by JJ Giles
“Does Uncle Alex know?”
He shrugged, shaking his head. “You know, that’s something I can’t figure out. Why in the hell would Alex, who is the gayest of them all, be screwing her?”
“Do you know for a fact he’s Alex’s?”
“Brian was about three when I had a paternity test done. Brian and I match perfectly. And since I didn’t lay down with the woman until after Brian was born, I know for a fact that Alex is his father.”
“Because you two are identical twins,” she said. She rose and plopped onto the sofa. “Wow.”
“Why the hell would Alex lay down with a prostitute?” he asked.
“Maybe it was just a one shot deal to see what women are all about.”
“Maybe. But even that doesn’t seem right, does it? And now I have to tell not only Brian, but Alex has to know also. He’ll never speak to me again. There’s no way in the world to put this right with Alex.”
That was very true. “I’m sorry,” she said sadly. “I’m very sorry about that. But the truth is you’re getting out from under a very hard life here. You’ve gotta be a little happy about that.”
“The truth is I’m quite frightened about the sacrifice I’ll have to make for it. What your mother has planned could bring down the world on me.”
“What’s she got on you, Dad?”
“Oh...I’m a wife-beater...all the prostitutes, my children aren’t mine...”
“Blasé,” she whispered. “Yeah, it’ll stir up some shit for a few days and then it’s over. It would be more interesting if you were a transgendered rapist.”
For a moment, he stared. And then he burst into laughter.
“Fuck her,” she said snidely of her mother. “You can come here and live with me in paradise. And uhh...I think you got something to bring with you.”
“Morgan,” he said with a smile. “One hell of a woman. She’s an incredible woman. Every time I’ve seen her she’s wearing a diamond ring...the center stone is about eight carats. For some reason she took it off to come down here.”
Cherry huffed. “An engagement ring? And then takes it off to be with one of her clients in the Carribe for a weekend. It’s a decoy,” Cherry assessed. “It gets those guys she doesn’t want to be bothered with off her back.”
“You think?”
Cherry grinned. “Yeah. I wouldn’t mind having her as my step-mommy.”
“Honey, I don’t know how much serious attraction she has toward women although she’s done your mom up a few times.”
“MOM? Oh, shit, I think I’ve been away from home too long. Sounds like you guys are having more fun than I am.”
Affectionately, he smiled at his daughter.
“Dad, I love you,” she whispered sincerely. “Maybe you didn’t have to do the McNasty thing with her to get me, but you raised me, you’ve never treated me like anything other than your own, and I love you.”
A rush of tears again flushed through his eyes. Quickly, she jumped into his lap to hold him close. “Lord, I’ve never seen you cry before.” Once again, she spilled over with it herself.
“It’s been going on a lot lately.”
“It’s alright, Dad. Really,” she said whimpering on his shoulder.
“It feels like my condition is terminal. Like my life is about over,” he admitted.
“Get use to it, because your life as you know it, is. So maybe just think of this as labor pains. You’re about to be reborn.”
How profound, he thought. That if he would just lay down and accept what was happening around him rather than fight it, this might vanish and another life would emerge. “I will,” he whispered. “Thank you...I will.”
“So...you’re not under any obligation to answer this question and you may not know the answer...so...”
“Who’s your real dad?”
“No,” she said quickly. “Who was the sperm donor for this little bundle of joy?”
Easily, he laughed. If nothing else she entertained him, yet it was obvious that she loved him. “Neil Cochran, honey.”
“Oh, puke.” She launched off his lap and thrust into the room. Veritably gagging, she gasped, “Ohhh... I know you’re trying to be cute, but really...who?”
“You know him?”
“He was here a couple of months ago with his pretty little Japanese wife and three young kids. He kept staring at me and looking at me like...”
“Like you’re his daughter?”
“Oh gross, Dad. He has to be the nerdiest thing that ever came down the pike. And my mother’s laying down with people like him?”
“I’m not telling you this so you can get down on your mother,” he warned. “But that is where your intelligence comes from.”
“But we are gonna keep this between you and me,” she demanded. “He doesn’t have to know that I know, does he?”
Filled with gratitude for that, Jerry said, “No, baby. Just you and me.”
“Thank you,” she sniffed. “So...let’s call your therapist because I’m in the mood for a little therapy.”
“You won’t be disappointed if she turns you down?”
“Ohhh.” With the back of her hand against her forehead, she appeared as if she might faint. “I’ll cry my eyes out. And then I’ll have to go home.”
“Your squeeze isn’t working out, huh?”
Cherry snarled. “Call Morgan, Dad.”
Quickly, he picked up the phone and dialed her cell. It was answered with, “Morgan McFaye.”
“She loves me,” he whispered.
“Jerry, I’m so happy for you. But you’re so easy to love.”
It made his heart leap. No one had ever said that to him. To thank her for giving him this time with Cherry, he whispered, “Whenever you’re ready, Morgan.”
She hesitated. That could have meant anything.
But Cherry stood literally dancing as if she had to pee. Quickly, she grabbed the phone from her father’s hand. “Morgan, darling, I was hoping you and Dad could join me for dinner.”
“I’d like that,” Morgan said warmly.
“Wonderful. There’s a wedding going down at five. Let’s say...oceanside...about seven thirty. And Morgan, we do things very casual around here. The less you wear the better.”
Certain now that Cherry was interested, she whispered, “Okay. I’ll see you then.”
Quickly, Jerry grabbed the phone and glared at Cherry a little. “Morgan, take your time. I’m gonna go lay down a little bit.”
“I will. Do you need anything?”
“No, baby,” he whispered. Just you, he wanted to say. “Just remember to put everything on my tab.”
With a broad grin, Cherry said, “I think you’re in love.”
“I’ve never been in love,” he whispered.
“Not recently anyway,” she reminded.
“That was a long time ago, baby.”
“It’s gonna work out, Dad,” she assured him.
Maybe so, he thought. And because it couldn’t be the love of his life, just maybe it could be Morgan.
* * * *
The whip in Brian’s hand thrust out over the weather deck and contacted a sweet little ass he hadn’t realized he missed. Maybe it wasn’t that ass he missed so much as this. The whip. The sound of its break against skin. The vibration the length of it back to his hand. He watched that flesh shiver in the overcast light and tried to imagine it to be Morgan.
Ah, but Morgan would never lay down for this, would she? Morgan would be horrified at the thought of it. How many times had he wanted to bind her in leather and chains, place a bit in her mouth and make her watch him with some woman just to see that lovely flush of jealousy fill her cheeks. Morgan would never lay down for this, and he thrust out a little harder to hear a scream.
* * * *
Simply delighted that it worked out so well for Jerry, Morgan returned to his suite, her hands full of packages and bags. She never realized how cathartic spending money to pamper herself was.
The suite seemed empty, or maybe he was just resting. She went to her room to spread the purchases upon the bed. A cream bikini and matching sarong. A black bikini and matching sarong. A one piece, French cut, black lycra that completely covered her chest, banded around her throat and plunged to the crack of her ass in back. And matching sarong.
How long had it been since she felt the heated desire of a woman trained on her? Ten years since she let herself feel it. And what would be easiest to wiggle out of? The bikini, obviously, but that would be begging for it.
All morning she had wondered what that would say about her professionalism. Playing with her client’s daughter. But it had been a long time. And the truth was, Kitty was pretty, but Kitty wasn’t aggressive at all. Since she couldn’t stand the sight of Brian with other women, she had foregone that pleasure herself. Selfish, stupid bitch, she thought of herself.
“Would you like my opinion?” she heard from behind her.
Quickly, she spun to see him propped in the doorway, watching and smiling, feeling her face flush with the embarrassment of being found like this.
“Your opinion?”
“Black, darling. I like my Mistresses in black.”
Amused, she smiled. “Your Mistress is supposed to make the decisions. And your Mistress does what feels good for her.”
Refusing to hang his head in shame, he whispered, “Forgive me. But if you’re as turned on as much as she is, the black bikini will work out best.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Take it easy, honey. It’s every man’s fantasy. You should know that by now.”
Huffy, she fell to the bed. “This is highly irregular, you know. That I’m even here with you, much less contemplating your daughter.”
“If the review board should ask about it, I’ll just...lie.”
“No, really,” she said. “It’s my job to keep you on track. Not jump over the deep end with you.”
“No, really,” he said surely. “I’m not a psych patient impotent in the presence of women. I’m waiting patiently for you to learn to trust me so you can make my distorted, startling and vivid fantasies come true.”
“Right,” she whispered softly. Those very fantasies that she had luxuriated in. But what if I fall in love with you? she wondered. “So if I fall over the deep end with your daughter tonight...?”
“I’ll lay alone in my bed with my dick in my hand...if you permit...and dream up another fantasy...that I can at least watch.”
Trying to resist a smile, she rose and moved closer. “And you’re saving it for me because I demand it of you?”
His expression darkened a little. “I can’t think of a whole hell of a lot I wouldn’t sacrifice for you.”
The sureness in his tone frightened her. It wasn’t long ago Brian mentioned sacrifice. But the way Jerry peered into her, as if he could read her, knew her somehow, frightened her suddenly and she backed away.
He felt her reticence like a brick wall. To disarm it, he offered, “Let’s go get one of those ridiculous drinks with ten names in it, walk through the surf and kill some time before dinner.”
“Good.” A slow grin spread into a smile. “In that case, your Mistress gives you her permission to dress her.” She threw the black lycra suit in his face.
His hand clutched at the suit and held it over his face a moment as the penis lurched uncontrollably to life. Only slowly, he let it fall and he peered over it see her staring haughtily, the particular tilt to her furrowed eyebrows feeling like absolution. Quickly, he descended to his knees, let his hands dust over her trousers and settle gently on the buckle of the belt. Only a moment more and the zipper was down, the soft cream thong staring back at him.
As if he opened the reliquary on the altar, his fingers threaded under the thong and gently tugged it down. The scent was fresh, full of musk, a perfume so natural it beckoned him near.
What he could get away with he didn’t know, but he drew closer still, rubbed his cheek over the flaming amber of her mound. It wasn’t a decision, only a reaction and he turned his head and drove his tongue between those moist lips. No reaction in her was evident, not the slightest flinch to remove him or compel him to continue. Of its own accord, his tongue drove deeper still, in desperation for what tasted like ambrosia, deeper still until he felt that tiny bit of hardness aching for him as he was for her.
A sense of absolution he’d never before felt was bestowed in the feel of her fingers as they threaded through his hair. His body folded, the better to get lower as her fingernails dug into his scalp. Her fingers tightened, drawing him ever nearer, and then a miracle occurred. She lifted her leg, her foot to rest on the edge of the bed and she opened herself for his pleasure.
The ringing in his ears might have been the Alleluia, the moist soft satin on his tongue the life-giving sustenance of Holy Water. He curled tighter still, his head thrown back even further so that his nose could nuzzle her clit as his tongue found that mystery he desired the moment he looked upon her.
The torment of her nails drove him deeper. They followed the curve of his shoulder down his arm. They pinched together on a few hairs and then they tapped at him. Instinctively, he raised his hand into hers. A woman filled with nothing but compassion for the misery in Man directed that hand toward the heat he luxuriated in.
“One finger,” she said softly.
Ahhh...a most gracious God in the Universe. But she didn’t say which finger or where.
Without hesitation, he slowly stroked that satin, moist with his affections. More slowly, it slid into her. But that’s not what he wanted, rarely what he wanted. What he wanted, would endure hellfire for beckoned him. What he wanted was apparently available as his finger nudged at the tightness behind her, and that finger breached the muscle.
Her reaction was physical as her abdomen tightened a little. There was no rejection in it, rather a welcoming of pleasure. Painfully, slowly he entered further, the softness inside warmer than he thought any woman would be. She liked it that way, quite obviously enjoyed it because one hand stroked harder at his head while the other pushed his face away that she might stroke herself.
Still on his knees, he laid against the tight musculature of her abdomen, his finger embedded in her body as far as the length of it would allow. He could feel her energy rise, the tension collect. His remaining fingers clasped the flesh of her bottom to hold her tightly, to be with her for this. He hadn’t known that women like her exist and the luxury of her generosity to share herself was overwhelming.
Only the change of her breathing belied her pleasure, only the violent contractions deep inside. She barely moved other than to let her head fall back, and still supported him even as a trickle of Holy Water puddled in his hand and dripped down his arm. Even as her nails dug deeper into his scalp forcing him against her.
Only when her weight shifted on her hips did he ever so slowly and respectfully remove himself from her. Tender kisses he left shimmering on her mound. So much more he wanted, in a hell of desperation, yet she replaced her foot to the floor. When he dared peer up at her, she was watching intently, a hint of her smile on her perfectly painted lips.
“Go wash your face,” she said sternly.
He wanted to laugh, could only grin. Wicked fucking women, he thought, this almost unbearable to endure. But endure it he would, await only the moment she would surrender to him that she would become his. Slowly, he rose as he licked her essence from his lips and stood over her now.
What he would give to throw her on the bed now and ravish her! But he could only grin, contain himself as she expected, save himself for that moment in time.
“My precious..Lady Morgan,” he whispered, staring deep into her vivid green eyes sparkling like stars in the night skies. He bowed a little and then left her.
She fell on the bed with the shimmering contractions of orgasm, wholly undone. “Shit,” she whispered. Angrily, she kicked her clothes away. He’s drop-dead gorgeous, virile, passionate, experienced, self
-contained and wealthy. “Fuck.” She stepped into the suit and pulled it up only to rip off the blouse and bra. Quickly, she closed it behind her neck and went to the mirror to do something distractingly feminine with her hair.
Why Brian? She studied the sullen reflection in the mirror a moment. Why, baby, did you have to leave me? Why is he making it so easy to replace you!
She touched up her make-up and tied the sarong loosely around her hips. Rather than dwell on what quite possibly was past, she opened the door to see him standing there, awaiting only her. His gaze fixated by a starkness she hadn’t seen in him as his vision traveled the length of her body.
Silently she questioned him with a seductive arch of her brows.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered reverently. “You remind me of someone I once knew.” And then he shook his head as if to clear cobwebs. “Rather, someone I invented and she lives with me still.”
“Ah, imaginary friends,” she whispered. “I have a few of those myself.”
Easily, he laughed. Never in his life had he laughed or cried so much since Morgan kicked down his door. Rather than fear the moment she would depart from his life, he held out his hand for hers to live in the moment.
* * * *
It was an intimate table set apart from the crowd, partially concealed by vining leafy things and wisps of ferns hanging overhead from an arbor. Torchlight flickered in the insistent but soft breeze. The table linens fluttering over her legs soothed her.
Cherry lit a cigarette and sat back in the cushioned chair. “So...Morgan, how does one decide on the career of a sex therapist?”
It seemed sincere. Nothing at all elevated in the tone. That was the curious thing in this encounter today. No one treated her like the trash from the trailer park or a lowly prostitute.
“It’s a rather convoluted story of chance,” Morgan said. “I, uhh...my dad died when I was six, my mom when I was sixteen. I didn’t really have a chance to go to college, but the parish priest who took care of me got me hooked up with a psychologist in the parish. I think I was about twenty-two. I started out as a surrogate. I took some classes in abnormal psychology and then went to California for awhile to train.”
