Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 God's Flock (Part 4)

   By Katzmarek

   Author's note.

   This work is fiction with a lot of fact thrown in.  Or maybe its fact
with a little fiction.  Anyway, its been scrubbed, cut and pasted,
exagerated, mutilated, mashed and bashed.  It remains my property and can't
be used for profit without my express permission in writing.  Oh!  and the
Assembly of God told me later in life that the tactics described in the
story didn't happen.  So that's all right then.  I guess I must have
halucinated it.  {K}
__________________________________________________________________________



   During my week of 'study' leave I visited Nan practically every day. 
Each time we ended up making love in her small, single bed.  Things just
got better and better between us.

   The next day she had been at the sink stacking dishes when I had pushed
my self up against her complaining the kitchen was small.  I had clutched
her bottom, allegedly to get past, and she'd giggled and reached behind to
rub the front of my jeans.

   She turned around and I kissed her on the lips.  Soon we were seriously
sucking face with her frantically rubbing me.  She then dropped to her
knees, her face illiciting a sly grin.

   "Here?  It's a bit public isn't it?" I said, indicating the big French
windows of the dining room opposite.

   She pulled down my zipper and fished into my pants, working my cock
free. I ceased my objections.

   Her mouth closed over me and she stabbed down on my growing erection. 
She paused, looked around, then pulled off the blue singlet she was
wearing. Pulling down my jeans and underpants, she stroked my balls before
resuming sucking.

   Kissing along my length at one point, her hands encircled my arse and
pulled my thighs against her chest.  I could feel the buttons of her
nipples brushing my flesh.

   Looking at her watch she said,

   "1 Minute 30."

   "You're...  uh...  timing me?" I croaked.

   "Hmm hmm."

   She kissed me all around my cock and balls while her hand rapidly jacked
me.

   "1 minute 45," she announced.

   "Can we go to bed?" I asked desperately.

   "Not yet...  I want to test something."

   "Nancy," I whined, "aw...  shit!"

   "C'mon babe..." she whispered, while applying more pressure and jacking
me furiously.

   With her other hand she fetched a plastic cup from the bench.  Just as I
was about to come, she pointed my cock into it.  I did my best to fill it.

   "2 minutes...  thirty one?  no...  thirty two seconds.  Not bad!"

   "Thanks," I puffed.

   "It's all red!" she said, concerned.

   "You buffed it pretty hard, friction burns."

   "Aw, I'm sorry...  kiss it better?"

   She dabbed her lips on it.

   "I'll recover," I told her.

   "Good!  I need to put it in my diary before I forget."

   "You're keeping records!" I said after her fleeing figure.

   "Of course!" she called back.

   I followed her to her room.  She was noting the figures down in her
diary.

   "Let me see?" I asked her.

   "No!  its private," she complained.

   But I fell on top of her anyway, trying to read over her shoulder.

   "Get away, get away," she cried, "ok then, I'll choose the pages you can
read."

   She then read out some entries she'd made, all since we'd got together.
She'd even written a little poem, I told her I could maybe try and set it
to music.

   I fetched her guitar, one of those cheap 'Suzuki system' things parents
bought for their kids in those days.  B,D and bottom E strings were nylon,
top E,A and G were wire bound.  It gave a kind of flat tone but was easier
on soft fingers.

   Nan wrote poetry in rhyming couplets, four lines a stanza.  Therefore it
wasn't that hard to fit a tune around it, basically anything in 4/4.

   I settled on 'Yarrow,' an old English folk song.  We picked up her
lyrics together and sang a duet.

   Our voices blended together surprisingly well.  We moved on to other
songs, both popular and folk.  She loved Irish music, then beginning a
decade long popularity.

   "Can you come to a BBQ this Saturday?" she said suddenly.

   "Where?"

   "Here, with my family...  they want to meet you.  We always have a
family day on Saturday."

   "Me?  What?  with your family?" I said, flabbergasted.

   "Yes, I told mom and dad all about you, well some, and they want to meet
you."

   I tried to think of all the excuses I could but one gaze at Nan's
expectant expression and I knew I had to go through with it.

   "What'll I wear?"

   "Clothes, you idiot.  What does anyone wear to a BBQ, a tux?"

   Nancy had spilled the beans to her folks the second night back from
camp. She told me they had taken it surprisingly well.  She supposed that
they thought no good would be served in laying down the law as this would
have encouraged 'rebellion.' They resolved to let things run to its
conclusion and be there to pick up the pieces.

   By then it was dawning on me that my relationship with Nancy was
swinging towards long-term.  I'd even dreamt of our wedding, a previously
unthinkable prospect with anybody.

   But Nan would never have 'shacked up' with me without a ring.  It would
have been too much for her parents and she didn't want to hurt them.

   On the other hand my own living arrangements were becoming insufferable.
I shared an apartment with another bike dude and his crazy older brother.
The brother, Jeff, was heading towards a complete breakdown at the time and
his behaviour was becoming bizarre.

   He borrowed the Kawasaki one time and I stood on the pavement outside
while he burned off an inch of rubber up our street.  Anxiously I awaited
his return when, 4 hours later I get a call from the Police station.

   He'd been caught doing 155kph in a 50kph zone and his wierd behaviour
had caused the cops to run him in and check whether he was 'on' anything.

   He eventually traded his numerous charges for a spell in the Psychiatric
Unit.

   I was just grateful I got the bike back intact.

   In any case I was growing tired of the way I'd been living.

   On Saturday I arrived at Nan's at 3 in the afternoon for the BBQ.  As I
walked up the drive Nan came down and took me firmly by the hand.

   "Do I look alright?" I asked nerviously.

   "Fine, stop worrying," she told me but I could see she was anxious.

   Around the back of the house, on the patio, I was confronted by the
whole family, including numerous children.  I felt them all looking at me
as Nan pulled me towards her father.

   "Dad, this is Don."

   I extended my hand to have it warmly pumped.

   "Glad to meet you," her dad said, "Rose?"

   I was somewhat in a daze as I was introduced to the rest of Nan's
family. I honestly couldn't remember who was who, which wife was whose, or
whose kids belong to who.  It all whizzed around my head.

   I was grateful to Nan who introduced me to a fruit punch and a plate of
snacks.  It allowed me to retreat from the centre of attention.

   Nan's mother sidled up to us and started talking about the camp.  She
told me Nan had said I had a bit of trouble with Brother John.  She
apologised for his throwing me out of camp and assured me I was always
welcome at their services.

   "You know, he means well," she said, "he's just a little intolerant. 
When we first arrived in New Zealand, he was often here, wasn't he Nancy? I
rather think he had is eye on her, but she was too young."

   "He was too boring...  and full of himself," Nan interrupted.

   "I thought he was quite nice..."

   "Fine, you go out with him, mom,"

   He mother laughed and clapped her hands together.

   "Its just as well we don't get to pick her dates.  I'm afraid we'd never
get it right.  I understand you play music, Don, perhaps you could give us
a song later?"

   "Yes, lets!" Nan bubbled beside me, "we could do some of that stuff from
the other day."

   "Um," I felt trapped, " sure," I reluctantly agreed.

   It wasn't too bad, however.  I strummed away on Nan's little soprano
learner's guitar and sang with her, avoiding the faces of the audience.

   There was an enthusiastic response.  Afterwards Nan's brothers and
father let loose with a few Irish songs, a la capella.  They took their
Irish ancestry very seriously and belted out songs like, 'The Wild Geese.'
with gusto.

   Did they realise they were Rebel songs?  I decided not to go there.

   In fact the whole family loved folk singing.  I think that's what won
them over to me.

   I had weened myself on 'Pentangle, Fairport Convention, Strawbs and
Steeleye Span while most of my contemporaries were getting their kicks from
the 'Nineteen Ten Fruitgum Company, White Plains' and the bloody 'Monkees.'

   By the time Clannad became the rage I had all their earlier stuff, in
Irish.  Then Irish pop/folk music was everywhere so I reclaimed Punk and
Goth through Siouxie, the Clash, The Cure and later, the awesome Babes in
Toyland.

   Something changes in a person when they pick up a guitar, tin whistle or
whatever.  To play you expose a piece of your soul, indeed, doing anything
creative means putting a piece of you into the work.

   You become vulnerable, and in that vulnerability true communication
ensues.  The execution may not always be perfect, but people respond.  It's
true that when you give love it's always returned.  At least I've found it
so.

   Things happened pretty quickly from that afternoon onwards.  Some two
weeks later I was cuddling with Nan on her sofa.  It was evening and I'd
just shared dinner with Nan and her folks.

   Her parents had found other things to do to give us some 'privacy.'
Nancy's 18th birthday was coming up and we were discussing what she would
like to do.

   "We could go out to that French Restaurant," I suggested, "crepe
suzette?"

   "Oh yum, but its so expensive!"

   "Thats ok, my shout," I told her.

   "No, I couldn't let you.  You must save your money!"

   "What for?" I asked, "to spend it on my old lady."

   "Your old lady!  Is that what I am now," she teased, " I thought you had
to be married to gain that distinction."

   "Ok, we'll get married then."

   That was all it took, as casual as you like.  Friday, post a letter,
Saturday, get married, Sunday take out the trash for Monday's collection.
It felt like we were arranging a trip to the zoo or organising the shopping
list.

   This time next year, we decided, after Nan turned 19 and me, 24.

   "I suppose I'll have to buy a ring?"

   "You'd better!" Nancy exclaimed, "and not from that street seller down
at the Mall, either.  I don't want to peel the gold off with my
fingernail."

   "Gold, hell!" I whined.

   "Yes gold!  you cheapskate, and I'm coming with you too.  I wear it, I
pick it."

   "And I pay for it."

   "Absolutely.  Sell that damned motorbike of yours."

   "WHAT!  I'd rather pull my teeth and sell the fillings," I said
indignantly.

   "Do that then.  On second thoughts that would spoil your smile."

   I put the Kawasaki in the shop, it went to a good home.  I had a ring by
the time her birthday arrived.  The balance of the proceeds from the bike
went into a joint account.

   The next problem was my inadequate living conditions and her parents
came up with a solution.

   Now reconsiled to the fact I wasn't going to go away, they suggested I
move into a 'grannyflat' they kept behind the house.  It was fully
self-contained and detached from the main house.

   I readily agreed, the thought that I would have practically unlimited
access to Nan was the clincher.

   Nan's family don't let the grass grow under their feet, and before I had
time to tell the landlord, her brothers arrived with a truck to take my
gear.  I moved in to the grannyflat that weekend.

   From then on, every night I would watch a bit of TV before saying
goodnight and wandering down to my little flat.  Nan would often wait until
her parents had retired then creep down the path and spend an hour or so
with me.

   She'd slip in quietly, drop her pants and slip into bed with me, I owned
a double.  We'd make love, but more often we'd just talk about our future
together and what we'd like to do.  It was a wonderfully happy and exciting
time for me, the year of 1978.

   I'm certain her parents knew all along.  There was nothing much they
didn't notice.

   We tried lots of new things, even anal.  After much pushing and shoving
we decided it was too uncomfortable.

   She agreed to let me give her some tongue, eventually, and she decided
she quite liked it.  She put her legs up over my shoulders while I probed
around with my tongue.

   At first my jaw ached and my tongue got tired until, with a bit of trial
and error, I learned to use it most efficiently.

   She wouldn't often come that way, however, but she like it as a
preliminary to a frantic bout of 'missionary.'

   She liked my weight on top of her.  Even when I was 'spooning' her and
gently pulling down her panties to push my dick in from behind.  She'd roll
on her front and ask me to 'do' her that way.

   One day, when everyone else was out, we were clowning around.  I was
chasing her and slapping her bottom while she squealed and told me to leave
her alone.

   I caught her over my old formica table and pulled down her pants.  I
gave her arse a good warming over her panties, while she hollered that I
was a brute.

   After I stopped smacking her she lay still across the table with a wide
grin on her face.

   "Aren't you going to kiss it better?" she asked.

   Her body was heaving with the exertion and arousal and I began caressing
her arse and planting little kisses.

   Pretty soon her panties came down and I was kissing and feeling her bare
flesh.  All the time she was grunting and sighing, making little whimpering
noises.

   Her pussy was warm and her aroma filled my senses.  I ran into the
little bedroom and fetched a condom.  She was still there ready for me.

   I slipped up and into her quickly, she moaned as I began a fast pace. 
Our bodies made a slap, slap, slap sound, Nan grunted and moaned and called
out each time I pushed into her.

   "Oh baby...  harder...  uh...  uh...  faster...  keep going...  oh... 
uh...  uh...  uh," she kept exhorting.

   My back ached and I wanted to find a more comfortable position.  However
I didn't want to stop either, and risk losing the moment.

   Just as I was beginning to tire, Nan finally came.  She gripped the edge
of the table, stiffened, pushing back hard against me.  She was silent for
a second, mouth open, eyes screwed shut.

   Then the release came and she illicited one long moan.  I pulled out and
finished myself, my lower back now uncomfortably painful.

   Years later I was diagnosed as having a lower lumbar displacement,
agravated by years of driving buses.  Once when displaying some new pelvic
moves during sex with Nan, my back locked up and my left leg went numb with
pins and needles.

   Nan and I decided to see the world once married.  We fixed a date, May
of '79 when we were so set out for the UK and Europe.  From there it was to
the USA and Canada.  No doubt I was to be put on display there for her
relatives in Toronto.

   I then began the crazy practice of 'Double-shifting' and working my days
off at work.  Working both sides of the shift meant handing in two time
sheets each day, a rort the system was designed to prevent.

   By law you are only allowed to drive up to 11 hours a day with an 8 hour
break between shifts.  Additionally you can only sign on 6 days out of 7. I
found my way around the regulations and continued to do so sporadically
whenever I needed extra cash.  I was never caught.

   By May the next year my bank account was the healthiest it's ever been.

   But next came the big discussion with Nan's parents concerning my
future. It was made clear to me that they didn't think bus driving had
sufficient prospect for my future support of their daughter.

   "What will you do when you have children?"

   Children?  rugrats?  snotty-nosed little brats, me?  a father?  It
hadn't entered my head at all that that could be a natural consequence of
sex.  The thought of Nan becoming pregnant filled me with horror.

   "Dunno!" I replied thoughtfully.

   "Have you thought of becoming a teacher?  Rose, Nan and I think you'd be
great."

   It's funny how love causes you to suffer all sorts of humiliations and
indignities.  Like being told to 'get a career' as if I was back at school.

   I eventually struck a deal.  I would have one last serious attempt at a
musical career then, if I fail, I would apply for Teachers college in 1981,
when we were schedualed to return home.

   That seemed to satisfy them, they didn't think I could make any career
in music.

   Thus I answered an audition call for the 'Human Instinct.' The band was
something of an institution and one of my heroes at school.  It was centred
around a very gifted Blues guitar man, Billy T.K, who had been compared to
Jimmy Hendrix.  They were huge shoes to fill.

   Billy had taken off to explore Jazz, just like his mentor had, and the
two remaining members wanted to find a replacement.

   The audition went off uncommonly badly.  My guitar was out of tune,
typically for the Gibson SG, and I had a severe case of stage fright.  The
other members smiled and said they'd call me.

   A week later Brent Raymond called and told me they had decided to call
it a day and break up the band.  I thus had the distinction of hastening
the demise of a very fine NZ blues band.

   In any case punk had arrived with a vengence and bands like the Instinct
found themselves without an audience.

   Years later I was at a 'Smashing Pumpkins' gig and watched James Iha
tune up after each song, on a Gibson SG!  He had a natty little Pitchmaster
box that he plugged the guitar into.  One strum of an open chord and it
told him what string needed a tweak.  If only I'd something similar at that
audition and who knows?

   Nan and I were married in November of 1978.  We moved into a one bedroom
apartment not far from her parents.  Her father had given us the use of his
car for our honeymoon, a Cortina GT.  He didn't want his daughter roughing
it in the van.

   We screwed ourselves silly round NZ's Bay of Islands in the Far North.
One place we stayed at was the 'Top of the North' motel, designed for
honeymooners and Businessmen having dirty weekends with their secretaries.

   Each room was 'themed,' the Marlin room, featuring a huge waterbed, the
Arabian Nights, with a large canopied double with silk screens, etcetera.

   I'd never made love on a waterbed before.  Those early beds had little
in the way of baffles and the thing would slop back and forth for ten
minutes after the slightest movement.  It was difficult changing your
rhythm as the tide would wash back and lift you at the wrong times.

   It was hilarious, sex should always been fun.

   Christianity ebbed away gradually from our lives.  Every now and then
Nan's parents would suggest we accompany them to services, but in the end
they gave up and resigned themselves.

   In 1995 I joined the Bahai faith, but that is another story.

   Our twin boys were concieved on a hillside in Paris France, at midnight,
below the Cross of Lorraine on Mont Fabian, Suresnes.

   Remember Babe?

   We had been staying at the Youth Hostel and it was segregated, unlike
most European hostels.  That meant we couldn't sleep together for a whole
week!  That was a lifetime.

   By the forth day we were unbelievably horny and we went for a walk in
the moonlight.  That large Cross on the hillside was floodlit and visible
for miles around.

   We sat together, just taking in the view of the Paris lights.  It was
warm and the gentle breeze wafted the smells of the city up from below.

   We nestled ourselves next to some shrubs in that finely gardened area
and, listening for the sounds of anyone approaching, we began kissing.

   The place, however, was absolutely deserted and I undid the first three
buttons of Nan's top.  I longed to touch her breasts again after going
without for four days!

   "I've missed this babe, I just want to feel you," I told her.

   "What if someone comes," she protested, but only weakly.

   "There's no-one around," I said, "let me give them a suck, please!"

   She nerviously pulled aside her top exposing one breast for me.  I
lavished attention on it with my tongue and lips, not knowing when I'd get
another chance.

   After a while she whispered,

   "Don, do you think we could do it?"

   "What!  But I haven't got anything."

   "Doesn't matter," she said, "I'm safe, I think."

   She wasn't, of course, she always was notoriously unreliable with her
cycles.

   By then I wasn't doing any thinking with my brain, I quickly agreed.

   She undid her jeans and slipped them down and off.  I pushed mine down
half-mast.  I was hard, she was well lubricated, I climbed aboard
immediately and she guided me in.

   As I hammered away we had our arms tightly wrapped around each other. 
Our cheeks were together, I felt and heard her rasping breath.

   I came first, pumping gallons of baby-making juice into her womb.  I
held on inside her while I helped Nan with my fingers.  As Nan finished,
one of my little suckers was swimming furiously towards her waiting egg and
destiny.

   That as they say, is that.

   We returned home early, when the first bouts of morning sickness came.
Nan never enjoyed her pregnancies.  The twins were born in May of 1980, in
NZ.

   I took a job with a small suburban bus company while awaiting my
application to Teacher's College.  Again, I worked double shifts and days
off.

   By 1981 we could afford to buy a modest house and we moved out of our
council flat.

   In 1984 I graduated from college and taught in a local school for nine
months.  By the end of 1985 I wanted my old job back

   with the council bus service so back I went.  I stayed there for another
14 years.

   By then Nan and I had moved our separate ways.  We still keep in touch
although we live in separate towns.  She lives with our two boys who are
now 23, she has no partner and doesn't want any.

   In 1990 I met my present partner and we married in 1992, we now have
three children.

   I adapted quickly to being a father, by the way.  I'm now well
practiced.

   Perhaps one day I will tell of my experiences in Nicaragua, during the
Contra war in 1986, or Palestine in 1996, but for now, why spoil a good
story?

   The End...  for now
   Katzmarek (C)