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   Copyright July 2000 by E.  Z.  Riter.

   E-mail address: ezriter@hotmail.com

   Please!  Give me your comments!

   All the works of E.Z.  Riter can be found either at
ftp://ftp.asstr.org/pub/Authors/E.Z.Riter or www.storiesonline.net

   Dear Reader, A light little something for you.  As always, thanks to
Ruthie, Editor par excellence.  E.Z.

   CHIP MALONE

   I met Cindy Lou when I was fucking Marlene.

   Fucking Marlene wasn't something I did all the time, only when her
husband, Homer, was out of town.  Homer'd left about a half hour ago for a
three-day fishing trip.

   Marlene was about forty and looked sixty from the neck up, with enough
wrinkled skin to make an extra face, but, hot damn, she loved to fuck.  I
didn't care if she was Aunt Irene's best friend and twice my age.  I just
cared she loved to wrap her mouth or her pussy around my cock.

   She parked her car in the garage and I parked behind her.  We raced in
the house headed for the bedroom, but we never made it.  I fucked her on
the kitchen table.  She sucked my cock in the doorway to the living room to
get it hard again.  In the middle of the living room, she was on her back
with her legs wrapped around my waist and me pounding away when the door
opened.

   It was my father.  I don't call him Dad.  I call him Brick like
everybody does.

   "Hi, Chip.  This is Cindy Lou," he said.  "That's my son, Chip, and his
friend, Marlene."

   "Hi, Chip," Cindy Lou said in a sexy little voice.

   "Oh, shit.  I'm cumming," I replied.

   Her small hand was lost in Brick's big paw as he dragged her up the
stairs.  She looked back over her shoulder when Marlene screamed and beat
her hands on the wood floor.

   I'd call Cindy Lou nondescript except for four things.  Two huge green
eyes like pools of inviting tropical water and two tits like watermelons
hanging on a board fence.

   A few hours later, Marlene was in my bed snoring away.  I was on the
couch in the living room having a beer when I heard the top stair creak and
the patter of feet.

   "Hello, Chip.  Where's Marlene?"

   "Resting.  Want a beer?"

   "No thanks."

   She curled up on the other end of the couch and pulled the tee shirt
around her.  Any man who says tee shirts don't talk has never seen a woman
in one.  The way she tucks the damn thing around her talks, sings songs,
and dances.

   Cindy Lou was wearing one of Dad's 2XXL tee shirts with Malone's Garage
across the back.  That big old shirt should've been floppy all the way to
her ankles.  But when Cindy Lou settled back that tee shirt was tight
across her breasts and the curves of her legs.

   I knew what that message was, and when she batted her eyes, I slipped
over beside her.

   "No, Chip," she murmured as she pushed me away.

   "I thought you were saying yes."

   "I didn't mean to if I was.  I'm a faithful woman, Chip, and right now I
belong to your daddy."

   I didn't tell her that he didn't give a damn.  I let it go, which was
lucky in the end because in about ten minutes Marlene came downstairs stark
naked and horny as hell.  She looked at Cindy Lou with those eyes and Cindy
Lou squirmed like a bug on a hot rock.  Hell, I wondered if they were going
to bed without me.  That was another nice thing about Marlene.  She shared
her girl friends, well, all except Aunt Irene and I was starting to itch
for her.

   Uncle Fred was Homer's fishing buddy.  He called Aunt Irene Saturday
morning and she called Marlene right away to warn her Homer's boat had sunk
and he was on his way home.  Marlene skedaddled.  That was all right. 
Marlene wasn't the only fish in the sea that liked to get caught on my
pole.

   Cindy Lou spent the weekend.  When she wasn't fucking Brick, she patted
around the house cleaning or humming in the kitchen as she cooked.  Having
her wander around the house almost naked gave me a perpetual hard on, but I
enjoyed talking to Cindy Lou.  She wasn't pretentious like most of the
women I meet.

   Saturday night, I called Joe Bob to see what was going on.  He said come
on over because his wife, Thelma, was in heat.  I spent the night with
them. Joe Bob and I wore out our peckers trying to cool her down.

   Brick asked to speak to me Sunday night after dinner.  Cindy Lou had
cooked a mighty fine pot roast and was cleaning up the kitchen.  We were in
the living room having an after dinner beer.

   "Chip," he said.  "I want Cindy Lou to move in with us.  I need a
woman."

   "Fine by me, Brick," I replied.  "I like her.  I like her cooking, too."

   "It's more than just her.  She's got two daughters."

   "Cindy Lou has daughters?  Hell, how old is she?" I said, because I
never imagined her having kids.  The thought of two snot nosed rugrats
around all the time gave me goose bumps.

   "She's thirty-five.  Barbara Ann's sixteen and Rhonda's fifteen," Brick
said.

   You might expect the vision of two nubile young honeys twitching all
over my house would appeal to me, but there was only one bathroom upstairs
and I liked having it to myself.

   "Hell, Brick.  It's your house.  Do what you want."

   "But it'll be yours someday and I want to consider your feelings."

   Cindy Lou was standing in the doorway watching us.  Her big green eyes
were soft and pleading.

   "Let's move 'em in tonight," I said.

   It didn't take long because they didn't have much.  Even so, I crashed
into bed when we finished and went fast asleep.

   I'm an early riser.  I like to be the first one at the garage each
morning.  I'm a Malone, too, and it's my name over the door as well as
Brick's.  But in the morning, the door to the bathroom was locked.

   I knocked and asked, "Who's in there?"

   "B.A." came the snotty sounding voice.

   "B.A., I need to piss."

   "Fuck off, asshole," was her reply.

   Fortunately, the big oak tree in the back yard needed watering, but I
clocked the bathroom usage.  Forty minutes later, B.A.  came prancing out
of the bathroom with more war paint than Sitting Bull and enough perfume to
gag a pig.

   I knew then B.A.  was going to be a problem.

   Cindy Lou had named her daughters after Beach Boys' songs, which gave
the girls their own anthems if nothing else.

   Rhonda was sweet, cute, with a button nose.  She also was smart and wore
glasses, which meant she was probably miserable in school because
fifteen-year-old kids give four eyes hell.  I knew right away she'd be a
pleasure to have around.

   B.A., as Barbara Ann insisted we call her, was another story.  She was
sixteen and had a set of knockers to match her mother's.  Now think back.
Is there anything more arrogant than a sixteen-year-old girl with bumpers
like that?  I mean, besides a sixteen-year-old boy with a new pickup and no
pimples.

   By Friday night, I was sick of the little bitch and ready to haul ass
out of there, but Cindy Lou stepped in.

   "How old are you, Chip?" she asked sweetly.

   "I'll be twenty-one in August," I said.

   "I know you've had a lot of success with the ladies, but I'm a grown
woman.  I'd like to give you some advice, if you don't mind."

   "Hell, Cindy Lou.  What'ya got to say?"

   "What Barbara Ann needs is for a man to be firm with her."

   "What does that mean?"

   "It means she wants you to take her in hand."

   "Which means?"

   "You know," she said with a look of exasperation.

   Okay.  I'll admit I'm a little dense sometimes.  Cindy Lou sighed, which
made her boobs rise like two air mattresses being filled under high
pressure.

   "I mean, Chip, if I were a man.  If I were you, that is.  Well, I'd take
Barbara Ann over my lap and spank her bottom 'til she couldn't sit down."

   "Oh?"

   "Yes.  That's what I'd expect your father to do to me if I needed it."

   "Oh?  You would?"

   "Yes, I would.  Some women don't like a big strong man, but I do. 
Barbara Ann does, too."

   My cock was a drive shaft.  The thought of either of them over my lap
made me want to attach it to a warm and wet transmission and let the clutch
out.  I wondered if Homer'd bought a new boat yet.

   Cindy Lou leaned toward me and the tee shirt gaped.  I tried to look at
her face, but those eye magnets held me.  She acted like she didn't notice
and said conspiratorially, "And, Chip, spankings sometimes lead to
something else.  That's fine by me.  Barbara Ann's no virgin and she's on
the pill."

   B.A.  was in the bathroom primping.  She'd said she was going out with
friends, which I'd guessed meant she was fucking whoever took her interest
at the moment rather than having a steady.  I marched up the stairs and
knocked on the door.

   "Go away, asshole," she said patronizingly.

   I'd been promising Brick I'd replace that door anyway since I cracked it
one night when I was too drunk to turn the lock.  I drove my shoulder into
it.  The sound of cracking wood gave way to B.A.'s scream of terror as the
door caved and I walked in.

   She was standing at the sink applying eye something or other.  Still wet
from the shower and with her hair stuck to her head, she was wrapped in a
towel.

   "Mother!" she screamed.  "Leave me alone, you bastard!  Mother, he's
attacking me!"

   I grabbed a handful of wet hair and dragged her across the hall to my
room.  Somehow, the towel fell off.  A wet B.A.  would make a dead man
hard, believe me.  I'd spent so much time looking at her knockers I hadn't
noticed what a nice ass she had.  I was gonna spend some real quality time
with that ass as it turned red over my lap.

   "No.  No!  Mother!"

   She was kicking and scratching, squealing and screaming, but she was
going nowhere.  Somebody shut the door to my bedroom.  I wondered if it was
Cindy Lou or Rhonda.

   I plopped down in my straight chair, yanking her over my lap as I did. I
didn't need anything to bind her hands except mine.  At six four and two
forty compared to her five two and one fifteen, I had a decided physical
advantage.

   "No, please, Chip.  I'll be good.  I will.  Really," she begged.

   Remember what a spanking feels like?  Remember what it feels like when
your skin's wet?  B.A.'ll remember it for a long time.  That was a long,
hard spanking leaving her red from the curve at the top of her ass to the
middle of her thigh.  The loud swats were accompanied by begging,
screaming, and sobbing.

   When I let her go, B.A.  ran to the bed and curled up on the pillow with
her legs under her.  I'm dense sometimes, but not all the time.

   When I pulled off my tee shirt, she slid down the bed to lie on her back
with her legs together.  When I dropped my trousers, her legs opened some
and so did her eyes as she stared at me.  When I yanked down my boxers, her
hands went by her head and she put her feet flat on the mattress.

   "I'll spank you every time I think you need it," I said firmly.

   "Yes, Chip," she said in a voice dripping with sex.

   "Can you be a good girl?"

   "Oh, Chip.  I can be the best."

   When my knee touched the bed, her knees came up and out.

   We missed dinner, at least the one Cindy Lou prepared.  We did snack, if
you know what I mean.  I wore my boxers and B.A.  wore my tee shirt as she
padded behind me down the stairs.

   "Bring me a beer and then get me something to eat," I said.

   "Yes, Chip," she replied in a well-satisfied tone.

   Rhonda, who was sitting in the corner reading, snorted.

   "What's wrong with you?" I asked.

   "If you're going to do that often, you need to get her a gag," she
replied disgustedly.

   B.A.  was a screamer, no doubt about that.  If I didn't get her a gag,
I'd have to get ear plugs.

   When B.A.  swayed in to hand me a cold beer, I pulled her on my lap and
my hand disappeared under that tee shirt to find a nice thatch of hair. 
She squealed and pushed my hand away.  I kissed her, swatted her bottom,
and sent her back to the kitchen.

   Rhonda sobbed.  When I looked at her, our eyes locked before she turned
red and ran to her room.  Now, I knew what her look meant, but she was just
a kid.  Hell, even I draw a line somewhere.

   Saturday morning, Cindy Lou laid down the rules to her girls and the
rules applied to her, too.  If one of them misbehaved, either man could
spank her.  Brick and I secretly agreed to spank only our own, but we
didn't tell them that.

   Further, standard dress indoors was a tee shirt.  Nothing else except
during those times of the month when panties were a necessity.  Just a tee
shirt.  And we know what a woman can do with that.

   They went to change.  In moments, three barefooted tee shirted women
were standing at attention.  Cindy Lou and Barbara Ann both wore Malone's
Garage standard issues, which were white and of good cloth.  If you looked
hard, you could see a dark patch down low.  If you were blind, you could
see their boobs.  Rhonda's tee shirt looked like it was cut out of a boat
tarp, sorta yellowish and thick.  But Rhonda looked good in it.  Real good.
For a kid.

   B.A.  and I worked out the bathroom problem because we started showering
together.  We also slept together, fucked together, and did everything else
together for about two months.  That's when I found someone else's pecker
tracks on her leg.

   B.A.  was nervous as a whore in church when I led her into my bedroom to
talk about her playing around, but I didn't spank her.  We reached an
agreement.  She'd fuck me whenever I asked, but it wouldn't be exclusive.
That was fine by me.  There was a big fishing tournament coming up and
Marlene was randy as hell.  It wasn't a bad deal.  With B.A., Marlene, and
Marlene's friends, I hardly ever went to The Tumbleweed.

   Cindy Lou was obviously happy with Brick and him with her.

   Rhonda was Rhonda, which means she was normally happy, but sometimes
seemed dejected.  She never complained.  She turned her energies into
school.  She was one smart little cookie and worked like a dog.

   It was only four months later that the tragedy occurred and everything
changed.

   Brick was killed.  I'd miss the hell out of him, but I felt selfish when
I was sad he was gone.  His hobby was rebuilding and racing old sports
cars. He lost control of a sky blue Jensen-Healy Interceptor on a tight
curve at about one hundred twenty-eight miles an hour.  He died doing what
he loved best.

   He left me the house, the business, and a pile of life insurance.  Money
wasn't a problem, but my brain was.  It was overloaded.  I worked my ass
off to handle the funeral and make a transition at the garage.  The
mechanics weren't the problem.  It was the customers.  Brick knew how to
shmooze them, but I was still learning.

   For the first time in my life, I ignored the ladies.  The three at home
tiptoed around me, which was probably just as well.  I was under a lot of
pressure and my fuse was short.

   Brick had been buried two weeks when I came home late from the garage.
Mrs.  Simpson, a battle axe who ran a fleet of taxis, had been all over my
ass that day and I was beat.  The three of them were in the living room
dressed in the usual tee shirts.  A Beach Boy CD played in the background.

   "We need to talk, Chip," Cindy Lou said.

   When Rhonda handed me a cold one, I noticed she wore a different kind of
tee shirt.  This one was shorter and looked like it was made out of bandage
gauze.  When she sat in her chair, that tee shirt somehow was high enough
that I was staring at the sweetest little down covered pussy I ever saw.

   "About what?" I asked, tearing my eyes away from Rhonda.

   "The girls and I want to help.  I use to be in retail, you know.  I
could work the front desk."

   "And I've had bookkeeping and computer courses in school.  I could work,
too," Rhonda chimed in eagerly.

   B.A.  smiled and wiggled her tits.

   "That'd be damned nice of you," I said.  "Things aren't goin' as smooth
as when Brick was here."

   "Consider it done.  I'll start in the morning and Rhonda'll come right
after school," Cindy Lou said.

   The three of them looked at each other nervously and I wondered what the
hell was going on.

   "We need to talk about us, too.  Here.  In your house," Cindy Lou
continued.

   "Like what?"

   "We're guests here."

   "You are?"

   "Yes.  Brick invited us to move in, but he's gone now."

   "I know that."

   "What do you want us to do, Chip?T"

   "About what?"

   "About things here.  With you and us."

   "Cindy Lou, what the hell are you talking about?"

   "Can we stay?" she sobbed.

   "Shit, yes," I said emphatically.  "I don't want you guys going
anywhere."

   Rhonda exploded off her chair and threw her arms around my neck.  In a
flash, Cindy Lou and Barbara Ann were hugging me, too.  My hands couldn't
decide what to touch, so they explored.  Man's always been an explorer, you
know.

   Someone else's hands were exploring, too, because I felt fingers wrap
around my hard cock and gently squeeze.

   The women were giggling and crying.  Tears of joy, they said later.  The
hand on my cock was stroking me lovingly.  It had been three weeks and I
felt a twitch.  I grabbed the wrist above that hand so it wouldn't make me
cum.  When the crowd broke, I was holding on to Rhonda.

   Her face turned the same red color Brick'd painted his '54 Thunderbird
and her eyes begged me, but for what I wasn't sure.

   "Please," she mouthed.

   I thought she meant please let go, so I did.

   Cindy Lou got more beers for everyone but Rhonda.  She had a soda.

   "There's one more thing, Chip," Cindy Lou said.

   Her tee shirt was talking again.  White paint wouldn't've been as close
to her skin.  B.A.  was sitting cross-legged and exposed.  Rhonda was
kneeling primly, like a little girl.  Her shirt covered everything but her
face.  She'd quickly look at me before ducking her head again.

   "What's that?" I asked.

   "I'm in the master bedroom.  That's your bedroom now.  You're the
master."

   "I never thought about it."

   "I think you should move into the master," she said.  "If you like, the
girls and I will move your things on Saturday."

   "Hell, Cindy Lou, if you think so." I liked the idea because it meant I
wouldn't have to share a bathroom with B.A.

   Cindy Lou blushed, which is something I'd never seen her do.

   "Should I move my things out or leave them in the master?" she asked
softly.

   "What would you like to do?" I asked with a squeak.  I cleared my throat
and swigged the beer to cover that up.

   "I'm a woman who needs a man," she said.  "I don't have one now."

   "Why don't you leave your things there?" I answered, proud my voice
sounded manly.

   Cindy Lou smiled happily.  B.A.  grinned.  I'll bet you a week's pay she
was thinking of all the other cocks she could take since I'd be busy with
her mother.  Rhonda was deathly still.

   "That okay with you, Rhonda?" I asked.

   "Sure.  Whatever you guys want," she replied, but when she looked up, a
tear slipped down her cheek.

   Saturday morning, I worked at the garage.  When I got home, my things
were in the master bedroom.  B.A.  had a date that night and Rhonda said
she had to study.  I had a beer or three before bed.  Cindy Lou followed me
into the bedroom.

   It was like we were an old married couple that had done this for years.
We both undressed and crawled into bed.  She curled against me.  In
moments, we were fucking.

   Women are different, you know.  Marlene was thin and hyper with a
compulsive sex drive like she'd die if a cock wasn't in her somewhere. 
B.A. was fun, but an airhead who treated sex like a woman shopping.  You
know, "I'll take one of those and, oh, can I sample that."

   Cindy Lou was an earth mother.  Soft, passive in a way, accepting of
anything.  She was good in bed.  Don't get me wrong about that.  She did
enjoy fucking and being fucked.  But as good as she was, I got the feeling
she'd be the same with whatever man she belonged to at the moment, as she
liked to say.

   Even with Cindy Lou having permanent residence next to me, I still did
B.A.  sometimes.  A while later, she asked me to leave her alone because
she'd fallen for some jock in high school.  So I did.  I'd never force
myself on a woman.

   Rhonda was Rhonda.  Smart, hard working, cute.  Happy as Santa Claus
most of the time, sad others.

   The garage had more work then we could handle.  Cindy Lou shmoozed the
male customers.  Hell, after she waved those tits in their faces, we
could've given them their car without an engine and they'd never say a
word.

   I dealt with the female customers, which was generally pleasant and that
included Mrs.  Simpson after I realized she wanted me to check her oil
level with my dipstick.

   Rhonda was a wizard with computers.  She upgraded the whole thing
without a hitch.  Even Tammy, the office girl Brick hired because she'd
suck his cock during lunch, managed to understand the new system.

   Things at home were unbelievable.  Three women to do the housework. 
Cindy Lou in my bed.  But things change.  They always change.

   One night, B.A.  and her boyfriend, Cletus, announced they wanted to get
married.  When Cindy Lou suggested they wait until they graduated, B.A. 
admitted the decision couldn't wait long because her belly was going to
grow.  I gave the bride away in a nice little ceremony in church.  Cletus'
parents gave them the apartment over their garage free of rent and I
chipped in a serviceable old Corolla.  The newlyweds were off to a good
start.

   Cindy Lou, Rhonda and I established a routine in the house and the
garage that was as smooth as an accelerating Jaguar.  I added onto the
garage and hired four additional mechanics.  Cindy Lou was ever present in
my bed and uncomplaining if I spent some time with Marlene or one of the
others.

   Rhonda was Rhonda.  At home, she followed the tee shirt rule, but, on a
few occasions, the tee shirts were thinner and shorter.  Some of the time
she'd prance around in a see through that rode up to her waist when she
raised her arms.

   I noticed.  Hell, I'm not blind, but Rhonda was a kid, you know.

   I'll admit she didn't look like a kid.  Her legs were long and lean. 
Her ass was high and firm.  So were her breasts.  I'll bet they were half a
dozen cup sizes smaller than Cindy Lou's but that'd make them about a C. 
She'd gotten contacts and the glasses were gone.  Rhonda always did have a
pretty face.

   Okay, since we're being honest, sometimes when I was fucking Cindy Lou
or one of the others, I thought about Rhonda.  But, like I said, sometimes
I'm dense.  Really dense.  Like a mule.  Maybe I got it from Grandpa. 
Grandma said she had to hit him in the head with a 2X4 to get his
attention.

   Then the biggest change came.  The change in Rhonda.  She was seventeen
and I was twentythree.

   I was in my easy chair.  Cindy Lou was curled up on the couch sewing. 
Rhonda was sitting on the floor with her back to me.  Her legs were splayed
and a textbook was between them.  She pretended to study, but her right leg
was twitching, making a rhythmic thumping sound on the floor.

   "I've been on the pill for six months now, Momma," Rhonda said.  "Do you
think it's safe for me to have sex?"

   My ears perked up.

   "I think so, honey," Cindy Lou replied nonchalantly.  She never missed a
stitch.

   "What kind of boy do you think I oughta pick for my first?"

   "That's up to you."

   "Who was your first, Momma?"

   "Oh, that's been a long time ago," Cindy Lou replied, diffusing the
question.  She took a few more stitches.  "Do you have anybody special in
mind?"

   Rhonda turned on her ass to face Cindy Lou, which twisted her tee shirt
tightly around her.  I could see every bump on her areola and her hard
nipples.  Her long legs were spread wide on the floor.  She'd wrapped the
hem of that tee shirt in both hands and held it between her legs covering
up that part.  That was all right.  Rhonda has a lot of good parts to see.

   "I do, but he's so dumb he doesn't know I'm alive," she said.

   "There's things a girl can do to get a man's attention.  Maybe a new
dress?"

   "I bought one today," Rhonda replied excitedly.  "Want to see it?"

   "Sure, honey."

   As Rhonda ran for the stairs, I watched her ass.  She did have a nice
ass.

   "Could I have a beer, Cindy Lou?" I said.

   "Get it yourself," she said.

   There wasn't any rancor in her voice, but I was surprised.  She'd never
said no about anything before.  However, I have my pride and no man gets
his own beer if there's a woman around.  So I turned on the TV.

   I didn't hear Rhonda come downstairs, but when she turned off the TV, I
looked at her.

   I'd never seen her in a party dress.  Maybe I'd never seen her at all.

   The dress was really a top that dangled to below her breasts and a skirt
starting over her hips and ending just below the promised land.  She wore
matching red pumps with high heels and stockings that came within an inch
of the dress.  Her hair was soft around her face and that face was alive
with anticipation.

   "How do you like it, Momma?"

   "You're beautiful, dear," Cindy Lou answered.

   Rhonda pranced over to me, so close I could touch her.  She turned on
the balls of her feet, but her eyes never left mine.

   "What do you think, Chip?" she asked.

   I've wondered which of my pointed heads does the best thinking.  This
time it was the lower one, which was rock hard and trying to burrow out of
my pants to get to her.  But the upper one controls my mouth.

   "Hell, you're not a kid anymore, Rhonda.  Say, while you're up, get me a
beer."

   She screeched, a sound real high, like a baby barn owl, turned, and
marched into the kitchen.  In a moment, she returned.  When I reached for
it, she poured the beer in my lap.

   "Oops.  I spilled it," she said with a pseudosexy twitter.

   "You did that on purpose," I said.

   "Oh, you're so smart.  Did you figure that out by yourself?"

   "I oughta spank you."

   She raised her skirt to her waist and flopped down over my lap.  My body
parts fought for dominance.  My cock, cooled to softness by the beer,
started to rise again.  My palm itched to meet her ass, whether the meeting
was fast or soft and slow.  My eyes took in the wonder of that ass and
those legs and the narrow waist above the ass, admiring all they saw.  Then
my damn mouth took control.

   "Rhonda, what's gotten into you?"

   She screeched again and jumped to her feet.

   "Nothing!  Nothing has gotten into me, you big jerk."

   She slapped me with all the force she had, which meant it stung some but
I wasn't hurt.  Hell, I hit myself that hard trying to kill mosquitoes.

   "I hate you!  Hate you!  Hate you!" she screamed.

   She ran from the room, taking the stairs two at a time.  I heard her
door slam.

   "Cindy Lou, what's going on?" I asked plaintively.

   "Love and hate are two sides of the same coin, Chip."

   "What the hell does that mean?"

   She put down her sewing to stare at me a long time before she spoke.

   "It means she loves you.  She's always loved you." She sighed.  "I don't
love you, Chip, but I'll fuck you.  So will B.A.  or Marlene or Thelma or
the others.  We'll fuck you because you've got a nice smile and you're big
and strong with a nice cock.  A lot of women'll fuck you.  You're lucky to
find one to love you."

   "What should I do?"

   "You're going to have to figure that out yourself," she said.  She went
back to her sewing.

   I was confused as I trudged to the stairs, but by the time I reached her
door, I 'd figured it all out and knew exactly what I wanted to do.  Like I
said, I'm dense sometimes, but not all the time.

   "Open the door, Rhonda."

   "Go away."

   I turned the knob.  It wasn't locked.  She was sitting in her computer
chair crying.

   "Don't touch me," she snapped and yanked her arm away, but I pulled her
out of the chair and wrapped my arms around her.

   "I must've been blind," I said.

   "And dumb.  You're a big dumb jerk.  Let me go."

   "No.  You see, I'm a lot smarter now.  I'll never let you go."

   She kicked me in the shins, which did hurt, I'll admit.  I didn't let
go, but she didn't give up.  Another kick and a shove left her standing
free.

   "I don't want you."

   There were tears in her eyes, but her voice was loud and clear.  Her
fists were clenched into little balls.

   "Why would I want a big, dumb jerk to father my children?  Why would I
want a man who screws any woman he wants?  Why would I want a man who
thinks 'get me a beer' is romantic conversation?"

   "I don't know.  Why do you?"

   She launched herself at me.  Her arms went around my neck as she kissed
me passionately.

   There it was.  What I'd been missing with Cindy Lou and the others. 
Unbridled passion.  Wild, desperate, hot, uncontrollable.  For me, not just
for a cock up their pussy.  We fell on the bed and grappled.  She was
burning up.  So was I.

   We were both naked and I was between her legs ready to consummate our
newly admitted love when something unusual happened.  My brain and my cock
had the same idea.

   "What's happening?' she cried as my cock softened.

   "We're not going to have sex."

   "Oh, you bastard!  I've waited two years."

   "You'll have to wait a little longer.  Until our wedding night."

   She froze, not even breathing until her lips started to turn blue.  She
rasped as she sucked in a bushel of air.

   "What did you say?" she squeaked.

   "I said, will you marry me?"

   She screamed and began to cry.  Cindy Lou came to the door to find the
cause of her anguish.  We all cried then, even me.

   When the crying was over, Cindy Lou left us there.  Rhonda slipped on a
tee shirt and held my hand as we walked down the stairs.  I sat in my easy
chair and pulled her into my lap.  Cindy Lou was in the kitchen fixing
dinner.

   "Who said I wasn't smart enough to know a good thing when I see it? 
Who?"

   "It wasn't me," she said.

   "Who said I wasn't romantic?  Huh?  Want to hear me say something
romantic?" I asked.

   "I'd love it," she sighed softly.

   I pushed her to her feet, swatted her on the ass and said, "Rhonda, get
me a beer."

   The End

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   E-mail address: ezriter@hotmail.com