Sutherland

by Karen Trailor Thomas

  He looked around the shrubbery enclave and unzipped his jeans. A skinny pink penis sprang forward, tip glistening. As he began to devour the offered breast, Jennalee wrapped a hand around his organ and watched a thick stream shoot forward. The boy groaned and shuddered while still sucking one breast and kneading the other. Jennalee kept the member in hand, stroking now, and soon hips were thrusting with her effort. “Let me stick it in you,” he rasped as he momentarily relented from her nipple. “Let me fuck you.”

  “But you already did. You fucked the air.”

  “I can do it again.”

  “Because you practice so much, right? Jerking off in the bathroom with the door locked. I can see it now. How many times? Two? Three?”

  “Uh, three sometimes.”

  “Sorry, four minimum. If I can’t come at least four times, there’s no point starting, and you’re pretty much used up now.” She hadn’t let go of him and he began to get hard again. “Is that your dad?” Jennalee asked, peering through the bushes as she almost absently stroked the stiffening penis. A trim, dark-haired man dressed all in white was approaching.

  “Where?” asked Kendall

  “There. Shhh, he’s right there. See.” She pulled penis and boy toward the outer shrubs just as he let go another stream that sprayed an oleander’s pink flowers.

  Jennalee had a hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter while the other squeezed every drop from Kendall Sutherland, whose organ shrank in her hand as the intruder moved on. “That wasn’t my dad,” Kendall said.

  Jennalee shrugged. “Sutherlands all look alike to me.” She dropped the deflated penis, but Kendall made no move toward closure, hands at his sides.

  “You can put it away,” Jennalee said. “Poor little thing looks tired. And empty.”

  Kendall didn’t appear wounded. She decided her attentions had emboldened him and also that he was cute, almost handsome, in his newfound courage. She could see transformation taking place that very moment, a creation in progress, and enjoyed a certain pride when he told her, “I still want to fuck you.”

  “Do you? Well, that might be arranged. You supply the condom, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “So maybe later then or tomorrow,” she said. “We’ve got all weekend, but you have to be ready. I also need a full load, not some leftover, and I need it more than once.”

  Kendall’s face had frozen with disbelief, but his penis stirred and Jennalee smiled at her power. She considered continuing her narrative to see if she could talk an ejaculation out of him, but kneeled instead and took the still-soft organ into her mouth.

  She guided him as she had the Malvern boys, teasing and licking, then closing and slowly drawing back, repeating it all until the organ was hard and thrusting. When shudders announced an impending arrival, she pulled back and let the fresh but diminished stream spurt past while the boy grabbed himself to coax the last drop.

  “Enough,” Jennalee declared. “I’ve got stuff to do.” She left him there, exposed, and hurried up the path toward the main building.

  She didn’t go inside, however, because a commotion was taking place out front. She skirted the edge and slipped onto the porch to watch as an elderly man with a large wet spot across the front of his pants was pulled from a white Lincoln Town Car into a waiting wheelchair. He was protesting loudly, his objections overrun by an even louder sixtyish man. “It smells like a goddamn piss pool, Dad,” the man groaned. “The car is ruined. We’ll never get the smell out.”

  “Who cares?” snapped the old man. “It’s a rental.”

  “But we’ve got the whole weekend and now, thanks to you, we get it urine-scented.”

  “You think I did it on purpose?”

  “You could have waited. You have some control, I know you do. The doctor said—”

  “I didn’t pee on you!”

  “You might as well have.”

  They were onto the porch now and the old man caught sight of Jennalee and smiled. “Young lady,” he said as he was pushed past. She had time only to nod a response.

  Behind this ongoing battle came cars with what appeared the rest of an extended family: a blond older woman looking quite tired, a thirtyish couple with two young sons, and another thirtyish couple who’d gotten out of a black Corvette and who, Jennalee decided, were two of the most handsome men she’d ever seen. Both wore white shorts, one a white muscle shirt, the other a yellow tee, both bodies buffed to tanned perfection. Eager for details, Jennalee slipped inside the lobby.

  “How dare you hang up on me!” Jane Preece’s anger was powerful yet contained as she glared at her daughter while the lobby filled with what appeared to be a second influx of Sutherlands.

  “Sorry,” was all Jennalee offered before asking, “Are they all Sutherlands?”

  “Southerlands with an O,” Jane snapped, “from Seattle and San Francisco.”

  When Jennalee began to ease away, her mother issued an edict. “You are not to disappear again, do you understand? I want you here to help. We’ve got lots to do and then there’s the dinner.”

  Jennalee nodded. “I’ll go help Dad,” she said, and she hurried to stand behind her father as he checked in the string of Southerlands.

  The old man did smell like a piss pool, Jennalee decided, reeking off to the side while the sixtyish one registered as Vaughn Southerland. “This is my wife, Anita,” he said to Gerald, adding as he pointedly turned, “and my father, Haskel. We’ve got a two-bedroom suite, I believe.”

  “Yes.” Gerald was trying to search for the offending odor, finally noticing Jennalee’s exaggerated glances at the old man’s lap.

  Behind Vaughn Southerland and family stood the two handsome men. Jennalee grew impatient as Vaughn Southerland lingered to question Gerald on aspects of life at the inn. “No, we don’t have room service,” Gerald was saying. “I don’t believe the Burketts had it either.”

  “I thought there might be some improvements.”

  Gerald peered over his glasses. “Actually, we’re trying to preserve the simplicity of the place. We consider that one of its more attractive features.”

  “And what’s your name?” Haskel Southerland asked Jennalee.

  “Lee Preece.”

  “Pretty young thing. How old are you?”

  “Dad, that’s enough.” Vaughn Southerland didn’t turn toward his father as he spoke. He kept his eyes on Gerald.

  “Eighteen,” Jennalee said.

  “Eighteen,” the old man squealed. “Hear that, son?”

  “Dad, please.” Vaughn pushed his American Express card back into his wallet and slapped the leather fold shut.

  “Just the way you like ‘em,” Haskel continued, rattling his wheelchair. “Better watch out, little girl, especially if he says he’s got a one-eyed worm—”

  “Dad! That’s enough!” Vaughn whirled the chair and pushed his father away, Anita Southerland running along behind.

  “Your key card, Mr. Southerland,” Gerald called.

  Jennalee grabbed it and sprinted after the fleeing family. “Room number one,” she said to Anita, who’d stopped and turned. “Down at the end.”

  The woman, who appeared to have once been beautiful, offered a weak nod as she took the card.

  “It’s okay,” Jennalee said and she hurried back to the desk where the two gorgeous hunks were registering as Troy and Carl Southerland from San Francisco.

  “Room twelve,” Gerald said. “It’s in Building Two right behind this one.”

  “I can show you,” Jennalee sang and Troy Southerland nodded. By the time she led them away, the other thirtyish couple was signing in, Wayne and Sharon with their two sons from Seattle.

  “Do the Southerlands always arrive together like this?” Jennalee asked Troy as she led the way as slowly as possible. His dark eyes were in such striking contrast to his short, bleached hair that she had to make a decided effort not to put her hand on him.

  “Actually, it’s my father’s decree,” Troy s
aid. “We can arrive anytime as long as it’s not with the masses.”

  “You mean the Sutherlands with a U?”

  “Right. We O’s must maintain our distance. The U’s are such an unruly bunch.”

  At the room, Jennalee went inside to pull back drapes and spin about, pointing out obvious features while displaying as much of herself as possible. She noted the tiled shower-tub combination, the air conditioner, and cable TV while managing to discreetly observe a promising bulge beneath Carl’s tight shorts, as well as a small butterfly tattoo on his right shoulder.

  “So, will you guys be at the dinner tonight?” she asked when she’d run out of things to do and handed over the key card.

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” Troy said.

  Jennalee detected faint sarcasm. “I’ll be there, too,” she offered and when Troy Southerland simply smiled, she added, “So maybe I’ll see you.” She then retreated.

  Outside she stopped to consider having sex with them, with both at the same time maybe, and when she finally headed back to the lobby, images of a flesh-filled triangle filled her mind enough to make her miss Wesley’s quick nod as he passed.

  When she reached the lobby, she found Noel Sutherland arguing with her father. “Then move somebody!” he demanded. “I’m not having my family next door to that motorcycle gang a minute longer. Have you seen what they’re doing? Tearing the things apart right outside the front door, grease and oil everywhere, and they take the things inside, do you know that? Roll them right into the rooms.”

  Gerald, already losing color, blanched at this last. “I’m sorry about that,” he managed. “I’ll speak to Mr. Laidlaw, but I really can’t ask anyone to move because then I’d have to put them in those rooms and then they’d have the same problem.”

  “Better them than me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t you have any other rooms? Isn’t there some staff you can move?”

  “I’m afraid not. Everything is fully occupied. All I can suggest is talking to some of the other families and working out a trade on your own.”

  “I don’t see how you can allow people like that,” Noel said, turning to march across the lobby while Sutherlands averted their collective gaze.

  Chapter 7

  “I told you yesterday, Dad, but you don’t listen.”

  “Told me what?”

  Jennalee huffed. “About the bikes in the rooms. I saw them do it.”

  “Why on earth would they want them inside?” Gerald asked.

  “To keep them from getting stolen.”

  “Who’s going to steal them? One of the Sutherlands?”

  Jane Preece had unstuck herself from a Sutherland woman and came over to the desk. “What was all that about?” she asked.

  “Noel Sutherland doesn’t want the Laidlaws for neighbors,” Gerald explained. “He says they’re making a mess out front and taking the motorcycles into the rooms.”

  “Into the rooms?”

  “Yeah,” Jennalee chimed. “Isn’t it a hoot?”

  “That’s why they asked for ground floor rooms,” Jane decided. “Unbelievable.” When Gerald didn’t comment, she added, “So what are we going to do?”

  “I told Sutherland we can’t move him,” Gerald said. “He wasn’t too happy.”

  “We’ll have to speak to the Laidlaws,” Jane noted. “They can’t keep motorcycles inside.”

  Gerald blew a slow, exaggerated exhale which Jane recognized as a negative.

  “We have to,” she said. “They’ll stain the carpet.” She paused a moment, then added, “Do you think they did this to Ralph and Dorothy?”

  “God knows. I don’t see how they can even be part of this reunion. The Sutherlands are all so civilized and then you get this bunch. Sutherland also says they’re taking the things apart out front.”

  Jane sighed. “Well, we can’t have that either. I’ll watch the desk, you go speak to them.”

  “Actually, I’m in the middle of something here.” Gerald eased down into his chair and turned to his computer screen. “Sutherland interrupted me and I need to get these figures in.”

  Jane leaned across the counter to study her husband. “You’d rather I talk to them?”

  “Would you?”

  “I’ll go with you,” Jennalee offered. “They’re really not so bad.”

  Jane nodded. “We’ll be back.” And she left Gerald Preece to his keying and profound sense of relief.

  * * * *

  “They’re really not bad people,” Jennalee told her mother as they walked the winding path toward Building Eight.

  “You said that.”

  “I wasn’t sure you heard me and you shouldn’t think bad of them just because they’re bikers. I mean, that’s not a crime, is it? Just because Dad can’t relate and just because they make a little noise? I think they’re cool.”

  “Motorcycles in the rooms are not cool.”

  “Okay, but don’t come down on them like really hard.”

  “Why are you so protective of these people?” Jane asked.

  “I’m not. I just don’t want them to think we’re snobs. They’re just…earthy, you know? Basic, laid back. Real.”

  “Real.”

  “You know what I mean. Nothing phony. What you see is what you get.”

  ‘I’ll remember that.”

  When they reached Building Eight, there were no motorcycles out front, and the only evidence there had been was a small oil spot on the concrete walkway. “It’s hardly anything,” Jennalee said as Jane turned toward room fifty-three.

  “You want fifty-two,” Jennalee said.

  “Oh?”

  “Their sons are in fifty-three.”

  Jane nodded and knocked on fifty-two.

  Lizann Laidlaw opened the door no more than two inches. “Yes?” she said.

  “Mrs. Laidlaw, I’m Jane Preece, the owner, and I’m afraid we’ve had a complaint about the motorcycles. I need to speak with you about it.”

  “Can you give me a second?” Lizann asked. “I just got out of the shower.” She shut the door, leaving Jane and Jennalee adrift on the tiny porch.

  “How well have you gotten to know these people?” Jane asked her daughter. Jennalee was working a hangnail with her teeth and kept at it until her mother prodded. “How well?”

  “Just the boys, Harley and his violin and Garth and…”

  “You haven’t spoken to the parents?”

  “A little, you know, hello and stuff. They seem nice. Dad makes them out to be some kind of creatures, but they’re just regular people who happen to ride bikes.”

  The door opened and Lizann stepped out swathed in a pink terrycloth robe. She closed the door behind her. “Sorry about the wait. A shower is the only way to cool off. Now, what’s the problem?”

  While Jane explained things to Lizann, Jennalee studied the woman, adding up all Harley had told her about his mother plus the fact that she had, with Earl Laidlaw’s help, produced two striking young men. As Lizann told Jane about the unforeseen need for motorcycle repairs and lack of nearby garage facilities, Jennalee searched for the pianist within the woman, picturing her at the keyboard, a younger, thinner version throwing it all away for love. She began to listen to the conversation only when it got to the motorcycles in the rooms.

  “I understand your desire for safety,” Jane was saying, “but I can assure you, we’ve never had any theft problems here. The grounds are quite secure, and I think if the motorcycles are locked, they’ll be fine parked out front or around to the side of the building. We really can’t have them inside.”

  “Of course,” Lizann said.

  Jane, momentarily taken aback by lack of any argument, went silent and Jennalee piped in. “Are they in there now?”

  “No. The men took them to town for a bit.”

  “Then you’ll keep the motorcycles outside from now on,” Jane said.

  “Of course,” Lizann replied, “and I’m sorry if we created a problem.”
/>   “Well, as long as we’ve cleared it up, then we’re fine.”

  Lizann turned to Jennalee. “Harley mentioned you’re a pianist.”

  “Yes. He’s…um…he’s really something on his violin.”

  “We’re very proud of him.”

  “He said you play.”

  Lizann smiled. “If he told you that, he also probably told you why I stopped.”

  Her eyes, that same riveting blue as Harley’s, carried a look that unsettled something inside Jennalee, as if she’d been found doing things with Garth. “Yes, he did.”

  Lizann offered nothing more, and when silence on the little porch was well established, she excused herself and went back inside. Jennalee found her mother staring at her. “How involved are you with these people?”

  “You keep saying these people like they’re from a foreign country or something.”

  “I asked you a question.” They were off the porch now, moving along the winding path, Jane walking too slowly to suit Jennalee who pranced ahead, then turned and walked backward as she spoke. “I went for a ride with Garth and I listened to Harley play his violin.”

  “You have to admit,” Jane said, “they’re not your average family.”

  “And we are?”

  Jane gave it a moment, then responded in the affirmative, which Jennalee immediately challenged. “We are totally boring, Mother, stuck out here doing nothing, going nowhere.”

  “I’m sorry you see it that way.”

  Jennalee spun around and fell in beside her mother. “It’s not that we’re so bad,” she explained. “They’re just…I don’t know…colorful, I guess. They’ve got stuff going on, they do their own thing and never mind the snooty Sutherlands. They’re what life is really about.”

  “Motorcycles and punk haircuts.”

  “There’s more to them than that. You’re looking at the surface, just like everybody does.”

  “It’s not easy to get past.”

  “Try, Mother, please.”

  At Building Six, Jane and Jennalee encountered an older Sutherland man pounding on the ice machine. Sunburned from bald head to bare feet and clad only in a royal blue Speedo straining below a thickset torso, he flailed and swore until Jane intervened. “Goddamn piece of crap!” he shouted, pushing an empty ice bucket at her. “Is it too much to ask for ice in this heat?”