type.
So that what Vivi is, Agatha was.
And what Agatha is, Vivi will one day be.
So that it is their past and their future, respectively, to which they make love.
And naught loves another as itself.
So that they are seized by the eroticism of the situation, the intensity, the significance of the moment.
You are me and I am you and we are, and are in, each other.
And the magic of the mirror imaging, reversed, takes them over.
So that what one does, the other does in return, and so soon that neither can say who was the initiator of the action.
So that they are, in a manner of speaking, eating themselves as they eat each other.
And their bodies respond perfectly, first to whatever action the other undertakes, in flawless imitation, second to the sensations they feel, in faultless stimulation.
As they take each other higher and higher up the rainbow of their shared arousal.
Up, up-and over the top they go, together.
So that they bring each other simultaneously to multiple orgasms.
Again and again, the twinges of the pleasure beyond pleasure wring their bodies.
Again and again, their vaginal muscles convulse in the spasms of the ultimate pleasure.
As they continue to eat one another greedily, hungrily.
Until at last the series comes to an end and they float gently back down to earth.
And Vivi dismounts.
And gives Agatha a hand up off the bed.
And now, they shower together once more.
But there is no intimacy, no banter, no play.
Rather, each seems lost in her own thoughts.
And adventure, it was, an episode, full of passion and voluptuous eroticism and, ultimately, the supreme pleasure.
Undertaken-why?
Out of boredom, frustration, the contrast between the beauty of the day and the barren nature of their existences?
To make love to one's own past and future, respectively.
What is that, if not a sophisticated form of masturbation.
And, like all masturbation, leading nowhere, in the end.
But, on balance, it is good that they did it.
It is good that there will be no regrets, no big build-up in their imaginations of what might have been, had they only done what in fact they ended up doing.
But that is a thing of the past.
They dry off in silence.
In silence, Vivi does the best she can with Agatha's hair before wrapping it once more in a towel.
And they say nothing more.
They will see each other again or not, but neither will push for it.
And this is not the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
Rather, it is the end of an episode within part of the greater adventure of their lives. And this is true for the two of them.
Still, they kiss tenderly on the lips before Agatha leaves the room.
CHAPTER 5
Where is she? Vivi wonders.
Meaning her mother, Celeste.
Meaning her and her latest discovery.
At pool side, of course.
That figures.
Drive the man wild and crazy with her wild and crazy bod, Celeste will.
That's her technique.
None of this wham, bam, thank you, ma'am stuff for her.
First, she has to send them up the wall, make them drool with anticipation.
Celeste is a sure, but by no means a fast thing.
The promise is there and it's no bullshit, but none of this in one door and out the other stuff.
No, Celeste is to be admired from afar, then at close range in a semi-social setting, wined and dined, and then, only when the hour is late, will the goodies be delivered.
Only then will her stud of the moment be able to actually reach out and touch, to view in plain sight that which he has already stared at in thin concealment for lo these many hours.
It makes them better lays, she once explained to Vivi.
Makes them appreciate what they have when they are having her.
So that they will never be able to say of her, afterward, "Easy come, easy go."
But when Vivi pointed out that the same thing could then not be said of her, that many hours were wasted in meaningless buildup of a one-night stand, of an affair that is going nowhere but to bed for a short while, her only reply was, "Someday, when you're older, you'll understand."
But Vivi understands already, she thinks.
Immortality, that's what it's all about.
Like Agatha said, the young think they will live forever.
Celeste is no longer young.
But still, she clings to the idea of her own immortality.
While the more practical side of her knows that the only form that can take is in the minds of others.
So that it is precisely because she will never see the guy again that she is at such pains to impress him.
So that, so long as he lives, he will carry with him in his innermost, sexiest thoughts the image of Celeste, just as she was during their all too brief but tempestuous, and by design unforgettable, encounter.
And now, Celeste is up to her old tricks.
Smiling at him, watching her from a chaise, as she sits by the edge of the pool, adjusting her bikini top, meaning weighing her heavy knockers in the skimpy top by tugging up on it, thus emphasizing size and weight.
Cromagnon man, Vivi thinks.
He should be wearing a raw skin of some kind and carrying a club.
To which critical observation Celeste would no doubt reply that she finds him primordial, elemental, earthy.
The essence of the male animal, devoid of the paint job of civilization.
As he sits there, not moving, massive chest heaving up and down, framed by massive, crossed arms, looking as though he does indeed drag his knuckles when he walks.
And yet, Celeste is not a complete fool.
So that he can't be as brutal as he appears.
But then, no one could be and still manage to be walking around loose, rather than in a cage.
Although he does look as though that is where he belongs.
And now, he moves.
As he stands, Vivi sees that she was not entirely correct.
True, his forehead is as low, his brow as beetled as ever.
But those muscles are not those of an ape or a cave man.
They can only come from pumping iron, from the use of the most advanced techniques of bodybuilding, from the gym.
He would, of course, have to shave his body in order to compete in those contests she has seen on TV, but, other than that, he is ready.
Shorter than Celeste, he makes up for it by being broad, very broad, in fact the broadest person Vivi has ever seen in person and live.
As he strides to the edge of the pool.
His bathing suit is similar to Philip's.
But his buttocks are much squarer, much more prominent above the swelling of his leg biceps.
Yes, Philip's ass seems positively androgynous by comparison.
And in fact, Vivi has seen female bodybuilders with better development than Philip, in that area.
On the other hand, Vivi doubts that this one is a lawyer.
No, if she had to bet, she would go with the construction trades.
And of course, at night, the gym. No question.
He sits at the edge of the pool now, calves plunged into the water, back spread wide as he grips the lip of the deck with both hands.
Playfully, Celeste splashes him.
And he grins at her.
And falls forward into the water.
And scoops her up in his arms as she puts her own about his neck.
And forgets completely about Philip, Vivi knows.
Out of sight, out of mind.
On to better and, unless she is mistaken, bigger things.
And simpler, much simpler.
So that Celeste will not find herself in competition and conflict with schedules, clients, appointments, the press of things in no way relating or related to herself.
No, he is all hers for the duration.
His duration, whatever that might be.
An evening, more likely an entire night and, after that, who knows?
And this is her father's version of reducing temptation for her?
Two days, two men.
Short of some very kinky situations, Vivi does not see how things could get more intense for Celeste, in the philandering department.
But perhaps this one is it for the duration.
He certainly looks as though he has staying power.
And somehow, Vivi doesn't think her father would mind very much, even if Celeste doesn't manage to keep this one discrete and he catches them together, going at it or otherwise.
Yes, Vivi can see it now, muscular buns pumping long, thick cock into her as her father enters the room.
"Ahem!"
And the stud looks over his shoulder as Celeste also peers around it, raising her head.
And the stud unplugs and stands there, huge erection hobbling, glistening with saliva and pussy juice, as Celeste casually props herself up on one elbow and, with appropriate hand gestures, smiling, says, "Norm Neanderthal (or Pete Piltdown, or whoever), this is my husband.
"Darling, Norm. Norm's a bricklayer.
"When he can't find anything better to lay, that is."
And Norm, taken aback by this turn of events, will of course not offer to shake hands, but mumble some excuse about leaving (as though he needed one) and hastily dress, stuffing his sticky prick awkwardly into his bikini underwear before putting his pants on, grabbing his shirt, and leaving.
As Celeste giggles, finding it amusing, and Charles, her father, acts as though nothing has happened, thereby assigning that precise value to the incident, not the first and not the last of many.
But that cannot happen, not for days yet.
So that for now, there is nothing present to interrupt them.
Because Vivi will not.
Nor will she embarrass her mother by being visible.
Besides, Nancy Drew, girl detective, would hardly let herself get spotted when she is on a case.
No, she will remain here, loitering, being inconspicuous, or as inconspicuous as one can be built like she is, dressed as she is.
True, the colors are dark and faded, but the garments to which they pertain and the body on which these are being worn are quite showy, quite enticing, quite-
"Hi there!"
Vivi turns around, uncertain at first that she is the one being addressed.
She is.
And he is nothing much.
She has seen him before, she thinks, dismissing him as part of the background.
A zero, a nothing.
Not even ugly.
Average body, average face, brown hair, neatly combed, average length.
"Saw you around here yesterday," he says.
"How nice."
"I thought so, anyway," he replies, ignoring her sarcastic tone. "I'm Andrew. But you can call me Andy."
"Look, uh... Andy. I'm sure you're a very nice boy, young man, person, whatever.
"But I'm really not interested in knowing you.
"I'm certain that we have absolutely nothing in common."
"Wrong."
"What?"
"I said you're wrong. That's my dad making it, or should I say, making out, with your mom.
"The making it part comes later."
And Vivi is taken aback.
She is standing here in cold reality.
Out there, in the pool, her mother is off on one of her erotic fantasy adventures.
Reality here, fantasy there.
Reality observing fantasy, spying on fantasy.
And suddenly, like an invisible tidal wave, the fantasy-her mother's fantasy, not her own-has expanded, surging with incredible speed from the pool, to engulf her.
"Awkward moment, huh?" Andy says, his face expressionless.
And Vivi does not know what to say.
This has never happened before.
But then, she has never actively spied on her mother before.
"You, uh, you don't look anything like your father."
"I know. I look like my mother.
"I'll be starting college in the fall, so my dad thought he'd bring me up here with him on his annual getaway."
"Annual ... getaway?"
Andy sighs.
"Dad is absolutely faithful to Mom.
"But once a year, he makes his getaway, comes up here, and lets himself go.
"Man stuff, he calls it.
"And this year, he brought me with him, the one and only chip off the old block."
A strange and chilling parallel, Vivi thinks.
Because she too is an only child.
And she too is in tow with a wildly erotic parent, whom she is expected to emulate in all things.
"Then why aren't you, uh, chipping away at some ... chippy?"
He shrugs.
"Guess I don't have the old man's animal magnetism, the old magic," he says.
"Don't be too sure he's the one casting the magic spell," Vivi replies.
And wonders why she said it, other than for the fact that it happens to be true.
"Yeah, well, if not her, then somebody else, it woulda been," Andy observes. "Me, I didn't spot anything worth going after-until now."
And Vivi refrains from telling him that she hasn't seen any guys here yet that she'd want-present company not excepted.
"Still don't know your name," Andy says.
"Vivi."
"Odd name."
She shrugs, saying, "Way it goes, sometimes."
She really doesn't want to be having this conversation right now; somehow, she finds it very disturbing.
Because there is too much of the lost little boy in Andy.
And she herself, for all her physical maturity, is not that far from being a lost little girl.
And she cannot speak for Andy, but she has seen too much and done too much to be playing Hansel and Gretel with the likes of him.
She's heard it said that girls mature much faster than boys, and that seems to be only too true with regard to herself and this Andy.
"Dad says, either of us gets a nibble, the other one's on his own," Andy continues.
And that too is hauntingly familiar, redolent of Celeste's early invitation to her to make herself scarce.
"Come to think of it, if Dad makes out, I probably won't have a place to sleep tonight."
"Poor baby!"
"Oh, don't get me wrong. I didn't say that as a ploy for sympathy or anything.
"Hell, if I have to, I can always slip the guy at the desk a five to let me sleep in the lobby."
"That's ... resourceful," Vivi concedes, not thinking he had it in him.
He shrugs.
"Hey, if the old 'do not disturb' sign is on the cabin door, I am not gonna sleep in the woods."
Showing more spirit, too, than she gave him credit for.
"You're staying in a cabin, then."
"Sure are.
"Not as bad as it sounds, though. Two full-sized beds, bathroom, shower, the works."
"Which one are you in?"
"Number Thirteen, Oak Tree Lane.
"Hey! Why'd you wanna know that?"
She does not reply.
"I know! You were spying on your mom, weren't cha?
"C'mon, admit it!
"Listen, I was gonna do the same thing with Dad, to tell the truth."
And Vivi cannot help smiling, lowering her eyes, blushing slightly and nodding.
"That's great!" he exclaims. "Don't cha see? We can go sneakin' and peakin' together!"
And Vivi has to admit that this is not without its appeal.
Hide and seek is not that many years back. And who said Nancy Drew couldn't have an assistant?
Still, she doesn't want to appear overly enthusiastic.
So-
"It's a free country.
"You can tag along, I suppose, but don't get us caught, okay?"
"You kiddin'?
"Hey, you saw my old man.
"Think I'd take any chances on that catchin' up with me?"
"Not on purpose, that's for sure," she concedes. "Just don't get careless, is all."
"Count on me."
"For now, we'd better not get caught hanging around," Vivi says.
"Wanna go canoeing?" he offers. "I'll paddle."
"Gee, I don't know.
"What if we, uh, lose track of them or... miss something?"
"Don't worry. Nothing's gonna happen until after supper.
"Dad never missed a meal in his life, especially not for-not that your mom's not worth it, understand."
"Understood.
"And you're probably right.
"Mom likes to drag these things out 'til nightfall anyway.
"Okay. Canoe ride it is."
* * *
The grand buffet of supper.
And Vivi and Andy have agreed not to get close to each other until after they have gathered their food, lest their parents see them together.
Although neither of them can say exactly why that would not be a good idea.
Unless it is that they would once again find the salaciousness of their parents controlling the action, calling the shots.
Because yes, the cabin has two full-sized beds and yes two couples could go at it at the same time and yes two generations side by side, going at it hot and heavy in one another's presence would make it especially spicy, especially interesting.
But they are real people, after all, and not a couple of two-dimensional characters in some sleazy fuck book.
So that they would prefer to make up their own minds or let nature take its course as between themselves, thank you.
Because there was something innocent, almost virginal about this afternoon, Vivi facing Andy as his youthful muscles, revealed by his tank top, smoothly plied the canoe over the glassy surface of the lake, the needles dropping from pine forest surrounding it giving it the color of iced tea.
And if Andy is not a knockout, at least his features are regular and do not offend, his complexion smooth and clear.
And he did not bend her ear with a line of bullshit.
So that they got a glimpse into another world, a world that might have been and now can never be, her mother, his father having closed that door to them forever.
And they both seemed a little sad when Andy brought them back to the dock and thereby, to their own, seamy reality.
And now, in the distance, coming from the hotel, reaching them at the base of the large oak tree at the base of which they are seated, stuffing their faces, come the sound of drums being tested and tightened.
And riffs of notes from trumpet and sax.
As the band warms up in the ballroom.
And suddenly, Vivi is all calculating detective.
"We give 'em two or three dances, then cut over to the cabin, right?"
"You got it," he agrees. And closes his eyes.
"Hey, you're not gonna go to sleep on me, are ya?" she asks.
And wonders why she should care if he does.
"No, no, just restin' my eyes, is all.
"You say we move, we move."
"Listen, you don't think the air conditioning will make it impossible to hear what they're saying, do you:
"Hey, you're pretty good at this!
"Done it before, have you?
"But no, the old man prefers to sleep with the windows open.
"Gives 'im more that wild, outdoorsy feeling, I guess.
"So don't worry, we'll be able to see and hear everything.
"Speaking of hearing, listen!"
"What?"
"The band. They're playing our song."
"Oh, you!"
But he is on his feet, offering her his hand.
And she accepts, rising as he pulls her up.
And there they are, waltzing on the edge of the woods in the twilight.
And the aura of the canoe ride returns.
A young man and a young woman, surrounded by the power and majesty of all outdoors, dancing together in the gathering darkness to the strains of a Strauss waltz.
But soon, all too soon, the waltz ends.
And with it, all semblance of what might have been.
"That was, that was-" he begins.
"Come on," she says, lowering her voice unnecessarily to an urgent hiss, as she cuts him off, "it's time to go."
"This way, then," he says, holding her hand. "We can get right to the back of the cabin through the woods."
And they do.
They crouch below the rear window, the one that holds the air conditioner.
It is silent.
"See?" he says, feeling the leaves beneath it. "Dry as a bone. He never runs it."
"You'd make a pretty good detective yourself, Andy. I would never have thought of a thing like that."
"Details, details," he says, tapping his forehead, a movement she can barely discern in the ever-mounting gloom of night.
But now, she puts her finger to her lips.
A conversation is coming up the sidewalk, which stops as Tony, Andy's father, lets himself and Celeste into the cabin.
"Nice place you have here," they hear Celeste say, as a square of light erupts in the window above them.
And Andy and Vivi glance at one another, nonplussed, as Celeste fires up the air conditioner and closes the blinds.
So that they are suddenly reduced to looking through the whirling fan of the window unit.
Swiftly, Vivi takes Andy's hand and leads him around to the side.
But, as though racing her, Celest closes the Venetian blinds inside just as they round the corner, crouching low.
And Andy can hear her grunt of disgust in the darkness.
As they return to the air conditioner, its fan aperture their only window now on the proceedings within.
Not at all what she had planned, Vivi thinks. This operation is turning into a total bust.
Glumly, she slumps, back supported by the cabin wall.
As Andy continues to gaze intently through the moving fan.
And, at one point, shakes her shoulder.
She shrugs, but joins him.
To see her mother removing her clothes.
Big deal, Celeste naked. What else is new?
And she returns to her seat as Andy maintains his vigil.
And sees his father hand Celeste, seated now on the edge of the bed, unwittingly facing him, a can of beer from the cabin fridge.
Together, they sit on the edge of the bed, drinking, one of Celeste's hands holding the beer can as she sips, the other in Tony's lap, idly but steadily tugging on his long, thick, bulb-headed, flaccid prick.
Andy taps Vivi's shoulder again, but she waves him off.
He accepts this.
Until, suddenly, Celeste puts the beer can down on the night stand and goes down on Tony, covering the head of his cock with her lips.
Andy once more touches Vivi, but she makes a deprecating motion with one hand.
Energetically, insistently, Andy stiffly jabs his finger toward the action within.
And Vivi caves in for a look.
In time to see Tony's cock spring to life.
So that now, she is bobbing up and down, up and down, sucking him in earnest.
As Tony leans back on both elbows, looking on with interest at what is happening with his dick.
Celeste stops.
And gets on the bed, legs raised and spread.
And Tony gets on his knees on the bed-
And the air conditioner shuts off, the wide blades of the fan blocking their view.
CHAPTER 6
Vivi taps Andy on the shoulder. He looks at her.
She takes his hand, drawing him back into the woods, away from the cabin.
"It'll come back on again in a little while," Andy says. "You just gotta have patien-"
"Yeah, right. Know all about it.
"That's not why I called the conference."
"Okay, so what's up?"
"You remember, before, when we both agreed that we didn't want our parents seeing us together?"
"Sure I do. Why?"
"That's exactly my question. Why?"
"I'd rather not say."
"Look, Andy, I don't know your father, but I do know my mother.
"So I know why I didn't want us to be seen together.
"It's because one damned thing leads to another, is why."
"Okay, so me too. That's my thinking too. "They see us.
"Next thing, it's, 'Oh, come on over! Join us!'
"Then, it'd be, 'What are you kids gonna do- dance all night?'"
And Andy takes up the thread.
"Sure, an' that's when dear old Dad would come up with, 'C'mon back to the cabin. Beer in the fridge an' we can all get better acquainted.'
"And then, a good time is had by all."
"You got it, Andy.
"And they'd get that special extra kick I know they do-at least Mom does-when once again they have managed to manipulate us."
"Recreating the world in their own image.
"Making it right by spreading it around."
"I really hate that, you know?"
"Yeah, me too.
"But uh, how's come we're standin' here in the middle of the woods, in the middle of the night, talking like this?
"What is the purpose of this conference, in other words?"
"As I see it," Vivi says, "we have two options.
"One, we can go back to my room, mine and Mother's, or two, we can go up to the cabin door and knock."
"Why, uh, why would we wanna do that, Vivi?
"Go to the cabin, that is?"
"Simple!
"What are they gonna do-turn us away?"
"No, they're both gonna come up with the same brilliant idea."
"Exactly!
"But-we beat 'em to the punch, see?
"We go there, knock, and, when your dad- what's his name?"
"Tony."
"When Tony jerks the door open, he sees me.
"And before he can say a word, I say, like, 'Tony, Andy and I would like to join you and Celeste for the evening's festivities.
"Get it?
"Our idea-not theirs.
"They are running nothing.
"They are all through running our lives.
"We can out-think them, we can out-maneuver them.
"They are all done manipulating us.
"We will be saying to them, in effect, 'Move over, folks, a new day has dawned!
"You can sit back and enjoy the ride or you can fight the problem, but one way or the other, the monsters you spawned have come home to roost.
"'And you ain't seen nuthin' yet!'
"So much for Mom's immortality."
"So much for Dad's chip off the old block," Andy contributes.
"Yep," Vivi continues. "They can sit around in their old age, rocking their rocking chairs on the porch and say to each other, 'Y'know, we were bad in the old days, but nuthin' like what our kids were!'
"And y'know something?
"It'll be absolutely true!"
"And, and that's not all," Andy says, getting more and more inspired with each passing moment. "We can show them fun and games that they never even dreamed of.
"Not out of us, not coming from us, anyway."
"That's it, that's it!
"We are out of their control, now and forever!
"They no longer lead.
"They can follow and try to keep up, but that's about it."
"I like it, I like it, I like it!" Vivi enthuses.
But still, they don't tell each other everything.
They do not speak of that other motivation, which is revenge.
Nor do they talk about that which has been done and which cannot be undone.
No, all they can do is turn those into battles rather than wars, lost with so much ease, so casually but softly, gently, pleasurably that they did not even know they were fighting at the time.
Fighting for the canoe ride on the lake of iced tea.
Fighting for the waltz in the woods under the stars.
Because that was another Vivi, another Andy, another world.
Yes, it's true enough that what's done can never be undone.
But the other side of that coin is that what's done can kill forever what might have been, regardless of what comes after it.
That, Celeste and Tony have done to their children.
Who grew up, but not quite fast enough.
Who distanced themselves, but not quite far enough.
And who surrendered, not out of respect or fear, but because there was that part of them which wanted what was offered.
Because it's true that we are never tempted beyond our means to resist.
So that what goes wrong within us goes wrong from within.
And this is the bitterest pill of all for Vivi and Andy to swallow.
Which is that they have only themselves to blame for what they have become.
And for what they can no longer become.
Only themselves, yes; but without Celeste and Tony, what might they have been, with or without each other?
They will never know now.
What they do know is that that door is closed to them forever.
But one door closes, another opens.
And life's a bitch and then you die.
Way of the world, Celeste, Tony, both of them think.
Aloud, "Tonight, do you think?" Andy asks.
"No, not tonight.
"Let them get used to each other tonight.
"Tomorrow night would be better. By that time, they'll be looking for new ways to amuse themselves with each other.
"Tonight would be an intrusion.
"But tomorrow, by the time we show up, they'll probably be welcoming the relief.
"That is, until they see what we're up to."
"What makes you think they'll go along, though?"
"Easy. No choice.
"They made up the rules, remember?
"The only thing they overlooked is the fact that the one who makes the rules is not always the best one to play the game."
"Uh-huh.
"Listen. I really am gonna need that room from you tonight."
"What happened to slipping the desk clerk five for a couch in the lobby?"
"And then there's that."
"Never mind. Just kidding. Actually, we're gonna want you fresh as a daisy and rarin' to rock and roll tomorrow.
"So we'd best see to it that you get a good night's sleep in a decent bed."
"Meaning yours?"
"Exactly. But don't get your hopes up. Not for an orgy, anyway.
"You get one shot to take the edge off and that's it."
"Better than what I had going for me when we first met," he replies.
"You can say that again."
"Wanna go back for another peek?"
"Why not, long as we're here?"
And they do.
To see the side view.
In which Celeste, legs raised and spread and bent at the knees, a look of ecstasy on her passion flushed face, has her chin in the air, eyes closed, a smile fixed on her lips.
As Tony, his head invisible to them, concealed as it is by Celeste's nearest thigh, wallows in her pussy.
As the air conditioner hums, continuing to provide them with a screened in but quite clear view of the room.
And now, even as they watch, he pulls back.
And they see the profile of his prodigious prong.
Which plunges into her cunt as Tony supports himself on one hand, body twisted to the side.
And scoops her thighs from below with his muscular arms, doubling her up, so that he can lean forward and suck her tits as he fucks her.
"Seen enough?" Vivi whispers.
Because it is rather frustrating, this side view of the action, in which you see it, and yet you really don't.
"Yeah, I guess. Let's go."
And they return to the hotel through the woods.
Where Vivi asks for the key.
And the desk clerk looks dubiously at her companion.
Who, grinning, reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a five, giving it to him.
And prompting him to give Vivi the room key in grinning silence.
"Cost you the five anyway," Vivi observes.
"Yeah, but so what? I'd of had to pay that much to sleep alone on a couch in the lobby.
"Desk clerk's an ass hole.
"He coulda held out for ten."
"Maybe he's looking forward to repeat business from you."
"You got a point there.
"Hopefully, all that's behind me now."
"Mom and I are only gonna be here for three more days."
"I know.
"But somehow, I feel my luck is changing."
"I have that same feeling," Vivi concurs. "Well, here we are.
"Ta-da! Oops!"
Because the bed is still torn up from her adventure with Agatha this afternoon.
"Wild nap?" Andy suggests.
"Yeah, I' m a very restless sleeper.
"Not to worry, though. I'll just put the sheet over it all and we can, uh, sleep uncovered tonight.
"That bother you?"
"Not at all.
"If I get cold, I think I can figure out how to keep warm."
"Okay, but remember, only one shot tonight.
"We hafta save your strength for the main event tomorrow night."
"Yeah, and that's another thing.
"We gonna go in there and just do what comes naturally, or should we have a strategy."
"Strategy, by all means.
"Now, here's what we're going to do..."
* * *
"... so you see, Agatha, if you proceed too heavily along the mutual fund trust route, either you're going to end up playing put and take, or find yourself with remarkably little liquidity."
"But it's the liquid assets that cause the largest problem, isn't it?"
"On the contrary.
"They are the least amount of trouble, next to the mutual fund trusts, of course.
"It's personal property and real estate that creates the biggest hassle.
"Now, if you will look at this form of executorship as I have drawn it up, in draft, of course, pending your final approval...
And she looks at him and wonders how such a sexy guy can stand wasting his natural, his animal potential with this fucking garbage.
Perhaps that was the most refreshing thing about that girl this afternoon, she reflects. What you see is what you get.
Nothing hidden, nothing concealed.
A bit more clever then she let on at first, perhaps, but then that was directly related to what she was trying to accomplish.
Which was nothing other than hitting the sheets with hers truly.
And anybody with a scheme like that can manipulate me anytime, Agatha reflects.
"You know, really, Philip," she says, interrupting him, "my relatives are not all that close, nor am I all that fond of them.
"I mean, I want to do the correct, the responsible thing and all, but really, Philip, I can't see wasting these precious moments on making them rich some time in the future, in circumstances under which I could care less."
"By the same token," Philip replies, "you wouldn't have to care to do this again at some even more inconvenient time, would you?"
"You aren't stalling on me, Philip, are you?"
And Philip looks genuinely surprised.
"Oh, on the contrary, I can assure you, Mrs.-I mean, Agatha, nothing is further from my intent.
"I want us to get this out of the way, over and done with, as it were, so that we can have the balance of your time to do with as we-as you- please."
And Agatha can't believe she said what she did. She sounded like a paranoid old battle-axe! Face it, she tells herself, that's exactly what you are.
Otherwise, why this pretext, this pussy-footing around?
Meeting with Philip up here, clandestinely, lest the servants, her friends and acquaintances find out.
As though Cynthia Marvel, the so-called friend who recommended Philip, won't giggle over the phone over what she has arranged, her promises of strict confidentiality notwithstanding!
No, she should have had Philip come to her house for an extended stay and let the world think as it pleases.
The world can do nothing to harm her, after all.
No, time is the real enemy, the only adversary with whom she must reckon.
And with whom, at the moment, she is reckoning very badly indeed.
Jumping on Philip like that.
"I'm, I'm... sorry, Philip.
"It's just that I, I cracked my head this morning, recovering some of those wretched papers which happened to, drop onto the floor, and I've had this splitting headache ever since."
"I knew nothing about that! Why didn't you tell me?"
"Why? What good would it have done?"
"I could have gotten you medical attention."
"That isn't the kind of attention I need, Philip."
"I see."
He does not sound enthusiastic.
First paranoia, now headache, who can blame him? she thinks.
"Although," she continues, sighing the word, "not tonight."
"I understand perfectly," he replies.
And begins gathering the papers.
"No, no. Leave them.
"I'll advise you of my decision in the morning. "Perhaps we can yet salvage something of our week."
"As you wish."
Neutral, his tone.
Unenthusiastic before, not disappointed now.
And in fact relieved, she suspects.
Or is that merely more paranoia?
And why does she care what he thinks?
He is, after all, a combination lawyer and male prostitute, is he not?
And one who will never see his twenties again, at that.
"Well then, there being nothing further at the moment, I'll say goodnight.
"And hope you feel better tomorrow."
"Thank you."
And she turns her back on him.
He shrugs and leaves.
And suddenly, Agatha has an idea.
Why not?
Because if what she suspects is true-
Quickly, she strips off her neglige, the one she wore to inspire Philip who, notwithstanding its transparency, remained unmoved, so far as she could tell.
And puts on shorts and a halter.
And slips on her sandals and heads out into the night, for the hotel.
* * *
"... and since you'll be ready for action again before he will, we can-"
A knock on the door.
And they are naked, have been sitting on the bed talking, planning tomorrow's strategy, prior to making love-Andy's one shot-and retiring.
They look at each other, puzzled.
"If that's the fucking desk clerk," Andy says, "tell 'im that's all I've got on me."
Vivi goes to the door.
"Who is it?"
"Vivi?"
"Yes."
"It's, it's... Agatha."
A disgusted look on her face, Vivi opens the door.
And leans against it casually, stark naked, even though anyone could walk past in the hotel corridor.
"Agatha. How nice to see you again."
As though reading from an etiquette textbook.
The Swiss finishing school effect which Agatha noted earlier.
The form but not the content.
And Andy, behind her on the bed, is no less casual, leaning back on his elbows, big cock draped casually over one leg, balls in his lap.
"Vivi. I thought that we-oh.
"You're not alone."
Noticing Andy over Vivi's shoulder.
"That's right, I'm not.
"What can I do for you, Agatha?"
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
"Goodnight, Vivi."
"Agatha."
And she closes the door as Agatha turns away.
"Who was that?" Andy asks.
"The ghost of Christmas future, if I don't change my ways," Vivi replies. "Now then, where were we?"
And she sits back down on the bed, the image of Agatha filed away in the back of her mind for future reference.
* * *
A knock on the door.
And Philip puts down his reading glasses and book and goes to answer it, knotting a terry cloth robe around himself.
"Agatha! What-"
"Never mind, Philip."
And she strides into the room, leaving him to close the door behind her.
Suddenly, she turns on him, saying, "I want you to fuck me-now!
"Well yes, of course, but-"
"Please, Philip! No discussion, no delay.
"Believe me when I tell you, I'm not in the mood."
And she begins disrobing at once, her huge breasts pointing at him as she strips off her halter, hostile, armed warheads.
She drops her shorts and steps out of them, eyes fixed on his.
She steps out of her sandals, not looking at them, not taking her gaze, her wary stare, off of him for an instant.
As though he is some kind of opponent.
And in fact she seems to him like nothing so much as a naked lady wrestler, ready for a no holds barred grudge match.
Except that hers would be the real thing, and not an act.
She flings the covers off the bed and assumes the position, spread and at the ready. Philip takes off his robe.
And yes, the body is beautiful, but the cock is not ready.
And he can only hope that she is not so unreasonable as to expect it to be, under these conditions.
And besides, he does have the necessary skills to take appropriate interim measures.
As he dives onto her muff.
And she thinks, That's it, my play-for-pay stud, my male whore.
Work yourself up for me.
No disgrace for me here.
The money doesn't mean shit to me.
And besides, you can't fake a hard-on.
And Philip, eyes closed, works on her pussy, flickering his tongue against her big clit.
And feeling it engorge in response to his efforts.
Yes, yes! Agatha thinks, feeling the warmth of incipient arousal course through her, all of her, warming her, relaxing her, even as it excites her.
It still works, all of it.
Her body works for her, and-yes!
It works on men as well.
Because Philip comes rapidly to full erection.
Even though, as he shafts smoothly into her hot, streaming cunt, his eyes are still closed.
That's right, my piece of used goods, my chattel, my whore! she thinks. Do what you have to in order to serve me, to make it happen.
You cost, but you're worth it.
And he is indeed, as his big prick excites a million nerve endings in her cunt, sending fresh surges of sexual electricity surging through her body.
And making her hotter and hotter.
And she feels her face and body flush.
And she feels herself breaking a sexual sweat.
As the tingling reaches out to her very extremities, arousing her fingers, her toes.
And still he is pumping the pleasure into her, more and more with each thrust, each withdrawal, as he fucks her, faster and faster.
And her eyes too are closed now.
Because two can play this game.
So that it is no longer her hired technician of the body, her contractual escort-cum-lawyer who is fucking her.
Rather, it is a fresh, young boy, smooth of face and skin, clean of body and limb, not yet out of his teens, his large, eager young cock shafting, long and thick and vibrant, in and out of this fabulous body of hers, overwhelmed by the size of her breasts, by the width of her hips, the abundance of her voluptuous flesh.
As he infects her with his youth, his vitality, his enthusiasm, his freshness.
Yes, yes! she shouts to him, in her mind. Inject me! Fill me with the essence of eternal life!
And the image in her mind seems to oblige her, the thick, hot spurts jetting into her repeatedly as she milks the mighty organ of its contents with the powerful convulsions of her cunt.
Again and again, she draws from him the precious ichor of life.
As spasm after spasm of her multiple orgasms wrack her body.
Until, at last, she must return to reality.
And know that when she opens her eyes it will be Philip who looks back at her.
And know also that the miracle has not happened, the clock has not stopped.
CHAPTER 7
His One shot, Vivi thinks. For now, at least.
And she wonders if even this was not a mistake.
Because Andy is not as naive as he first appeared.
Or even as he seemed when she got to know him better, afterward.
He has what most young men his age either lack or have not yet developed-staying power.
Because he is hanging right in there.
He has doubled her up, his arms around the backs of her thighs, as they had seen Tony doing with Celeste before.
But she doubts that he learned this from Tony.
Because he is too adept, too comfortable with it.
As he sucks her tits and fucks her at the same time.
He's got what it takes and knows how to use it.
Not as blatantly as one could say the same thing of herself, of course, but still with a competence, an expertise that leaves no room for doubt.
Had he presented himself this way, that is, as a cocksman, she would have had trouble believing that he could deliver.
Now, however, there is no question.
Except exactly how long he intends to prolong the action.
Because he began by eating her pussy, which was perfectly normal, perfectly fine, even lingering there after he had gotten her clit hard, her juices flowing freely.
Due, she thought, to his nervous excitement, his need to calm down so that he could raise his hard-on in a novel, perhaps even unfamiliar situation.
But this was not the case.
No, he was not excited, except in the sexual sense.
So that what she was seeing, feeling, experiencing, was a thorough warm-up for what was to follow. Which is an expertly controlled fuck.
So that now he is plowing her pussy with piston-like regularity.
And now he is speeding up, giving her extra thrills, which come in a flurry, her pussy responding, one on one, to the insertions, the withdrawals which activate a million nerve endings each time they occur.
And now, he is slowing down, keeping her, keeping them both at that particular level of their shared arousal, lingering there, savoring the pleasure, the excitement.
And, in the process, maintaining his control over himself.
And now, he is rolling his hips, reaming her pussy with his big, hard, vibrant cock, providing a whole new set of fresh and different thrills, their electricity surging through her body again and again, with each rotation.
The boy is good, she tells herself.
An ace number one bedroom mechanic, and therefore perfect for what they have planned.
Later for that, she tells herself. For the moment, simply enjoy the action.
And try not to think of the effort he is making, the energy he is expending to make it all happen.
Because she knows at least that much about men.
While he's in the saddle, he is convinced he can go forever.
He is not conscious of his own actions being a strain on himself, a drain on his vigor.
He is on a sexual high.
His true physical state will hit him only afterward.
So that, at the moment, he is a sexual superman.
Right now, there is nothing he cannot do in the sack.
No position too difficult, no effort too great, and he could go on and on like this, forever and ever, world without end.
And she has to admit, it's an effect, an illusion whose advantages she does not in the least mind reaping.
So that she lets herself go.
She does not hold back.
He is taking care of that department, for one thing.
All she has to do is lie back and enjoy the ride.
But of course, her body is also expending energy, her reflexes automatic, her responses to the ardent stimulation anything from a twinge, a spasm of raw pleasure to a bucking of her hips or a writhing of her body, as she meets him halfway.
As she becomes hotter and hotter.
So that now, her face, her breasts are flushed with the engorged blood of her mounting passion.
Because he may be able to go up and down the scale of his arousal, controlling the action, but as for Vivi, well, hers is a rise, higher and higher up the rainbow.
Which may be now slow, now fast, but always moving onward and upward.
He is that good.
Better, in fact, than she had any right to expect.
So that tomorrow night is going to be nothing short of spectacular.
She is sure of it.
But later for that.
Even though the delicious anticipation adds its own dimension to the pleasure which even now inundates her.
Surprises for Celeste, for Tony.
And yes, she wants to "get" Tony almost as badly as she does Celeste.
Because it is to the Tonys of this world that the likes of Celeste play.
They are the playmates, bodies mature, urgest sophomoric, in whose eyes Celeste sees her image-sexy, mouth-wateringly desirable, lasciviously tempting.
So that yes, she is wanted above all others, above all things, overwhelming, utterly captivating in her infinite, her ultimate sensuality.
Not just another piece of ass is Celeste, but rather the archetype, a species and variety unto herself.
Femina sexualis. Habitat, the world.
And not until she becomes Agatha's age will she understand that her extinction is inevitable.
Because she is not the one and only.
And only her own little universe begins and ends with herself.
But then, it is to fight this very problem, without realizing that that is what she is doing, that she has involved Vivi.
But not Vivi as herself; rather, Vivi as an extension of Celeste, her immortality thus assured, without her even thinking along those lines.
Ah, but tomorrow, that will change!
Tomorrow, mommy dearest, you are going to wake the fuck up.
Thanks to Andy here, Andy and herself.
They are going to blitz their elders on all fronts.
And Vivi cannot help it, the image of what they are about to do keeps superimposing itself, injecting itself into the thought stream, the parade of sexual images which are the by-product of her mounting sexual excitement.
Because they are going to fuck them.
And figurative and literal merge in her mind.
It's all part of the same thing-fucking.
And it all engenders, radiates the same sensual delight.
And now, through the haze of her own ever-increasing lascivious arousal, she sees that Andy has also turned red.
And the motion of head and hand as he moves his mouth from one doorbell nipple to the other, kneading and fondling both big boobs as he does so, becomes more and more frenetic, impassioned, urgent, reflexive.
But now, she lapses back into her flight into sexual paradise.
And now, there are no more coherent, scheming thoughts.
Or thoughts of any kind, per se.
Rather, mind surrenders to body, to observe, to relish the sensations the body is receiving into itself.
So that she is floating and flying, now soaring through time and space, now being carried along, borne aloft by the flood tide of pleasure as it pours into her, the pressure of it building and building, engorging her more and more, turning her hotter and hotter, her face and body redder and redder.
As Andy also, willy-nilly, surrenders as well, giving in to the pleasure which has gotten out of control within himself in response to the stimulation of his effortless efforts.
So that now, his mind has stopped trying to be in charge, giving his body its head.
So that Andy is humping Vivi all out now, going for that next plateau of pleasure.
And the next and the next.
And is no longer content to taste, to savor, to tarry.
Rather, he must needs go onward, go upward, his hunger driving him on and on, its satisfaction at one level but the promise of better things to come.
Because it always gets better than this, always.
See? It happened again.
As it will, as it must, again and again.
But the human body is limited, is finite in all its capacities, that for pleasure among them.
So that now, the pressure of the pleasure builds within him as he vibrates his hips, jack hammering his rampant invader in and in and into Vivi's hot, juicy cunt.
And the pleasure beyond pleasure explodes inside both of them, blowing their safety valves.
So that now, they are coming.
They are coming and coming, long, thick spurts of hot jism jetting into Vivi's vagina, even as the powerful contractions, the convulsive spasms of her multiple orgasms suck the mighty, discharging organ of its load.
As Andy feels himself relaxing, draining, limbs turning to rubber, joints to water, a total meltdown.
And he releases the shapely thighs he no longer has the strength to hang onto.
And lies there atop her, dissolving, weightless, a husk, a drained shell of the superman he was scant moments before.
And his heart is fluttering, his chest heaving, trying to recover free breathing.
As Vivi, her critical faculties recovered now that they have quite finished their shared climax, thinks once again that this might have been a mistake.
"Are you gonna be okay for tomorrow night?" she asks.
"Sure, why not?"
An off the top answer.
Because, at the moment, he could care less.
About anything and everything.
Because he is satisfied, all his appetites sated.
He is both powerless and utterly content.
And Vivi realizes that she is at least in part responsible for this.
Vivi the man-killer, she thinks, that's me.
Yes, her vampire pussy has drained the poor boy of his very life.
Which really won't do at all; not for what she has in mind.
And what Andy had in mind.
And will again, she vows.
So-
"You've gotta get up and shower, Andy," she says. "You're a real mess right now."
"In a minute, in a minute," he murmurs, eyes closed, as though he is ready to go to sleep on her- physically-right now.
Taking advantage of the film of sweat between them, Vivi gently pushes him to one side, wriggling her hips toward the other.
And his detumescing cock oozes out of her wet pussy.
And she slides out from under him.
"Up, up, up," she insists.
"I overdid it, didn't I?" he says, into the bedding, not bothering to turn his head, voice muffled in the sheet.
"Yes, you certainly did. Must of been the inspiration."
"Thanks-Celeste."
"Don't mention it-Tony."
And this conjuring up of their parents' names seems to bring Andy back to his senses.
The temptress and the superstud.
So that he remembers what this is supposed to be all about.
Revenge.
He sits up.
"I'll be okay, after a good night's sleep," he says.
"I'm counting on it," Vivi responds.
"No less than me, kiddo," Andy comes back. "This is both our idea, remember?"
"Great minds run in the same channels," Vivi concedes.
"You got that right."
He gets up with a theatrical groan, holding his side and grimacing, in imitation of an old man.
"Show-er!" he says, as though speaking with great effort.
And imitation hobbles his way into the bathroom, Vivi following and laughing at his antics.
* * *
Agatha is packing.
No more of this elaborate charade, she tells herself.
Okay, okay, so she was deceived.
Okay, so she has deceived herself, deluding herself that this lawyer, this Philip would come up here, meet her, and fall immediately under the spell of her rampant sexuality.
That didn't happen, wouldn't have happened had she been in her twenties and somehow twice as sexy as she is now.
Not with Philip.
Who is too cool, too self-centered, self-absorbed to fall head over heels, for her or for anybody else.
And more the fool she for thinking it would be otherwise.
Yes, she was going to accomplish what her friend Cynthia, young and beautiful as she is, did not, could not.
Cynthia and countless others, no doubt, had failed.
Not tried and failed; there can be no trying, really.
It's here I am and it is what it is and they go for it or they don't.
But no matter, it didn't happen with them-and it didn't happen with her.
So that now, she is packing.
But this is not a defeat, she tells herself.
Oh, no. Nothing of the kind.
Rather, it is a revelation.
And not so much a matter of self-awareness as of the reality of the world.
What she and that sweet (in fact, delicious) young thing did this afternoon?
That was not reality, that was fantasy, the two of them making the best of a bad situation.
Reality?
Reality was that young stud with the big cock, reposing casually, confidently on the bed, waiting, as she, Agatha, made a total ass hole of herself by going to that room in the first place.
In the second place, rather.
Because their initial rendezvous was not a mistake.
But neither was it reality.
Or anything else but a closed episode, a shared fantasy, delightful in its own way, complete in and of itself, but carrying within itself no follow-up, no future.
Lesson?
Enjoy your fantasies for what they are, when they are, and not after.
And above all, stick with reality.
And the simple reality is that she has the means at her disposal to hire whatever stud service she desires or requires.
And the simple reality also is that one person is not another, cannot be another, or part thereof.
We have only ourselves, in the end.
And in a way, this is kind of sad, she supposes, but such is the way of the real world.
And, this being the case, given her resources, there is nothing wrong with paying for whatever it takes to get the stimulation which leads to the ultimate pleasure.
And her images are her own, now and forever.
So that whatever it takes to bring them out, the particular device by which they are awakened, is minor, compared to the images themselves, to what they do for her.
You just do your job, sonny-boy, and leave the rest to me.
Oh, she will call Cynthia when she gets home tomorrow, call her and thank her for introducing her to Philip.
And seeing what other interesting male friends for hire Cynthia might have up her sleeve.
And use them for her own purposes, to achieve her own ends.
Yes, from here on out, she will deny herself nothing in the way of servicing this fabulous body of hers.
And yes, it is still fabulous.
So that if, along the way, some man, be he young or old, so long as he has what it takes, is genuinely drawn to her, is hot for her body, so much the better.
But if not-and she is certainly not going to go out of her way to make it happen-if not, then surely there are enough escorts around that she need never do without.
And thus resolved, she actually feels happy, or at least content, as she continues to pack.
She will get herself a good night's sleep and be out of here in the morning.
She will leave a note with the drafts and full instructions at the desk for Philip.
And leave his ego to deal with the fact that a paying customer walked out on him.
One last time, she thinks of Vivi.
And wonders if Vivi realizes yet that she is not immortal.
As, at that age, Agatha herself did not.
She thinks of Vivi and that young man.
Hot image, she tells herself. Have to hang onto that one.
But mostly, she thinks of Vivi, the spitting image of herself, long ago.
And gets a warm feeling toward her, warm and tender and sad.
Because Vivi is going to make mistakes, is going to be deceived by that fabulous body of hers into thinking that she can conquer the world with it.
So that that illusion could very well turn what should have been a blessing into a curse.
In which the raw, animal hunger of others can easily be mistaken for respect and admiration.
In which the greedy, blind desire to possess-the very obsession she herself wishes to create in men, although heaven knows why-can disguise itself as genuine love.
These and a thousand other pitfalls await the poor girl.
And, at the other end-what?
Wisdom, achieved late and at the price of a lifetime of unhappiness or perhaps things even worse than that.
Not right? Not fair?
None of that bullshit, she warns herself.
There must be no self pity here.
Because, face it, her problems are those of overabundance.
True, a bit less tit, a little less preoccupation with herself and she would have had a much different, possibly happier, undoubtedly more productive life.
But she is still sexy, still has more money than she will ever spend, has her health problems under control-what more could she ask?
So enough of moping!
Time to try reality.
And to approach it with the same high hopes, the same enthusiasm as any of the many dead ends and false leads she has so eagerly pursued over the years.
Fine for me, she thinks, but what about Vivi?
Further contact would only be misunderstood, misinterpreted.
No, Vivi is, must be, on her own, now and forever.
And all Agatha can do for her is to wish her well, from a distance.
Which, Agatha reflects, will be greater by several hundred miles by, say, noon tomorrow.
And on that note, all but what she will need for the morning and her toiletries packed, and the hour being late, Agatha gets into bed naked, under one sheet, and turns out the lights.
And lying there in the darkness, rolls her big boobs around on her rib cage with both hands, grinning with satisfaction.
And thinks, As long as I have these two beauties, I'll never be alone.
* * *
Morning.
And Andy wakes up with his usual hard-on.
And he taps Vivi on the shoulder.
She rolls over, takes one look, and rolls away from him, saying, "Save it for tonight."
"Aren't cha gonna help me out?" he asks, tone imploring, leaning over her on one elbow.
"Take a cold shower," she replies, not looking at him.
"Aah, shit!" he exclaims, flopping flat on his back, covering his face with a pillow.
"Come on," she says, "let's get up and get dressed.
"We can have breakfast together and not be spotted. Guaranteed, they're good for at least another hour in the sack."
"Speaking of which," Andy mutters, face still beneath the pillow, not moving.
She snatches it from his face.
"I was just thinking," he says. "Suppose we go ahead and let them see us together.
"And before they can say anything, let them know we already spent the night together.
"And before they can say anything to that, tell them what a terrific idea it would be if we got together, the four of us."
"No, I think we'd best stick with Plan A," Vivi replies.
"And why is that?"
"Mama sees me as competition."
"And for very good reason," Andy adds.
"Thanks. But that's not the point.
"Fact is, we do that and she's liable to try and weasel out of it.
"On the other hand, the old surprise visit won't leave her any room to maneuver."
"Guess you got a point there."
"Thanks."
"Still-"
"Just what are you worried about?" Vivi asks, her tone impatient.
"My old man.
"He can have a hell of a temper."
"So I'll knock on the door instead of you, okay?
"That way, when he opens it, his reaction will be the right one."
Andy grins at this.
"Y'know," he says, "not for nothing, but you are one calculating, manipulating bitch."
"Thanks."
"That's a compliment, incidentally," Andy continues. "I wouldn't have you be any other way- now."
And they fall silent, not looking at each other as they sit there in bed together.
And think of canoe rides on quiet, still lakes, and waltzes in the woods to the strains of an unseen orchestra.
And of walks down shady park lanes and through manicured gardens, hand in hand.
And another him and another her who would do such things.
And another world in which these other selves have done none of what they did.
CHAPTER 8
Celeste and Tony are loud and splashy in the pool, making spectacles of themselves.
Celestes laughter tinkles loudly, gratingly in the air.
As Tony helps himself to handfuls of almost bare breast, of exposed ass cheek.
As she fights him noisily, playfully, and of course, ineffectually.
"It figures," Andy says, as he watches from afar, Vivi at his side.
"Of course," Vivi agrees. "They're both so sexy that it just has to spill over into the outside world, simply has to infect their total surroundings.
"Like they invented exhibitionism.
"What's next?
"Skinny dipping to entertain the lunch crowd?"
"They are pretty disgusting," Andy agrees.
"Why not? They certainly work at it hard enough," Vivi replies. "Although they merely think they are. They haven't really seen disgusting yet, right?"
"You got it," Andy says. "We let 'em get a good start tonight, and then it's gross out time."
"I can hardly wait!" Vivi exclaims.
Then, to the distant, splashing couple, "Enjoy it while you can, folks. Tonight you learn what it's all about."
And they laugh.
And the laughter from their targets for tonight seems to echo them.
So they laugh again at their knowledge that the others have no suspicion at all what is going to happen.
* * *
"Last chance to back out, Vivi," Andy says, as they walk down the street in the darkness toward the cabin where Tony and Celeste have gone a scant half hour before.
"Well uh, yours too, stud."
"Not on your life!"
"Well, then."
They arrive before the cabin.
And Andy bows and gestures toward the door with both hands, palms upward, inviting her to do the honors, as agreed.
Vivi shrugs and knocks.
"It says not to disturb on the door!"
Tony's voice from within.
Vivi knocks again.
"Damn, this better be important!" they hear Tony warn.
The door opens.
And Tony stands there, stark naked and with a huge erection bobbing stiffly before him, shiny in the glare of the outside light beside the door.
"The fuck do you-oh!"
"Uh, Dad," Andy begins, stepping up quickly behind the smiling Vivi, "this is Vivi, Celeste's daughter.
"We thought we'd join the party, if you two have no objection."
"You thought-"
And he stops himself, a salacious grin spreading slowly over his face as the picture hits him.
He likes the idea.
They can tell because his hard-on twitches.
"Ya hear that, honey? The kids wanna join us, if that's okay with you."
"If that's-" Celeste begins, from the bed.
And stops herself.
A moment of silence.
Then, "Sure, why not?"
And Vivi and Andy look at one another.
Both receiving proof positive that it is not only great minds which run in the same channels, but dirty ones as well.
"Lucky we got a spare bed," Tony says, admitting them.
They skirt by his erection and he closes and locks the door.
"Hail, hail, the gang's all here," he says.
"What the fuck do we care?" Andy continues, paraphrasing the next line of the song.
And Tony goes back to fucking Celeste ostentatiously.
As she emits moans more properly belonging to orgasm.
Still, it is a way of showing off.
As the young folks undress.
"Don't think we'll be needing that spare bed, Dad," Andy says. "We thought we'd sort of join the program already in progress, as they say on the tube."
And Tony stops his pumping.
"Uh, how's that, son?"
"Well, we kind of thought, for openers, you could get on the bottom and I'd bring up the rear, so to speak.
"And Vivi could sort of sit on your face, after we get going real good."
"That's uh, very... enterprising, Andy."
"Yeah, well, we figured things must be getting pretty routine by now, so you two were about due for a shot in the arm, or even lower, as the case may be."
"Action speaks louder than words, son," Tony says, chuckling tolerantly, as he unplugs and Celeste moves over so that he can center himself in the bed, face up.
She squats over his midsection and smoothly, expertly feeds his huge baton of a cock into herself as she settles down on him and leans forward.
And rolls her hips around, resuming her sounds of pleasure, apparently for the benefit of the studio audience.
As Vivi stands there watching.
As Andy crouches between Tony's legs, leans forward, and begins to eat Celeste's ass hole, which is protruding to the point that the segments no longer meet in the center, but reveal the pink of their interior surfaces, so big is Tony's cock, so thoroughly does it stretch and fill her cunt.
So that it is quite easy for Andy's working mouth to suck and chew her ass hole.
So that it is quite easy for Andy's probing tongue to thrust itself into her ass hole.
Both of which he does with great skill and dexterity.
So that it is somewhat surprising when he misses the mark and sucks Tony's balls.
"Gettin' kinda wide of the mark there, aren't cha, son?" Tony asks.
"That's okay, Dad. Consider it your Father's Day present."
And Andy is in no hurry to get back to the primary target.
But he does, at last.
And feels her big ass hole slacken as she relaxes back there in response to his internal tongue massage.
So that now, he sits back, haunches on his heels, polishing the rounded knob of his cock head with a glob of saliva.
"I uh, I believe you know the drill," he says, to nobody in particular.
And is amused when Celeste responds at once, gracing herself with her knees on either side of Tony and raising her hips with the practiced movement of the accomplished gang bang, evacuating just enough of her cunt to relieve the interior pressure temporarily, permitting her ass fucker of the moment easy access.
Deftly, expertly, Andy shafts into her ass hole.
And she settles back down.
So that Andy can feel the underside of Tony's monster against that of his own, through the thin layers of interior tissues separating them.
So that now, they are in position.
And Andy is top man.
And he shows this to be the case in more ways than one.
As he expertly takes charge of the action, bouncing up and down, making the bed springs work for him.
So that now they are doing it perfectly, the twin pistons alternating in and out of their respective ports of entry.
So that Vivi, checking the view, sees Andy's heavy equipment enter the now perfectly smooth, rounded mouth of Celeste's ass hole, as Tony's mighty shaft emerges thickly an equal amount from her equally smooth and rounded mouth of a pussy.
Andy has turned Celeste into the valve casing of an erotic, two-piston engine of some kind.
And Vivi knows exactly what Andy is thinking.
What do you think of your little boy now, Dad?
Think you could manage this as well?
Think you've had as much practice as I have-stud?
And she knows that Tony has to be wondering about these very matters.
Because Andy does not hesitate, does not fumble.
And for some reason, Vivi feels very proud of him.
But now that the action has settled down into a steady rhythm, it's time for her to do her share.
So she carefully plants a foot on either side of Tony's head, then squats down, down, down, until his nose is in her bush, her pussy lips against those of his face.
"It's okay," she says, "fresh young stuff, for a change.
"Y'all just he'p yo'se'f, you heah?"
Imitating Texas style, down home hospitality.
"It's okay, Celeste," Andy adds. "You can suck her ass hole.
"Nothing you haven't done before, or so reliable sources inform me."
He feels her stiffen, then relax, resigned.
Apparently, Vivi has told this boy everything.
And what's done cannot be undone.
And Andy observes carefully as both Tony and Celeste perform their assigned oral tasks in perfect obedience.
And both of them project essentially the same message now toward their elders.
You folks getting the message, the picture?
You notice how we need no guidance, no direction, no suggestions from the two of you?
And it is not that they have been taught well.
Because neither has been shown anything like this by his and her respective parent.
Rather, this is the logical development, the progression from all that has gone before.
Their parents have shown them the way.
But now they are the ones doing the leading, the guiding and directing.
And the uneasiness which has to be setting in in the minds of Tony and Celeste is disrupted, clouded over now by the stimulation, both physical and that of the situation.
So that, on the one hand, a deeply disturbing impression has been implanted within them.
But, on the other, that impression is being overridden by their mounting passion, by the lasciviousness which their lifestyles have developed within them to the status of reflex.
Because, face it, this is all prime stuff.
Not just any prime stuff, true enough, but all that can wait until later to sort itself out.
"That's it, that's it!" Andy encourages. "Suck that cunt! Suck that ass hole!
"Get in, get way in there!
"Go deep!"
As though Celeste and Tony would need any guidance, any direction in those areas.
And Vivi chimes in with, "Tongue fuck me now! That's right!
"Get in there all the way.
"No, no. Don't lose contact with my joy buzzer.
"There! Now you're getting it!
"In and out, in and out, and keeping in touch at all times!"
Not what Tony had in mind when he admitted them, and they both know it.
No, this was to be merely a chance for Tony to double his pleasure, double his fun.
As he and his son alternated back and forth between beds, between partners.
But that is not the way it turned out at all.
His son has not only helped himself to his father's "conquest", but to his father's balls as well, for gosh sake!
Who would have thought, who could possibly have imagined such a thing?
And the coolness, the ice within the fire, from a kid just out of high school!
And this was the kid he was going to bring along in the ways of the world?
This was the youngster to whom he was going to show the sexual ropes, by advice and example?
And now, there is nothing for it but to carry on.
Sit back, relax, and enjoy the show, as they say.
But after-well, he's really not looking forward to that part of this.
But, later for that.
Because, for now, there is only the pleasure and the pleasure and the pleasure.
And these discordant ripples fade from his consciousness like the distant thunder of a storm bypassing him far away.
As they rise higher and higher on the scale of mutual arousal.
Flesh and flesh and flesh-engorged, tumescent, hot, aroused, flushed, wet with sweat, or saliva, or pussy juice, it is an orgy bordering on the abstract now.
As Celeste is doubly engulfed, once by all this beef which physically surrounds, which virtually encases her, again by the pleasure, the stimulation, which seems to come from everywhere, inside and out, at once.
What is happening to me? Celeste wonders, vaguely.
And Tony is wondering the same thing.
Because they are in charge of nothing, controlling nothing, calling none of the shots here.
And a phrase, the title of a poem by Longfellow- or was it Whittier-comes bobbing to the surface of her feverish brain now.
The Children's Hour, it was called.
And the words seem to take on new, ominously obscene meaning.
Because suddenly, as if out of nowhere, that is what they have here-the children's hour.
Yes, the kids have taken over.
And she and Tony have allowed this, indeed have been tempted by it, and are even now being overwhelmed with it.
So that neither of them seem to have the will to do anything else, other than to go along with the program, their children's program.
So that when Vivi calls out, "Switchies!" neither Tony nor herself wonder what that means, even though they have not the vaguest idea.
But then, they need not.
As Vivi dismounts from Tony's face and Andy unplugs from Celeste's ass.
And Andy lies down beside Tony, nodding at him with an odd politeness.
And Vivi mounts his face in reverse, as Andy motions to Celeste to do the same.
And Vivi begins sucking Tony's cock.
And Celeste, as though under some sort of spell, does the same to Andy's rigid intruder, notwithstanding that it was in her ass only an instant before.
And the action continues, as the men eat the women's pussies and the women suck the men.
Nor is this at all as Tony foresaw it.
Because he is not fucking the new stuff, but is rather passive, actually, desultorily eating her cunt as she, the active one sucks his cock.
But what can he do?
The heat of passion is upon him, the pleasure is coursing through his body in this strange, out of control situation, and he is being carried along, helpless, in the throes of his own ever-mounting arousal.
And he cannot seem to gather either his strength or his thoughts.
He is as one in a dream, his movements hampered, unfamiliar to such small portion of his brain as is still able to function rationally.
So fast, so intense, all of it!
And nothing to be done except go along, go along, go along.
As once more they ride the rainbow of their built-in lust.
"Switchies!"
And Tony cannot think what could possibly come next, unless-oh, no!
But it is the feeble, the helpless protest of one trapped in some sort of sexual nightmare, in which his own body, with a mind of its own, is turned against his present, but weak, passive taste and judgment.
As he finds himself on his side, Andy's huge erection inches from his face.
And a hand reaches for it.
And he is looking into its large, ruddy eye, centered in its plum of a head.
But only for a moment, as it rubs insistently against his lips, shiny in the soft light of the room with saliva and the residue of whatever came before the last switch.
And there is a small cry of despair somewhere deep inside his head as he sucks the monster.
And feels his own being identically serviced down below.
There's nothing left! Celeste thinks, as she tongue fucks Vivi, whose body is bridged over her.
Here, in the presence of these two all-but-total strangers, her innermost secret has been revealed.
And more than revealed, demonstrated.
And it has all happened so fast!
And yet, her body revels in the sensations, the lasciviousness of it!
So what the fuck, why not?
And yet, even as she says this to herself, a small part of her, far, far away in the farthest reaches of her brain, knows that there will be hell to pay when she has come.
Later for that, she tells herself.
For now, enjoy.
And she takes her own advice.
As does Tony to himself.
Because what difference does it make who or what is doing the feeding of his insatiable lust?
Right now, there is only the feeling and the feeling and the feeling.
And the better he sucks, the better he gets sucked.
As is the similar case with Celeste and Vivi.
And now, they are coming, all four of them.
And yes, for the first time in his life, Tony has sucked dick.
And therefore, for the first time also, he is swallowing jism, in thick, hot spurts.
Even as Vivi and Celeste get each other off.
So that whatever misgivings Celeste has about this whole, out of control situation, they do not interfere with her multiple orgasms.
And certainly not with Vivi's.
As they bring each other through their shared series of climaxes.
And now, the four of them finish.
And, passion spent, the full realization of what they have done hits Celeste and Tony.
And they sit up on the edge of the bed, anxious to avoid so much as touching their partners of moments before.
And they look at each other with expressions of wonder, mystification and disgust.
As, from behind them, Andy's voice says, "I know we left out the part where we fuck each other in the ass, Dad, but Vivi and I have tried to cover all the bases, just the way we know you and Celeste would have wanted us to.
"I mean, this is what you wanted, isn't it, folks?
"A bit of immortality as the chips off the old blocks carry on in the finest tradition?"
"How about it, Mom?
"Is Andy right? Did we do good?
"I mean, if we left anything out, you just name it and we'd be happy to catch it next round.
"Because, really we aim to pie-"
"Shut up," Celeste says, through gritted teeth. "I need time to think, to sort this all out.
"How the hell did this happen?
"Speaking of which, what are you two, anyway? A couple of demons from hell?"
"That's right, Celeste," Andy confirms. "Demons from a private hell, especially created by the likes of you and dear old Dad here.
"You could have kept your nasty little hobbies all to yourselves, you two.
"But no, you had to show the world, starting with your own flesh and blood.
"You had to make us over in your own images.
"We are your youth, your future, your immortality.
"As though what you are deserves to live forever.
"Only we're not having any of it, got it?
"We say, enough is enough!
"So we're getting it all out of the way at once- where you're at with us, where it's taking us."
"That's right, Mother," Vivi resumes. "Why wait?
"Let's get to the end of the line, right here and now.
"Why send up a rocket every half hour, when we can cut to the grand finale?
"So now it's over.
"Over and done with.
"And not by defying you, or walking away from you, but by seeing it through to its logical conclusion, by giving you what you want and more than you ever dreamed of!
"What did we ever ask of you, except the love and caring of a parent for a child?
"What's done cannot be undone. You've told me that often enough.
"You can regret it, you can repent it, but dammit, you cannot undo it!
"Nothing on earth can give us back our innocence, you fucking shit heads!
"I'll tell you something else, too.
"Andy and I are getting married.
"Because we will not inflict ourselves on anyone else, not with what we know, with what we've done!
"We're young and we barely know each other, but we know enough that we are not going to force ourselves onto other people who, in comparison with us, have to be as pure as the driven snow.
"Yes, we will not thrust ourselves physically upon a world which, for all that's wrong with it, looks good in comparison to what's inside of us, to the seeds you've planted there and which sprouted tonight-with a vengeance.
"But I'll tell you this much: If ever we have children, we are going to see to it that they never find out about what goes on inside our heads, about the darkness, the pollution that you started there, and that will be there as long as we live.
"Come on, Andy.
"Let's get dressed and get the hell out of here."
And Tony and Celeste turn their heads away, not looking at their children, not looking at each other, until after Andy and Vivi have dressed and departed.
"Y'know," Tony says, "a thing like that can really putcha outta the mood."
Celeste looks at him.
And a grin slowly spreads across her face.
"Well, at least something good will come out of it," she says.
"What's that?"
"We're about to become in-laws, of course, silly!
"And grandparents too, down the line, apparently."
"Yeah, but uh-you think they'll let us anywhere near their kids, if and when?"
"Sure I do!
"And, uh-not just the kids, my darling."
And she snuggles up to him, warm and voluptuous.
Still, he feels a cold shiver down his spine.
And cannot imagine why.
Because okay, his son is a smart-ass and his future daughter-in-law has got some fucking mouth on her, but a person does what they can to get through this world and as long as he is a good provider, what else matters?
And now, he shrugs off his uneasiness and returns her embrace.
