| Neighbors, Friends and Lovers, Chapter 1 Carolyn stood in her kitchen naked except for the floor length emerald green satin robe, just as she did every morning. She loved the way the soft slippery material felt. By the time she'd poured her first coffee, as she'd just done, her skin was beginning to tingle and her nipples were hard. More than half the time the gentle throb between her legs would send her back to her bed. This morning she was distracted from the delicious feeling by the arrival of the car in the driveway next door. The house had been vacant for going on three months. The male partner of her previous neighbors, a nice YUPPIE couple, had earned a corporate promotion. As part of the relocation the company took over selling the house and, it would seem, weren't very aggressive about it. Carolyn sipped her coffee and watched a man get out of the car and look all around like the lead in the Presidential security detail. A couple of moments later a woman emerged from the passenger side. She couldn't see the woman very well because it was over fifty feet and the car was in the way but she saw enough to conclude that the female passenger was much younger than the driver. From the back on her side two young girls emerged. One was almost a head taller than the other and even the tallest only came up to the paranoid looking man's shoulder. Carolyn naturally focused in on what the girls were wearing. They looked like potato sacks. The dresses were either beige or very faded yellow and came down to the girls' knees. The man put his arm protectively around each of their shoulders and guided them toward the house. The other female, who was certainly older than the two being escorted, arrived at and was unlocking the front door. Amazingly her dress was nearly identical to those of the girls. 'They have to be home made, ' Carolyn concluded. 'No manufacturer would try to market something that ugly.' The woman sipping coffee in her kitchen had a keen eye for fashion. It was her trade. She'd been photographing haut couture for magazines and the net for almost twenty years. The familiar tingling sensation was beginning to reassert about the same time the large moving van pulled up. Watching the burley men tote heavy objects into the house held no interest for her, so she refreshed her coffee and retreated to the serenity of her elegantly appointed bedroom. She tossed the tantalizing green robe onto the upholstered chair in the corner and lay down on the rumpled vanilla colored satin sheets that had caressed her through the night. Lying on her back she piled her lolling 'C' cup breasts back up onto her narrow chest and began to tenderly thumb the rubbery pegs of her semi erect nipples. Beautiful currents of sensation ebbed and swirled in her crotch. Carolyn let her mind conjure the image of past lovers. The first, Frank, the high school sweetheart that she had so ill advisedly married before she'd graduated college was the only man who came to mind. They'd stayed together, or married at least for ten years; toward the end growing further apart by the month. Two career oriented professionals intent on making their mark in their respective fields was a recipe for disaster. They'd parted company and dissolved the marriage amicably twelve years ago. Carolyn had never since been tempted to repeat the mistake. She was allowing her right hand to gently circle the flat plain of her tummy recalling the first woman who'd seduced her. Ginger was a bi-sexual cocaine fired dynamo. Bi-sexual and even lesbian models weren't new to her. If she wanted to think about it Carolyn could remember several times during her married years when models had indicated, sometimes blatantly, that they were interested in her. At that time she'd been far too focused on producing a photo shoot that would make her boss's jaw drop and succeeded with increasing regularity. Her fingers had found the buttery soft folds protruding from her silky plumpness. They were making slow circles. Reclined on her satin sheets she was enjoying both, how the delicate wings felt under her finger tip and the warm electrified sensations her intimate caresses were creating in her belly. Cupping the breast she'd been fondling with her left hand she cocked her head forward and licked the turgid nipple she'd teased to full erection. A pulse shot directly to her clit as her saliva coated tongue made its slippery circuit around the sensitive nubbin and she grunted from the impact in her crotch. Ginger was different than most of the other models she worked with. Carolyn suspected that 'Ginger' wasn't her real name but she never knew for sure. From the very first time they'd met, the redhead always stood too close for comfort and took every opportunity to touch her photographer. Carolyn had worked with the sensual model while she was still married but they hadn't seen each other in months when the fateful shoot happened. It was ten years ago. The memory was hazy—ethereal. It was funny and maybe telling that the dress was clear in her mind. It was black, had wide straps on the shoulder and the part over Ginger's bust wasn't very revealing but it was joined to the skirt with a three inch wide strip of cloth down the front and a matching one in the back; leaving the sides of her midriff bare. The skirt's uneven hemline was longer in the front and back and shorter on the outsides of her legs. The raggedy cut only reached the mid thigh of her extraordinarily long legs at its longest point. She was using the wind machine to blow the dress and Ginger's gold-ish red curls, with her model swaying sensuously to Billy Joel's 'Always a Woman'. Carolyn fired the shutter rapidly. Every once in a while her movement and the wind machine would blow the skirt up revealing the tiny black thong. That pivotal day the photographer found herself getting surprisingly horny from the random glimpses of the perfect ass and crotch covered by the tiniest little triangle. On her bed now recalling that shoot her fingers breached the containment of her engorged lips. Her viscous fluid was coating her fingers and lubricating the massage. Carolyn brought her fingers to her mouth and sampled her own sweet essence replacing the pussy juice with a generous amount of saliva before returning to her pouting sex. When the song ended she suggested that they take a break. Setting her camera down and picking up her water bottle she was looking at Ginger when the redhead reached behind and pulled down the zipper of her dress and shrugged it off. "It's hot in here," the model complained in spite of the stiff breeze from the turbo fan. She had of course seen most of the twenty-one year old's lightly tanned skin in previous shoots. For some reason that day the sexy woman sipping from her own water bottle wearing nothing but the little black triangle connected by ribbons started palpitations between Carolyn's legs. She couldn't help staring at the 'B' cup breasts topped with the palest pink areolas she'd ever seen. The fair skinned woman's all over tan was evidence of her nude sunbathing. The large, plump slightly pebbly caps were almost too big for the jutting tits and looked delicious. Ginger caught the photographer's admiring gaze and as if to flaunt their perfection she cupped her firm young mounds, squeezed them and began tugging on their crowns. The darkening peg rising between her model's thumbs and forefingers made Carolyn's pussy go into spasm. 'I've been too long without a sex partner, ' she'd thought at the time. No other person's hands had touched her in the two years since she and Frank split. 'That's all it is, ' she'd thought; that and the fact that the redhead was always so flirtatious. Her model had always made willingness to engage in extracurricular activities apparent but the thinly disguised come-on hadn't interested her until today. She couldn't say the idea of sex with another woman had never crossed her mind, but it certainly wasn't an urge—just curiosity—the way you might be curious about how a sinfully calorific desert tasted. Usually commonsense and restraint prevailed but it was OK to indulge occasionally—wasn't it? She was thinking about the smooth almost liquid way Ginger moved as the model approached her that afternoon in the studio. She recalled looking into the incredible green eyes as the Ginger lifted her photographer's top. Carolyn applied a thick glob of spit to the fingers of her left hand and reached across her chest to worry the dormant peg atop her right breast. As she teased the nubbin to full erection she was remembering Ginger lowering her head to her braless tits and taking that same sensitive button in her mouth. Carolyn's slippery fingers were no match for the bi-sexual model's mouth but nevertheless increased the throbbing in her clit to a head-spinning level. She was feeling dizzy in a similar way that day in the studio; except in the ten year old memory she'd been standing. Her knees got weak and she thought she might crumple to the ground. It was vague almost surreal the sensations from her model sucking and licking her nipple while simultaneously dancing her over to the couch. Imitating the dream she recoated her fingers with spit and switched back to her left breast, just as Ginger had done. As if her left nipple had to show it was just as sensitive as the right, it sent an urgent pleasure pulse straight to the reclining woman's love button. In her hyper-aroused state Carolyn thought she felt the little glans twitch under the pressure from her fingers. Her gorgeous young model was kneeing in front of her and their eyes met. Carolyn's recollection was that her vision was unclear—hazy and shimmering. She didn't recall the kneeing woman unfastening her slacks, but the memory of the moment when Ginger began to pull them down along with her underpants was clearer than any of the rest. 'What am I doing?' she'd challenged herself. 'Why am I letting this woman take my pants off?' The thought occurred but it seemed to be rhetorical because she still did nothing to stop the redhead. The clarity of feeling her slacks and panties being pulled off was replaced by the shimmering psychedelic image of Ginger's face moving between her legs; the incredible softness of her cheeks and lips on her inner thighs. The urgent pounding from her womanhood now, as then, became unbearable. Carolyn's middle finger hooked upward to tease the throbbing nub just as Ginger's tongue had those many years ago. Her finger was a poor substitute for the red haired model's talented tongue but the photographer, stretched out on her luxurious satin sheets instead of the scratchy wooly material of the studio sofa, did her best to simulate. Her heels dug into her mattress and she heaved as the first of a series of pelvis gripping contractions overcame her. After the third or forth convulsion the warm waves of satisfaction began to spread. She released her tit and clasped her pulsating womanhood with both hands as the ecstasy subsided. Her mind was still swimming in the thick fog of post orgasmic bliss when the phone rang. Carolyn unhurriedly licked her cum from her fingers and dried them paint brush style on the sheets before picking up the receiver. The female voice was pleasant and efficient telling her that the fashions for the shoot would arrive by early afternoon. Before heading to the shower she piled the sheets into the bag for her laundry service. Once she was dressed in her stay at home shorts and T shirt, panties but no bra, she went to the kitchen again. Her self pleasuring had left her with an appetite. Out the window she saw what seemed to be the last pieces of furniture being off loaded. 'I should make them a welcoming meal, ' Carolyn thought and began scanning her cupboards for supplies. 'It's the neighborly thing to do.' After her bacon and tomato sandwich she prepared two ham and potato casseroles because the casserole dishes she had were much too small to feed two growing girls and a full grown man. She put them into the oven and headed back to her studio. Victor Madsen wandered around his new residence watching the movers do their job. He would have preferred to stay in Nebraska. The place they had there was so beautifully isolated. The nearest neighbor was a half a mile away. This place, in spite of the half acre lots was crowded by comparison. The female members of his family were in the kitchen washing and putting away dishes. When his wife of twenty years, Helen, died of breast cancer ten years ago he had never expected to re-marry. Their union had been childless; only in part by design. Being in his mid-forties at the time and socially reclusive it seemed quite unlikely that he'd find another mate. Meeting and eventually marrying Sharon Pierre, the widowed mother of two girls seemed to be divine providence. Before Helen's death he'd been a fair-haired boy with his employer, in variably near the top of the sales rankings. His persuasive and sometimes aggressive style sold a lot of insurance. Professionally he was well respected but personally most people found him odd. It was understandable that his performance slipped the year following the death of his wife. The company didn't react when they declined even further the next year. By the third year he'd dropped to the bottom third on the annual sales stats and something had to be done. He didn't protest or object when he was moved from the major market in the greater Chicago area to the smaller office near Omaha. He met Sharon through a referral from another client. She was teaching at a public school and recently widowed. It was more than their shared experience of having lost a spouse that drew them together but that certainly played a role. During their business meetings he found his client shared his concerns over the decline in social values, particularly as they related to sexual mores. Sharon was very concerned about how to raise her daughters and shield them from the promiscuity that seemed to begin younger and younger every year. In her role as a teacher she saw the provocative clothing her students wore. She knew the problem was the standards being set by pop icons but it was hard to tell her girls that they couldn't wear the clothes all of their classmates wore. She and Victor shared abhorrence for the overt sexuality of today's teens and now even tweens. They didn't call them dates at first, but even when the insurance issues were settled and finalized Victor continued to call on her. The romance slowly evolved, if such a platonic relationship could be called a romance, nevertheless when Victor suggested marriage Sharon readily agreed. The offer the insurance salesman made to have Sharon quit her employment and home-school her daughters really sealed the deal. Having deferred payments from his very successful years Victor was still enjoying a six figure income. His needs were simple and he was a frugal man so he had amassed quite an impressive nest egg, but he had no nest. At the time they met, Sharon's girls were just coming into the difficult age. Sandra had just turned eleven and Melissa, or Missy as she'd been nicknamed by her father, was eight. Marriage agreed with the salesman. He felt purpose had returned to his life and his on the job performance quickly returned to its previous impressive levels. Five years after the marriage, his employers concluded that Victor was back to stay. He was being wasted in Nebraska. Mister Madsen was reluctant to move his family to the temptations of southern California but the lure of higher earnings was irresistible. Having celebrated his fiftieth birthday Sandra was only a year from college; Missy at most three years behind. Preparing for that financial burden made the increased effort to insulate his step-daughters from the debauched society seem worth it. As he stood in the kitchen doorway he was proud of the job they'd done so far, but trepidatious about the next couple of years. Once Sandy enrolled in college it was going to be impossible to control her influences and access to information to the extent they'd done in the past. Sharon glanced over her shoulder at her husband as she passed the plate she'd just washed to Missy for drying. Like her mate she hadn't expected to remarry after her first husband died in the automobile accident; certainly not to a man over fifteen years her senior. To make matters worse Victor showed every second of his fifty plus years while Sharon could have passed for ten years younger. The error had been made more than once by someone guessing that she was his daughter and that Sandy and Missy were his grandchildren. Her mother had engrained her own set of values in Sharon; a set of values that the ex-teacher found hard to question in spite of her education. First and foremost a woman needed to be married, that was a major factor in her accepting Victor's offer although he never knew it. She could recall being told over and over as she grew up that, 'A woman needs a man to complete her mission in this world... ' which was to have babies. 'Men are born with a desire for sex and derive great pleasure from it. It's God's way of ensuring that babies get made. Women don't get pleasure from the sex act. A woman's reward comes from carrying a new life inside her nourishing and nurturing it; that's where her motivation to participate in sex comes from.' The oft repeated point of view was indelibly etched into Sharon's brain. On those rare occasions that she'd felt some pleasure during sex she dismissed them as just her imagination. Her first marriage wasn't pre-arranged but since the boy, Phillip, son of her mother's friends from church was the only male she was permitted to date the outcome was the same. Phil was a good man and raised to the same standards as Sharon had been. They were both entirely without experience and knowledge when it came to sex and thought that just acquiring knowledge was a sin in itself. She was bound and determined to instill these same values in her daughters because she believed that her mother was right. She had agreement from both of her husbands as proof of the validity. She knew that she could never allow her girls to dress in the provocative clothes that were common at school. As a teacher she regularly saw students dressed in revealing attire. She put her reaction to the lewd display down to revulsion—even though it often felt like something else. Sometimes it felt like jealousy and once in a while something worse but she sternly rejected the word desire. Forcing Sandra and Melissa to wear appropriate clothing set them up for ridicule. It made them social outcasts which disturbed her almost as much as it hurt them. It was for their own good. When Victor came into her life and presented a previously unavailable alternative—one that allowed her to shield her daughters from all of that the attraction outweighed the negative aspect. There had been very little physical contact before they got married. Even the kisses were more brotherly than romantic. She knew that once they entered holy wedlock her ultra conservative husband's masculine needs would rise to the surface. As she'd been brought up she would have to satisfy those needs in spite of the fact that she wasn't likely to get her pay off. Having another child at her age was ill-advised. What disturbed her since marrying Victor was that the rarely occurring pleasure sensations seemed to be more frequent and she didn't know why. She wondered if it might come with age as she passed the prime of her childbearing years. 'Maybe when you can't have babies anymore you start to experience physical pleasure from the act... like men do, ' the concept didn't make sense to her and she just resolved not to think about it. Love making was usually not more than twice a month and in the last year or so her husband had been unable to retain an erection all the way to ejaculation several times. Sharon wondered if it was the harbinger of things to come. If she was truthful she'd have to admit that it would be a relief. Sandy was putting away the last of the dishes and their mother was cleaning the sink. "Can we go up and organize our rooms now Mommy," Missy asked sweetly. "Of course dear," Sharon replied, thinking not for the first time that it was always Melissa who took the lead. It surprised her in a way that the younger of her daughters seemed to call the shots but she just put it down to personalities. "Come on Sandy let's go," the younger girl said as she was already heading for the stairs. Their father was aware that the movers had clipped the railing with one of the beds and had looked at it and told the moving crew that it was OK... they needn't worry about it. As his step-daughters whizzed past him he was crouched at the bottom of the stairs deciding if he would even bother putting a dab of paint on the blemish. When the teenagers started up the stairs he looked up automatically. Just for an instant he was treated to a view of the two white panty clad teenaged bums ascending the staircase. The vision sent a jolt directly to his manhood and he was immediately ashamed of himself. It was however further proof, as if any was needed, that men were not to be trusted around women regardless of their age. 'I must tell Sharon to make some new dresses... longer ones, ' he concluded. 'They grow so fast.' Victor stood up and was ashamed all over again that his semi erection hadn't subsided. "Where the hell are you when I need you," he muttered under his breath. Missy followed Sandy into her room. All the furniture was assembled and positioned according to their father's instructions. Cartons containing clothes were neatly stacked in the corner and the travel wardrobe was hung in the closet. As soon as they were in the room Missy said, "Can we cuddle?" Sandra looked at her sister with mixed emotions. Sandy recalled Melissa developing this urge to cuddle, as she called it, around the time Kristen started babysitting some evenings. That was only a couple of months after their dad had been killed. Missy was six and Sandra was about to turn nine. It was usually in the morning when the younger girl would climb into bed with her. Melissa squirmed and twisted which often gave Sandy funny feelings. The little one always wanted to bury her face in Sandy's chest, and even though her bust hadn't started to develop the older girl found the nuzzling raised feelings and caused sensations that made her uncomfortable. The six year old's nightgown would ride up and she'd force her leg between Sandy's. The feel of Missy's hot panty covered girlhood on her thigh felt too good, so she put a stop to it. Missy defaulted to their mother's bed for her cuddle fix. After their mom married their step-dad the option of joining her mom was taken away so Missy came back to Sandy's bed. Melissa was eight and Sandy was eleven at the time. It was even worse in a lot of ways the second time around. Although she'd been warned about discussing sex with her classmates Sandra couldn't help what she overheard. The older girls at school talked about petting and it didn't take long for Sandy to deduce that the funny feelings were the beginnings of sexual excitement. Her little sister's technique had improved and Sandra's breasts had begun to emerge. Now when the imp twisted her face against the front of her nightie there was actually something to nuzzle. On top of that, when Missy worked her thigh between Sandy's legs she got it all the way up. Now, not only was the eight year old's crotch pressing on her thigh but the needy little girl's knee was touching hers. Sandra knew it was wrong and discouraged her, but it felt so good that she relented—sometimes. She'd never known what Missy was thinking or feeling. It was never discussed; but her younger sibling knew that if she was persistent enough that she could eventually get Sandy to agree to the physical comforting. Moments had passed since Melissa had asked for permission to cuddle. Sandy was standing beside her bed with this dumb look on her face as the implications of the activity swirled in her head. Missy forced the decision. It could have been referred to as a tackle. The younger girl embraced her sister with enough forward momentum to drive the sixteen year old backwards onto her bed. It wasn't as though she didn't like it, that was exactly the problem, Sandy was afraid that she enjoyed it too much. 'It's not my fault, ' she reasoned. 'She's the one who started it.' Transferring responsibility for the encounter to the fourteen year old, Sandy gave in to her guilty pleasure. The impact resulted in the older girl's skirt flipping up so when her sister wrapped her still somewhat coltish legs around her thigh it was skin on skin. At first Melissa was reveling in the wonderful sensation of Sandy's 'C' cup boob squishing against her cheek through the homemade dress and puritanical bra but the urgent pressure between her legs was becoming an ache. Thrusting her little hips forward she pressed her girlhood against the older girl's thigh and subtly wiggled her pelvis. Sandy knew precisely what Missy was doing but the feel of her sister's head and face pressing against her sensitive breasts was too good to interrupt. She had no doubt that she'd have to call an end to the cuddle soon; just as she was sure that she'd have to touch herself afterward. It didn't make the feeling completely go away, but massaging between her legs did make it feel a little better in spite of the fact that a bit of pee always leaked out. Her underpants got wet and she had to clean herself and change them afterward. Her sister's crotch was hot against her upper thigh and Sandra thought a bit wet—which made her feel better, 'She leaks pee too, ' the under-informed young woman concluded. When Melissa drew her legs up to improve the angle of contact one of her boney little knees made contact with the plumpness of Sandra's young womanhood. The sensation was like a bolt of electricity and Sandy jumped up nearly throwing her little sister off the bed in the process. "I gotta go to the bathroom," she squealed and rushed out, leaving her sister lying on her bed looking dazed. Carolyn rang the door bell holding the still warm casserole dishes. "Hi, I'm Carolyn your neighbor," she nodded in the direction of her house since her hands were full. "I just thought I'd welcome you to the neighborhood, and offer you a quick meal. I know how chaotic it can be trying to get food on the table the day of a move." The photographer thought she had the right to expect a smile—she didn't get it. What she did get was a head to toe survey that gave her the creeps. "Thank you," Victor responded pleasantly enough as he took in his neighbor's attire disapprovingly. "I'm Victor... Victor Madsen..." He paused and turned as Sharon had arrived beside him also responding to the unexpected caller. "This is my wife Sharon." Once again Carolyn was disappointed but not surprised. The dress the woman was wearing was even uglier up close. It certainly didn't look like they had much in common. Chances of a friendship evaporated and the photographer lowered her expectations. "This is Carolyn from next door honey," he recapped. "Pleased to meet you," the woman in the God awful homemade dress responded extending her hand. "Oops... sorry," Sharon apologized seeing that her neighbor's hands were full. "I was just telling your husband that I whipped up a quick meal for you so you won't have to go scouring the phone book for the nearest pizza place." Sharon accepted the food, "thank you very much that's so thoughtful." "I hope you enjoy it. It's one of my favorites... I know you're busy so—" Carolyn caught site of the vision of loveliness bounding down the stairs and her experienced photographer's eye assessed the young woman in an instant. The shoulder length blonde hair did not look as though it had been professionally cut. It was straight and unlayered. The bangs were long and held back with a barrette. The young face was lovely. Carolyn correctly guessed that the girl was in her late teens. She couldn't tell much about her body obscured by the hideous sack she'd seen from her kitchen window that morning. There was enough bounce in the bodice for the welcoming neighbor to conclude that she wasn't flat chested. 'A stylist and make-up artist could turn this diamond in the rough into drop dead gorgeous in minutes, ' she concluded. A second later a smaller, younger version of the same teenaged beauty appeared. At the bottom of the stairs the girls made a sharp turn to head deeper into the house, but missus Madsen turned and called to them, "Girls... girls! Come and meet our neighbor." Victor looked at his wife in disapproval, but she'd didn't notice the glare. He'd already decided that their neighbor was the typical slut that his father had warned him about and he preferred that his daughters stay away from her. The impact that her pear shaped and obviously unfettered breasts had on his manhood was proof enough for him. Hell, he had a better view of her semi erect nipples than he'd had of his own wife's in quite some time. 'What kind of woman goes out in public like that?' The sisters adjusted course and arrived to stand behind their parents. Sharon physically maneuvered her daughters out in front of her. "This is Sandra and this is Melissa," the proud mother indicated the girl she was referring to by giving a quick sidelong hug. "This is missus... uh—" "Carolyn is fine," the photographer suggested. "Oh no!" missus Madden responded with shock, "My... our daughters have been taught to respect their elders." Carolyn now had a close up view of the very pretty girls. The older one, in truth, had to be referred to as a young woman. She was even more impressed with the raw beauty but slightly disturbed by the twitch in her pussy. 'It's that reminiscing about Ginger this morning, ' she speculated. "My last name is Rousseau... and I suppose it's miz... my husband and I are no longer together." She saw the cloud pass over missus Madsen's face very nearly wiping away the brilliant smile she'd been wearing the whole time. If she'd looked at mister Madsen she'd have seen that 'I told you so' look. It was just as he'd suspected. "Well you are certainly beautiful young women and take after your mother," Carolyn complimented all of the females in one fell swoop. "I have a delivery coming this afternoon so I must run," she informed the family as she turned. "Thanks again," Sharon called after her. "We'll return your dishes tomorrow." "No rush," Carolyn called back over her shoulder as she returned to her own property. 'Look how tight the shorts are, ' Victor thought to himself, reluctantly admiring his neighbor's fine ass undulating across the side yard. His first somewhat fuzzy memory of the interaction of men and women came into his mind. His father came home early one day and caught his mother and the man he'd been told to call Uncle Henry on the living room couch. He was five years old and had been playing in his room when he heard his dad arrive. There was a lot of shouting and words that preschool Victor didn't understand. He arrived outside the living room in time to have Uncle Henry breeze past him, still adjusting his clothes, and bolt out the front door. His father was yelling at his mother who was crying. One word that his father used over and over again stuck with him— slut. He remembered the fear almost panic he felt and he'd started crying. That's when his dad noticed him standing in the doorway and broke off the tirade on his wife. "It's going to be OK son... don't worry," his idol and role model said, putting an arm around his son's shoulder and guiding him toward the door. He recalled clearly the snarling tone of his father's voice as they left, "Don't be here when we get back!" The memory was powerful but unclear. He was too young to take it all in. They'd gone to his favorite burger joint and had supper. His father explained that his mother had done something really really bad and that she couldn't live with them anymore. His father had hugged him in the restaurant booth as he cried. He loved his mother as any young boy would but he admired and respected his father so if that's the way he said it had to be—then it must be right. He only saw his mother a few times after that. She came to visit and spend time with him but his dad never let them out of his sight. Even at that young age the boy Victor could feel the tension in the room. Every time he saw her that one word came to his mind— slut. Later when he was about twelve his father had created opportunities to school him on adult relationships. "Many women are temptresses," he'd said. "God, in his infinite wisdom, created men with an all powerful urge to be with them. It's easy for these temptresses to use that urge to manipulate." In his adolescent brain Victor replaced the word 'temptress' with the word 'slut', even though his father had not used the derogatory term. He also substituted 'most' for 'many'; forming a foundation for what would become his life long view of the opposite sex. The conversation about the birds and the bees had come not too long after that; it was brief, rudimentary and clinical. It did, however, explain the phrase 'be with them'. "Be careful son," his dad had counseled on many occasions often pointing out scantily dressed (at least in his puritanical view) women. "Don't be fooled by their wiles. You'll know an upstanding woman when you meet her. The first indication will be her style of dress." It was almost ten years later that he'd met Helen at a church sponsored function. He knew this was the woman his father had been referring to and, having met few others that met the criterion he pursued her and won her hand. For twenty years they'd lived their shared vision of domestic bliss until the insidious disease had taken her from him. Like his father had done, he expected to live out the rest of his days in solitude, never able to find another worthy mate. The chance meeting with Sharon was so thrilling and unexpected that it swept him off his feet. "God gave men powerful sexual urges," his all knowing father told him. "Few men ever develop the ability to completely control them. It's very hard [pun not intended]; you have to work at it constantly." The way his manhood had reacted to the sight of his step-daughters' panties and his neighbor's full breasts told him that he was not in complete control, just as his mentor had warned. Carolyn was a little worried about control as well. She closed her front door behind her and collapsed back against it. It wasn't sensible that her new neighbors' daughters had this erotic effect on her. Once again she blamed the fantasy she'd enjoyed while fingering herself that morning and resolved to put the whole concept out of her mind. |