by Mary Jaine
She screamed around my cock as she climaxed, a flood of her tangy juices spraying gently across my face and into my mouth, exciting me even further; her sucking efforts on my cock redoubled, and as she squeezed and fisted me as she sucked, I too passed that point, groaning out loud as I came in a white-hot rush of spunk, my cock twitching and flexing as if it had a life of its own as I pumped pulse after pulse of my sperm into her hot and willing mouth.
Shari slumped down on me, her body twitching and shaking in the aftermath of her orgasm, her lips still fastened around me as her busy tongue continued to lap at the trickle of spunk oozing from the end of my cock. We lay quiet and unmoving, waiting for the world to come back into focus, Shari slumped on top of me, her tempting, beautiful little pussy and quivering, delicate little rosebud filling my field of view. My hands played and held her sexy cheeks, rubbing and squeezing the firm flesh, revelling in the springy, juicy firmness, the sexy quiver, and the delightful little bounce of her own personal golden globes. At last she stirred, to swivel round and crawl up next to me and lay her head in the crook of my neck with a happy sigh.
"That was wonderful, Bobby, thank you!" she whispered, making me blush. I squeezed her close to cover my confusion, and kissed her once on her nose, and longer on her sexy lips, while allowing my hands to roam over her sexy back and squeeze her deliciously firm bum cheeks some more. There was one thing I wanted to know, not that I had any business asking, and it made no difference to me, but a gadfly of curiosity was at me, and I had to ask her just once.
"Shari, with all the things you know, all the things you're teaching me, I know that I'm not your first, and I don't care, but I've got to ask, and if you tell me to mind my own fucking business I will and never ask you again, but...I'm kind of curious; where did you learn all this stuff?"
Shari looked up into my eyes, possibly looking for any hidden reasons I may have had for asking; if so she'd have found nothing but my own passing curiosity, and I meant it; if she told me to fuck off and mind my own business I knew I'd never ask her again; it really was none of my business. She looked into my eyes for a moment longer, then nodded.
"I suppose I knew you'd ask one day, but really there's nothing there, no secret life as a call-girl or anything like that!" she grinned, and I also grinned, putting her back at her ease.
"I had a boyfriend, a long-term boyfriend, Graeme his name was, we were in school together, after we left school we stayed together, we did all the things boyfriends and girlfriends do, some of which you get the benefit of, Bobby!" she grinned, gently flicking the end of my flaccid penis, making me jump.
"After a while, I realised he'd never taken me back to his house, never taken me to meet his parents or any of his family; he always had a reason, but the upshot was that he always came over to our house, he always picked me up if we were going out somewhere, and he never took me to his parents place on things like Christmas, New Year, family celebrations. It all came to a head when his sister got married, and he never told me. Instead, he took another girl as his date. Of course I was furious; I'd been with him for almost three years, yet I'd never met any of his family, and when he had the perfect opportunity to introduce me to them, he took some blonde slapper he'd met in a pub!"
I could see the anger and the hurt building in her eyes, and tried to dissipate it for her.
"Shari, I'm sorry, you don't have to go on, I don't need to hear any more..." I started, but she shook her head.
"No Bobby, I want you to hear all of this, then perhaps you'll understand a bit more about us, about you and me."
She started again, her eyes far away as she looked at something I couldn't see.
"When I found out what he'd done, of course I was furious; he'd told me that weekend he had to go away for work reasons, and he'd see me when he got back. It was only when one of my so-called friends let slip what he was actually doing that weekend that it really hit the fan. When he turned up on Sunday evening all safe and secure in the knowledge that I was none the wiser he was completely unprepared for the broadside he got. I think I called him a "gutless, pencil-dicked pansy" in a crowded pub, poured my drink over his head, and kneed him in the balls to drive home just how pissed-off I really was. When I found out the actual reason why he did that to me, I was going to hunt him down and slow-roast his cock with a Zippo, believe me! He can thank Yaz for the continued existence of his prick, because if she hadn't stopped me, I was going to find him, yank it off, and barbecue it in front of him!"
She paused to gather her thoughts.
"That little worm was afraid his family would find out I wasn't white, that their precious little Anglo-Saxon paladin been getting jiggy with a jungle-bunny, knocking-off some girl with a touch of the Tar-Brush. His family didn't care to sully their WASP heritage with darkies like l'il ole me, he'd just been too gutless to tell me; but he was quite happy to drag me off on weekenders in isolated hotels around the South Coast so we could bang each other senseless! That's what hurt the most, that he used me like that; I was white enough to fuck, but not white enough to meet his precious family."
She suddenly grinned.
"I found out later his father was a solid member of that band of primitives, the British National Party; if he'd found out his son was dipping his dick in a darkie he'd probably have crucified him out on the lawn on a burning cross, or burned him alive in one of those Wicker-Man things! Anyway, after him, there were no more boyfriends; I just didn't trust any Englishman not to do that to me all over again. When I first met Ricky and saw how he bonded with Yaz, I kind of revised my opinions a little; he had absolutely no hang-ups about skin-colour or whites versus coloured or any of that nonsense. I don't think it ever even occurred to him that he was any different from her, and he was just so good for her, so I was happy for her, because now she had a protector as well as a new best-friend."
I was at a loss to understand how her ethnicity could have been a problem; however you looked at her, she was stunning, flame-haired and creamy-skinned, with the perfect features of a carved idol in some eastern temple, beautiful and alluring; any real man would give his eye-teeth and his right arm to the elbow for a chance to win her. Her ex-boyfriend's attitude defeated me; prejudice was something I understood, but had never really encountered, and certainly not prejudice of the sort she'd just described. I could see it had hurt her deeply.
"Shari, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to rake that up, I promise you, I'll never do anything like that to you, I swear on my life!"
Shari smiled at me, and curled her hand around my chin.
"I know you won't, Bobby, you don't have that kind of evil in you, I saw that from the start; you were angry, understandably, but you weren't a bigoted idiot. You were just like Ricky in that respect, and you were honest, which is why I found you so attractive; the fact you're gorgeous might have had a little to do with it as well! You're honest, and now all that anger and loss is gone, you're just a regular, decent bloke, and that's why I'm yours, and you're mine, Bobby Davies!"
All this soul-searching and confession was making me more than uncomfortable, plus her description of me seemed idealised and romanticised, to say the least, but at least now I knew what she really thought of me, and it was vastly comforting to know there was one person in the entire universe who I could 100% rely on to be there for me, and it was Shari. Holding her close to me as I did, her warm, lithe body pressed tightly to mine, the reaction of my body to her touch was both inevitable and hardly unexpected, something she was quick to notice.
"Well Hello, Bobby! Someone's in the mood for more fun and games!" she smiled, running her hand down my body to take hold of me and squeeze suggestively, making me even harder. I pulled her on top of me, holding her by her perfect bum-cheeks while she showered my face and neck with kisses, squirming delightfully against me, rolling my trapped cock between our bellies as she kissed me everywhere except on my lips. Shari's favourite way to make love is with her on top, so I tried to manoeuvre her into position, but she had oth
er ideas, instead sliding off me to lie on her back on the couch.
"Make love to me, Bobby!" she whispered, a request I was only too happy to comply with. I kissed and licked her neat little breasts, entranced, as always, by her long, stiff nipples, always the perfect treat for me to suck on, and suck I did, my tongue lapping as my lips caressed those tempting peaks of flesh, making her flush as she sighed and murmured underneath me. She took hold of me, her hands gentle but firm on my now throbbing cock as she fisted me, making me even hotter for her.
"Now, Bobby!" she moaned, and I needed no more urging, sliding between her supple thighs and taking hold of her behind her knees, holding her open for me as I slid forward. Shari took hold of me once again, aiming me as I pushed forward, sliding my engorged cock deep into her in one long, steady thrust.
"Ooooh God, yess, Bobby, yess, like that, yes, baby, like that!" she muttered as I took my weight on my knees and elbows, and as I began to slide back out of her again, she shuddered and twitched under me, her hips thrusting up to meet my thrusts, the two of us pumping at each other in perfect synchronisation. Shari pulled my head down to plant her lips on mine as her long legs folded themselves around me, locking around me and pulling me in ever deeper with every thrust. Our tongues fenced madly as we pumped against each other, the only sound that of our breathing and our bellies slapping together as we fucked so deliciously.
I could feel her excitement growing, igniting a frenzy in me, and I rammed myself into her as hard as I could, until
"Ooohhh God, Bobby, ooohh Bobby, oooh yess! Ooohh Yess! YESSS!" she shrieked, her pussy clamping down tight on me as her inner walls fluttered and rippled against me, squeezing me and setting off my own orgasm. My ears popped and my vision blurred as jet after jet of spunk poured out of me and into her, the feel of me ejaculating inside her sending her into ever more spasms as her orgasm rang and ricocheted around inside her. We peaked at that moment of complete stillness as we strained against each other, finally falling back, drained and exhausted, but utterly, completely satisfied.
As I lay next to her, gasping for breath, Shari suddenly rolled against me, draping her leg over mine, her lips meeting my neck, where she kissed me gently.
"My Bobby, and don't you forget it!" she whispered before falling back exhausted and on the verge of sleep. I was in no better shape, so I pulled the quilt up over our nakedness, spooned her warm body against me, and that was how Yaz found us several hours later; I knew it was Yaz, because when we eventually woke in the early evening, Shari's and my clothes had been neatly folded and stacked on one of the chairs, and a couple of extra pillows had been added to the pair Shari had snagged from upstairs.
*
The negotiations to purchase the house dragged on for almost a month, but eventually the absentee owner quit trying to horse-trade and settled on a price less than we'd been prepared to pay, but more than he thought he'd get, so everyone was happy, and we finally took possession of the property in mid-December.
By now, it was almost Christmas, something I'd never really paid attention to; our father had always ignored it, but I think Barbara had secretly given Nicky presents for Christmas; at least after it had come and gone he'd have a new pair of shoes, or a pair of jeans, or a new jacket; never anything for us, though, and certainly nothing from our father. I felt a surge of hot shame inside when I remembered how our father had always bought good quality clothes and shoes for us, and almost nothing for Nicky; he always seemed to be in shabby, threadbare clothes on the verge of falling apart, faded jeans covered in darns, and battered training shoes, and yet we'd even begrudged him the few nice things Barbara had given him.
When Shari learned that Christmas actually meant nothing to me she was outraged, actually disgusted that our father had denied me such a fundamental part of childhood, and so she and Yaz went on a mission: to bring Christmas to me and this house. She secretly bought a tree, and a whole bunch of lights and decorations, and then one night, while I was fast asleep, the two girls and Rick sneaked downstairs and decorated the parlour and the family room for Christmas. They put up the tree with all the lights, decorated it, then must have spent most of the night putting Christmas decorations all over the downstairs living rooms.
When I came down for breakfast I was amazed; I'd never seen a real family home decorated for Christmas, only in films and TV shows, and it felt like something I had never even realised was missing from my life had suddenly appeared, something important and essential; all that tinsel and glitter, the candy canes and snowmen, the tree, was just the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen; the house finally looked like a home; our family home. I didn't know what to say, I was literally speechless, and Shari's eyes were sparkling at my reaction.
"Do you like it, Bobby?" she asked shyly, and I grabbed her and Yaz and hugged them both.
"Thank you for Christmas, both of you, it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen!" I stammered, the last shreds of my old life falling away from me. We were still standing around admiring the tree when the doorbell rang. Yaz went to answer it and came back with a FedEx pouch. She tore it open, and inside was a folder with all the deeds to the house we'd just bought two doors away, and a big bunch of keys.
The debate started immediately; Shari wanted to wait until after we'd had breakfast, but Rick and Yaz wanted to just go and open the place up and have a quick look around to see if there were any glaring issues, and I had to admit I was curious as well, so we wrapped up warm and trudged down the road to have a nose through our new property.
After much fumbling, Rick managed to locate the correct keys for the huge old front door, and then we had to really lean on the door to open it. When we got it open we found out why. There was an absolute mountain of ancient and not so ancient mail, circulars, pizza flyers, and old newspapers piled up just behind the door, a very effective barricade. It was almost pitch black in there. Most of the downstairs windows were heavily shuttered, making the place a musty-smelling, lightless cavern; a quick check of the lights confirmed the electricity was off, so we decided to come back another time a little better prepared, and open the place up properly so we could get a good look at what we'd bought. Yaz grinned and grabbed an armful of the letters, saying that she might as well have a sort through to see if there were any with return addresses.
Once back home, while Shari and I busied ourselves making breakfast, Rick and Yaz quickly scanned though the pile of dry, fusty envelopes, piling all those with a return address to one side, joking and reading out the postmarks and dates. It was a few moments before I realised all had gone quiet. Shari and I looked over, and Yaz was holding Rick by the shoulders while he stared at the envelope in his hand.
"Ricky, what's wrong?" asked Shari, drying her hands and taking my hand.
"Bobby...look here...look at this...!" came his strained voice. I came forward and Rick handed me the envelope; it was addressed to me, it had obviously been mis-delivered, but I recognised the handwriting.
It was from Nicky.
I stared at it, shock and guilt warring in me all over again; this was from my missing brother, sent from somewhere called Albany, way back last summer.
"Who's it from baby?" asked Shari, and all I could do was mumble "Nicky...It's from...Nicky..."
I looked helplessly at Shari, who gently touched my cheek.
"Open it Bobby, it's a sign, it's what you were looking for. He took the time to write to you, aren't you curious what he had to say?"
I looked the envelope over; there was no return address, just that Albany postmark, and when I looked closely, I realised the stamp was a US postage stamp. This had come from America! I still didn't know where Albany was, but at least we knew one thing; he'd somehow made it home. Did he ever find his family? We knew he'd come back at least once; Barbara's new headstone told me that.
I wavered, not wanting to damage that flimsy envelope, my only link with him, so Yaz gently took it from me and carefully slit it along the top, pulling out a single sheet of notep
aper covered in dense handwriting. She looked at me, and I shrugged and nodded; he was her brother too, this concerned all of us now, why shouldn't she read it? She carefully flattened the paper, and began to read out loud.
"July 4th, 2012
"Robert and Richard,
I'm writing to you to request that you meet me in Carlisle at noon on November 9th this year, at Barbara's graveside; I chose the date deliberately, it's her birthday, and I wanted to see her on her own special day, as I have some things I need to say to her, and perhaps you might too, although I realise this might be me being more optimistic than realistic. I really don't want any confrontations, or recriminations, or blame-games; my wife and baby daughter will be there with me and they don't need to see that side of our family, and it's too late for that anyway."
All I ask is that you join me to greet my mum and yours on her birthday; that's right, she was your mother, even though she was never allowed to tell you that. Instead she had to watch as you turned away from her and removed her from your lives, although that wasn't your fault. She never blamed you for that; she knew you didn't know any better. Maybe now we can together offer her an apology for not being there when she needed us most, and to promise her we'll try and do better by the people in our lives than she ever got from the people in hers.
"I have waited for far too long already to come and see her; I left her behind, and it will always tear at my heart that I didn't do enough to save her. I know and freely accept I bear a heavy portion of the guilt for her death; if I had only pulled her onto the train with me that night, who knows, maybe she would still be alive today, and that is the burden of guilt I can never put down, that I didn't try hard enough to save her, that I left her to die alone. All the contrition in this world won't absolve me of my part in her death; I know this; I feel it every day of my life. Her blood may not flow in my veins, but it's on my hands, and I can never wash it away, nor should I.
