The Butterfly Effect

by D. F. Roberts

  She turned with a pose. Her head cocked slightly, one leg in front of the other, a curvy long thigh and the rest of her leg slipped into view. The pearls looked nice, but their beauty didn't approach the perfection of the woman. I told her my thoughts, and she kissed me, a sisterly kiss this time. My earlier comments had not fallen on deaf ears. Maybe the few days wouldn't be difficult, but they would certainly be interesting.

  "Has Jill arrived?” I asked.

  "Yes, she's changing now."

  "Is this evening one of your games?"

  "Sir, I'm sure I don't know what you mean,” she said and her eyes fluttered coquettishly.

  I laughed. “I've been a pawn in a few of your games before. You plan, set up a scenario, and then sit back, chuckling to yourself, and watch the plots unfold."

  She chuckled as predicted. “Does that make me a bad person?"

  I laughed again. “No, but you are manipulative. I'll probably see this scenario in one of your novels someday."

  "Probably, but why manipulative?"

  "I'll use the analogy of a chess board to explain. You set up the pieces, place them on the board so any move by anyone will be dynamic and affect the move of anyone else on the board. And you nudge the pieces, set up more and more possible outcomes with each nudge. You invited me knowing Jill would be here this evening. If I didn't know you better, I'd accuse you of matchmaking, but your writer's mind is more devious. The game is more complex than a simple boy-meets-girl-again scene. You have information I don't have. You probably know things Jill doesn't know. Curiously, I don't believe you know what will happen. The players in your game are like characters in your novels, but characters that have come alive. You sit on the board immobile and invincible as the queen, watching the game unfold like a voyeur but still nudging and moving the pieces because no one but you can see the entire board. That's manipulative, Ruth."

  She chuckled. “It's the way I flutter my wings, Martin. You use the butterfly effect in your avocation. I use it to create scenes with live players to test reaction to various situations. The results give me information I need for plotting and characterization in my books."

  "What I still don't know is how you want me to play the game."

  "That's my point, Bro. Play it your way, any way you wish,” she said with her knowing smile. Sometimes my sister's smiles could be irritating.

  Difficult had become nearly impossible. Interesting had become intriguing.

  The maitre d’ cleared his throat.

  "That means Christie is at the top of the stairs. She's planned an entrance, Martin. Let's not disappoint her."

  We stepped to the entryway and gazed up the curving staircase.

  Ruth's talent for posing had been passed on to her daughter, but Christie had improved the genetic gift. She wore a full-length, black gown that glittered mischievously, like her eyes. The gown was sexy without trying too hard—neither a gown for a little girl nor a woman. The designer had captured Christie's essence—a part-girl-part-woman vision. Spaghetti straps rose from a square bodice, which swooped into her narrow waist. The gown didn't mold her body, but draped it, enhancing her form without being blatant. She moved gracefully down the stairs like a woman, not a girl, but at the landing, couldn't resist a girlish pirouette. Her back was bare to her waist, where the gown bunched and fell away from her body. The gown shimmered, her eyes sparkled, and her skin glowed.

  "Perfection!” I exclaimed. “Except for the necklace you're wearing."

  Her face fell, so I hurriedly removed another jewelry box. The pearl choker would improve her look.

  She gasped. “Oh, yes! The pearls will be perfect, Uncle M.” She performed another graceful pirouette, and I removed the necklace she wore and fastened the clasp on the choker. She started to run to the round mirror over the long, low table against the wall, but slowed purposefully, and moved with grace. I believe I preferred the girlish joy of her run. Her mother joined her at the mirror and they both admired my gifts. Christie's thank-you kisses were appropriate. I loved her little-girl kisses.

  I noticed Ruth looking toward the stairs. I turned and my eyes made me happy.

  Jill Henderson stood at the top of the stairs and she took my breath away. She didn't appear as the freckled-faced beauty of fourteen in my memory. Now, my lover from the past was all woman and gorgeous! Long, softly curling auburn hair tumbled halfway down her back. No freckles, not one. Her sultry, dark-green eyes, and her long model-slim and sensuous body elevated my libido. Her floor-length gown shimmered, a metallic fabric in green. The bodice plunged to her waist and was transparent over her breasts. I could see them clearly, model-perky in green gauze. They bounced delightfully as she moved. The gown didn't mold her lithe form but allowed her undulating curves and indentations to shine through. She stepped regally down the stairs.

  "Dr. Martin Crowe, you're more handsome than I remembered,” Jill said and moved next to me. The touch of her body to mine felt both familiar and alien. Jill's regal demand for my attention received its due. My toes curled and my cock stiffened. The damned thing does its own thinking. She raised her arms until her elbows reached my shoulders and her fingers slowly moved into and through my hair. She gazed into my eyes with her sultry look and moved her lips hesitatingly toward mine, backing away once until finally our lips met, and we tasted. She moved still closer to me and I could feel the sharp points of her nipples through her clothing and mine—though hers hardly impeded the touch. Her cunt mound found my erection, and she moaned into my mouth as she rubbed herself against me. When our lips separated, she didn't move back, instead somehow moved closer and looked into my eyes.

  "It is so nice to see you again after so long a time, Martin,” she said with her sultry voice.

  I leaned forward and whispered, “It's even nicer to hold you in my arms, Jill."

  "Yes, it is.” She kissed me again, explored my mouth with her tongue, my erection with her cunt mound, and my chest with her nipples.

  When Jill released me from her embrace, the look in her sultry eyes informed me we could probably be lovers again. I glanced at Ruth. She wore a knowing smile and gave me no clues. She did bite her lip, briefly. I didn't know what that meant.

  The evening would be difficult and interesting. My balls already ached.

  Antoine's dinner was a feast. It started with Huttres Nature, or raw oysters, with a second appetizer of Crevettes Cardinal, shrimp in a reddish mariniere sauce that was spicy and delicious. Potage Tortue au Sherry, or turtle soup with sherry, followed the appetizers, and I could have stopped eating then and been happy. Longouste Grilles, grilled rock lobster was served as the main course and was accompanied with Antoine's famous Pommes de Terre Soufflees, puffed potatoes. Asparagus with butter was the other vegetable. Fraise au Kirsh, strawberries with kirsh, capped the meal as the dessert. Tasty! Wine and conversation flowed.

  I noticed Jill ate heartily, and asked how she maintained her lithe figure.

  "I don't usually eat like this, but when I attend one of Ruth's infamous dinner parties I always let myself go."

  "How often do you and Ruth get together?"

  "About once a month when I'm in town on business."

  "I'm happy the two of you have remained friends over the years,” I said and looked inquiringly at Ruth. Still she offered no clues. Ruth's knowing smile was maddening.

  I discovered Jill had maintained residences in both New York City and Paris during her years as a fashion model. She had remained single until the height of her career at age twenty-three and had married a fashion photographer named Evan French. Jill divorced the man three years later. She offered no reason for the breakup and I didn't ask. Ruth and Jill had revitalized their childhood friendship shortly after Ruth lost her husband and had remained close since. Jill now resided in Houston, where she owned and operated a national string of exclusive boutiques.

  I had noticed a Jill's Boutique in Fashion Square, a high-end shopping mall in Phoenix. I asked if that was one of her shops. It
was. She owned one in New Orleans as well, and usually stayed with Ruth when in New Orleans on business.

  "Let's have coffee and brandy in the great room,” my sister said and pushed her chair back.

  I held the chairs for each of the ladies and watched as the pieces moved ahead on Ruth's game board. In Phoenix, we called a great room a family room. Ruth's great room was located across the rear of the house. The huge room with a high ceiling looked out at a sparkling swimming pool; a hot tub shimmered to the right under the deep overhang of the house, and I could see part of the formal garden shining from ground lighting. The room itself was divided, without walls, into activity centers. It could be an intimate space for two or contain a crowd at a cocktail party.

  While I poured a soft drink for Christie, I noticed Jill and Ruth in a huddle, and Jill didn't look happy. I decided to remain neutral and served Christie her drink. I watched Ruth and Jill continue their argument, until suddenly Jill smiled. Her eyes lit up and she hugged my sister. All's well, I thought, but wondered what Ruth had said to cause the reversal in Jill's mood. I carried snifters of brandy to each of them and returned for mine.

  The game was afoot, and I didn't know my role. I sat in a big high-sided leather chair that swallowed me. Suddenly I wanted to be alone. I didn't want to socialize, make witty conversation. I missed Dianna, my wife of ten years. I wanted to cuddle with her, sip brandy, and stare silently at soothing, hypnotic flames in a fireplace. That's what I missed about her most—the silent times, the moments of communion, with her curled next to me knowing she loved me, that I loved her. Instead, I sipped one-hundred-year-old brandy with three beautiful females feeling sorry for myself. I needed a new friend with a new problem to give me purpose. Don't be an ass, Martin Crowe, I told myself. Play your sister's game, and have some fun. You're due.

  Jill appeared above me while I sat in my leather cocoon sipping brandy and pondering the game. She gracefully cuddled into my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck.

  "I've missed being in your arms, Martin,” she said and kissed me. She leaned back and gazed at me. “You're still gorgeous.” She ran her fingers through my hair. “Your dark, curly hair and moist nearly black eyes have entered my dreams from time to time over the years. My dreams reflected my memories. Lust and the love emanated from your wet eyes.” She kissed me again. Without volition, my hands fondled her perky breasts under the transparent metallic gauze of her bodice. The plunging neckline allowed easy access. My cock pulsed erect and poked at her. She moaned into my mouth and reached for my hard-on. When my eyes opened after the embrace, I looked up to see Ruth smiling down at us. She settled on an arm of the leather chair, and Jill's hand moved from my cock to Ruth's thigh, the exposed one that constantly peeked out from her gown.

  A clue! I rejoiced inwardly but still remained cautious. I remembered my sister was a novelist. She enjoyed creating numerous twists and turns in her plots, presenting red herrings for readers to pounce upon, later showing them the foolishness of their deductions.

  Christie arrived. “I'm sleepy, Mom.” She yawned.

  Ruth smiled. “You sipped too much wine with dinner, young lady. I'll take you up and get you settled."

  Christie bent and kissed me on the cheek. We said our goodnights. Jill elected to join Ruth and Christie. She needed something from her room, she said.

  "Martin, please turn on the hot tub for me,” Ruth said. “I feel stiff tonight. The hot, bubbling water will relax me. How about you, Jill?"

  "The hot tub sounds marvelous. You'll join us, won't you, Martin?"

  I nodded.

  "Good,” Ruth said. “You know I refuse to do the hot tub other than naked, Martin."

  "I understand.” In fact, I planned to be in the bubbling water, naked, when they returned. Ruth is moving the pieces again. Christie had been removed from the board. Only Jill, Ruth and I remained, and the queen still ruled. And I still didn't know the rules.

  An extremely difficult evening for me, and definitely intriguing. The mystery had not yet been solved.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Three

  Hot water bubbled up around me, soothing me, taking away the knots in my muscles caused by the stress of my sister's game. The French door opened and Jill stepped onto the patio. She still wore her gown.

  "Ruth will be down soon. You look relaxed. I can't wait to join you.” She pushed the straps of the gown off her shoulders and it fluttered to her feet. She wore nothing under the gown, and I gasped at the beauty of her naked body. Some women are more attractive dressed or partially dressed. Not Jill.

  I told her my thoughts as she settled gracefully into the water and moved next to me. She expressed her thanks for my compliment verbally and then with a kiss. My hands traveled to her breasts again. I explored, touched and tweaked them until they felt familiar. They had grown larger since our summer affair, but not much, and their response to my touch was the same. She reached for and found my hard-on and moaned into my mouth. “I've missed your cock, too,” she whispered and moved over me.

  Suddenly I was inside her! Her cunt had swallowed my cock as she straddled me. Not all of it, but enough. I couldn't resist and ratcheted my hips up while pulling her down with my hands at her waist. Now I was completely inside her, and her moist, greedy membranes nibbled the length of my shaft. She threw her head back; her glorious auburn mane dipped into the water behind her, and a sigh whooshed from her mouth.

  "Yes!” she cried and started to move on me.

  Ruth's plot had just taken an unexpected twist. I wondered if my sister still controlled all the players. I know I lost all control and moved with an old love, my redheaded lover from the past, as her cunt swallowed and expelled my cock while we fucked each other in the bubbling caldron.

  "Do you remember when—when many years ago I asked you to teach me—teach me how to fuck so after I had been with a man, he would never forget me?"

  The words in her question stuttered as she moved on me, gracefully fucked me, but I understood her question because I remembered the circumstances. I became her first lover that day.

  "Yes."

  "You told me you could only try—that you didn't believe technique was as important as honest passion and desire for the man I was with?"

  "Yes, I remember, Jill."

  "I've relied on your wisdom, Martin. Are you being honest with me, Martin?"

  "No, I'm fucking you,” I said.

  She didn't pull herself from me, but she stopped moving. That is, her hips stopped moving—not her cunt. Her cunt still grasped and nibbled. Her cunt, like my cock, did its own thinking.

  "My passion and desire for you are honest, Jill. But to be completely honest, I'm not in love with you. I loved you that summer, but..."

  She smiled and her hips started to move again. “Ah, an honest man, an endangered species. I'm not in love with you either, Martin, but I knew I wanted you again the moment I saw you at the bottom of the stairs. You were my first love, and old desires bubbled up like this water, hot and moist and needy."

  The French door opened and Ruth came into view. She looked down at Jill and me and shook her head.

  "I'm fucking your brother, Ruth,” Jill said brightly and unconcerned. “Do you mind?"

  Ruth laughed as her gown puddled at her feet. “That's up to him, not me.” She lowered herself into the hot, effervescent water. “Ah!” she sighed with pleasure. “How did you get him to fuck you so quickly?"

  Jill laughed. “I kissed him, let him feel my tits, and then I climbed aboard without asking. One minute tops."

  "This is too weird for me,” I said. My erection was wilting.

  "He is a round-heeled rogue, isn't he,” Ruth said with a chuckle.

  "Ah, huh, but eminently loveable.” She kissed me and leaned to my ear. She whispered, “I'll come to your room later. I'm not finished with you yet.” She slid off my cock and sat between Ruth and me.

  I groaned. My balls ached.

  Jill's hand secre
tly fondling my needy cock in the rippling, hot water didn't help. I slid away from her and pulled myself out of the hot tub. “I'll get us another brandy,” I said as I wrapped my hips in a large towel to cover my erection. I'll be damned if I'll let them watch my cock bounce as I walk away from them, I thought.

  Just before I went inside, I used the towel to wipe the water from my body, and then rewrapped it around my hips. Inside, I poured brandy in three snifters and sipped from mine before I returned. Ruth's game confused me. She had obviously put Jill and me together purposefully, but not as a matchmaker. The role didn't fit her. Besides, if that were her purpose, she would not have interrupted Jill and me while we were fucking. Ruth knew I wouldn't continue, not in her presence, and frankly, I was surprised Jill started the fuck knowing Ruth would be joining us momentarily. I retied my towel and balancing three snifters started my return to the hot tub. At the French door, I looked out at the women. My mouth gaped. They were kissing! I stood rooted and watched with bulging, wild eyes like a voyeur.

  Jill pulled one of my sister's breasts up out of the water and licked her nipple, and then sucked it into her mouth. Ruth's head rolled back and she smiled. I couldn't hear their voices, but I clearly read Ruth's lips. She gasped, “Yes!"

  My cock strained against the towel. I groaned and wanted to grasp myself, but the snifters I balanced disallowed the urge. A lover from my past and my sister making love with each other was one of the most erotic sights I had ever viewed. Beads of sweat popped out on my forehead. I wanted to join them, fuck them both, and watch as they fucked each other. I knew I wouldn't, but the desire nearly overwhelmed me. I debated whether to interrupt them or leave them to their pleasures. My sister's game had reached a complexity beyond my ability to deal with it. I turned and returned to my cocoon, the large leather chair with the high back and sides. The brandy helped.

  Sometime later, the French door opened and Ruth entered carrying her gown in her hand. She didn't see me at first and smiled when she noticed me encased in my shell.