Fred's Big Game

"I overheard," she tells me in a gossipy tone, "that cute Fred Duncan tell his friend Tony, whats-his-name, you know, the whore guy?" She raises her own eyebrow in retaliation. "Fred told Tony that his drunk aunt had peeked in his bedroom door while he jerked off--"

"Oh no." I shake my head; I remember the night I told Tony about the event as well as the event itself, and I remember getting fed a free beer or two by a gorgeous yet somehow still friendly woman behind the bar.

"And he didn't know until he was ready to come, and she fell in the door." She grins at me. "He'd have to be a good friend for you to tell him something like that."

"I don't tell him everything, though," I tell Emma. "When she fell on me, her head went into my lap and--"

"Oh no." It's Emma's turn to deny the inevitable.

"Yep, she did. She sucked me off and cleaned me up. My first blow job."

"How old were you?"

"I'd turned eighteen like two weeks before, and my Aunt Prudence was my mom's brother's wife, so we weren't related by blood or anything. I wasn't too freaked out about it. I fucked Prude at least once every family reunion."

"Prude?"

I smile. "It was a joke. She would do anything, any sex act that wasn't disgusting or too painful."

"Man, that's just...I dunno." Silence falls for a beat, then two. "What about your uncle.?"

"Dead. In the war."

Emma reflects on this. "Oh. I'm sorry, but then I don't blame you, eighteen year old kid, worldly widowed older woman...was she good-looking?"

I look away from the road and into her eyes. "Yes, she was very attractive, brunette, tall, she looked a bit like Carol, and she was almost half as attractive as my new girlfriend and best friend Emma, who I tell everything to."

"Wow." Emma's smile is sort of tender and her eyes are soft. "Thanks, Freddie. No-one's ever told me their heinous family shame before." She reddens a little. "Mine is that for my guy I will do anything that's not disgusting or too painful."

"Really?" I grin. "Anal?"

She looks a little shocked. "Right here? C'mon, lube? Take a brochure?"

I laugh, but she doesn't, and I think she might be serious. No woman ever admits they like it that way but they all come when you do. "You like anal sex?"

Emma puts a hand over her face and peeks at me between her fingers. "What, you want me to tell you that?" I nod. "Well...I like sex a lot. I've tried a few kinds--" She looks at me with a worried look. "--that doesn't bother you, does it?" I shake my head; it doesn't matter to me who did what to her in the past as long as I was doing it to her in the present. And the foreseeable future. "Well, I like anal sex a lot. It's very...intimate, and nasty enough to be exciting--" Emma grabs my crotch and squeezes my comforts. "You know, Fred, you ever thought about being a dom?"

"A what? You mean--"

"Sure. Chain my neck to your ankle so I have to crawl, make me touch myself on a webcam--" My face is hot, and Emma points at me. "Hah! That's what you get for making me blush, Mister Duncan." She gloats. "To answer you, Yeah. I like anal. I come really hard every time, and I'm up for it anytime. Practically. But we gotta use lube, that's the Emma's butt rule. That, and, uh..shower after."

I almost hit Emma's mailbox pulling into the driveway. Our driveway, I remind myself, our mailbox. I turn to her. "You drive like you bowl," Emma told me, smiling.

"You mean to tell me," I ask her, putting the car in Park, "that if I'd had a tube of KY, you'd have taken me in your ass right on the road?"

She leans across the seat to me and grabs the back of my neck to stare into my eyes. "Fred Duncan, I would do anything within reason if you wanted to do it." She smiles that killer smile again and I know I would never hurt her by asking her to do that. "I'll open the garage, and you can carry stuff in that way. Oh, here comes Mrs Fendle." She leaned in to whisper. "She peeks in the windows."

I grab two big printer-paper boxes full of stuff and carry them up the driveway while Emma lets herself in through the front door.

"Are you renting a room from Emma?" Mrs Fendle's voice is soft and high. I turn to her and smile. "I...I'm moving in," I tell her, and I realize that sounds lame. "You're Mrs Fendle, yes?" She nods, and I introduce myself. "Fred Duncan, new neighbor."

"Oh, I know you," she tells me. "You installed Sylvia Platt's burglar alarm, didn't you?"

I think back. Sylvia Platt is all too easy to remember; a woman with about seven big dogs, shepherd-retriever. I had asked her why she needed a burglar alarm with all those dogs, and she'd told me so they wouldn't get stolen.

I set the boxes down. "Yes ma'am." I present a hand and she shakes it delicately.

"I hear you're a very nice man," Mrs Fendle tells me. "Are you Emma's new boyfriend?"

"Ma'am, I believe I'm Emma's new future husband."

Mrs Fendle smiles and I can see her breaking hearts once upon a time. "Why, that is wonderful! Does she know?"

I shake my head. "Not yet."

She takes my arm. "Good. Don't tell her yet. Move too fast, you'll scare her. She's been alone a long time." Her smile widens. "And Mr Duncan, she's a very sweet girl. Don't hurt her, because I'll cut your balls off."

I laugh and hug her; she hugs back. "You'll have to wait in line behind everyone else that knows her. I might not have any left when it's your turn."

"Oh, you are a sweetheart," she whispers in my ear, and kisses my cheek as the garage door rolls up behind me. "I hope things work for the two of you. I have a feeling they will. Are you good on a ladder?"

Her question takes me by surprise. "Well, you kind of have to be to put in burglar alarms, ma'am."

She nods. "Good! 'Cause Emma's roof is losing shingles here--" she points, "and there, and there. You'll want to fix that in the spring, I have some tar you can use."

"I'd appreciate that," I tell her. "Will you hang around and be my fan club while I do that?"

"Well, I don't want your girl getting jealous," Mrs Fendle tells me, and tosses her head at Emma as she is revealed by the electric garage door opener. Emma walks out the garage door and my jaw drops; her garage is spotless, empty. A man's dream. There is a bare workbench on one wall, with an equally bare pegboard above it. There are hanging cupboards, and long hanging shelving. "Typical man," Mrs Fendle says as she sees me rapt. I hear Emma chuckle. "I'm going to go empty mine out before bingo next week," she continues. "Maybe I'll finally get Frank Cirti from the community center. Well," she continues, "I'll leave you two be. Good choice, Emma," she tells my girl with a smile.

"Been a pleasure meeting you, Mrs Fendle," I tell her with a smile.

"Oh, Marlene, please," she answers.

"Okay, Marlene, call me Fred," I reply.

"Thank you, Fred," she tells me. "I'd like to talk to you about maybe getting one put in..."

My mind goes the wrong direction with this; I look at Emma and she meets my wide-eyed gaze with one of her own.

"What are you--oh. You're a bit young for me, Mr Fred. I meant a burglar alarm."

I snap back to reality with a giggle. "Oh, anytime you want to, just give me a ring. I'm in the phone book under Unseen Alarms."

Mrs Fendle--Marlene--waggled her fingers at us and crunched across Emma's snowy front yard. In her bedroom slippers, I notice, and once again I envy the elderly for their ability to not give a shit about the stupid silly things the rest of us have to pay attention to for convention.

I pick up my boxes and set them off to one side of the empty garage floor. Emma goes to the car and comes back with another box and my bowling bag. She sets the bag down at her feet and puts the box down on top of one of the others before gazing at me with a wondering smile.

"She really likes you," she tells me. "I have friends come over, she doesn't talk to them. I wonder if she was looking in the window this morning."

"She doesn't want you hurt and she threatened to castrate me. It keeps happening."

"They don't have to worry, I can castrate you myself. May I?" I panic for a moment, then she kicks the bowling bag with a sneakered foot. I nod; she's immediately drawing the zipper. "Okay, one standard issue pair of ugly-ass bowing shoes, size...uh...eleven and eleven and a half. Can't make up your mind?"

"My mom couldn't when she built my feet," I explained. Emma's nose crinkles with her grin.

"Okay, what else...a rosin bag." She looks up to me, nodding. "A real man carries his own rosin." She leaned closer. "I don't carry any, I just ask the closest Real Man." She crinkles her nose again and it's obvious she loves bowling and bowling stuff. Her hand dips in and pulls out my marbled bowling ball, blue as the afternoon summer sky overhead, the color of Emma's eyes.. "Oh wow, nice color, fourteen pounder, good size for a duffer." She winks at me, hefts it without effort and mimes a throw. "Almost fits me too, your thumb is a bit thick, but I can bore it out and put in a slug--"

"Not my ball, you don't!" I point. "See, it has my name on it."

"'Fred C Duncan'. What's the C for?"

"Plastic explosive," I reply. I usually get a blank stare at this joke, but Emma surprises me again.

"Ah, C-4. Is that your typical 'blow-off'?" she asks me, and she gives me her smile as I groan at the pun.

"My middle name really sucks," I tell her, and she jumps up and down, pumping her fist.

"Yes!" she cries. "Someone else with an embarrassing name! What is it? Tell me!" She grabs my shirt and pulls me close. "Tell! Tell!"

I sigh. "It's Cornwall."

Emma stares. "Like...Cornwall in England?" I nod. "Okay, weird. Not that bad..."

"So you say," I tell her, with a little resentment. "You can marry out of your embarrassing name. I'm stuck with fucking Cornwall for a middle name."

She laughs and takes my arm, then looks at me and cocks her head to one side, like she's curious. "You don't seem very broken up about Carol," she asks as we walk out for more boxes. "You just walked in on your wife moving another man in the day you move out. It's like you don't care."

I turn to her, and in the icy sunlight her hair shines and her eyes are so blue they shadow her eyelids. "I don't feel a lot about Carol," I tell her. "I stopped feeling a lot about Carol the first time I caught her cheating, two years ago. I told her if it happened again, I was out of there, so she had fair warning. I think I should have left her then. I tried to trust her but I suppose part of me knew that she couldn't stay faithful to one man for long. If I'd known I'd meet the girl of my dreams so soon, I would have."

"You already knew me, you drank out of my hand for years."

"I drank here that night, and you were tending bar," I tell her. She shivers.

"Let's get this in, I'm freezing." And she puts the ball back in the bag and we bucket brigade the boxes into the garage.

"How come you didn't tell me?" Emma asks, stepping inside into her--our, I corrected--kitchen. "I would have remembered that."

"I didn't want to make anyone else miserable," I answer. "Least of all you."

"You played liar's poker with me and Danny that night," Emma remembers. "You won."

"Yeah. I was jealous of Danny," I hear myself say.

"Of Danny? For what?"

"He was your boyfriend. I thought," I add.

Emma laughs that sunshine laugh. "Danny is definitely not into me. Danny has a nice guy at home."

I stare. "Danny? Naw. You gotta be shittin' me."

"I wouldn't shit you," Emma says. "I might tease you a bit, but that's because you have a beautiful ball and you can't bowl for shit. Fred," her smile is gone. "I gave a lot of me to you last night, and maybe I shouldn't have, maybe you're still like rebounding. Maybe it's unrealistic to consider us a team, but I do." She moves into my arms and lays her head on my chest. "I won't lie to you." Her blue eyes, all serious, stare into mine. "Danny is homosexual."

"I believe you," I tell her immediately, and I do. "I'm just surprised, a big macho kinda guy like that. And I have no regrets about last night, I'm sorry I wasted time on her when I should have been with you."

Emma nods. "Things aren't always what they appear, Mr Duncan," and my hands slide down to her hips and I sway us back and forth. "I didn't think you'd be a man who'd possess his own rosin bag." She plays at admiration in her voice; it isn't convincing. Her arms go around my neck and cross behind me and she draws close to sway with me, her head on my chest over my heart.

I look out the window as we spin, and I see the sign on at Jerry's Place, where Emma works. "Aren't you guys closed today?"

"Who guys?" Emma looks out the window. "Oh. Yeah, we're closed to the public. Jerry always goes in though, and employees can drop in and drink for nothing. Non-employees get turned away at the door."

"Aw. I could use a drink after the Carol Affair." I waltz her away from the window.

Emma's voice is slurred against my chest. "We could get a drink at the bowling alley...."

I chuckle. "Bowl a frame?"

"Are you gonna use your pretty blue ball?"

"Yeah, it's my ball."

Emma pulls away from me, takes my hand and pulls me toward her--our--bedroom. "Feast your eyes, big man Fred," Emma tells me and pulls a white bowling bag from behind the door. She hands it to me and I unzip it to look inside.

Her bowling shoes are small and white and look a bit like nursing shoes. Her ball is a twelve pound silver pearl with her name etched into the cover-stock: her first name only. I ask her about this.

"Well, if and when I get married, I'll put my new last name on here." She points. "If I don't change my last name, it won't fit on the ball anyway. You know," she says softly, "I wondered if I would ever bowl with this ball again." She strokes it, takes it from my hand and smiles. "I was pretty messed up after Gen and just wanted to forget bowling. But you can't forget bowling." She smiles at me, and I kiss her tenderly.

"Do you ever talk to her?"

"No, I never saw her again after the tour; I heard she died in a car wreck somewhere in Louisiana but I couldn't bring myself to check." She shivers a little. "I think I can bowl with this again, if it means I'm beating you." Tears shimmer in her eyes but the smile she has for me is pure fun.

"You know, Emma, I'm gonna keep watching you til I beat you."

"How long is that gonna take, Mr Duncan?" She presses herself against me and wriggles a little, and I can feel her nipples pressed against my chest.

"I don't know, Miss Emma, but I will be happy watching til then."

She squats to put her ball back in its bag; she leaves the shoes out. "You are welcome to watch all you like, my Mister Fred." She runs her hands down my chest and down to my belt. "You'll never be as good as me..."

"I'll never be as fun to watch, anyway, you competitive little thing." I sweep her into my arms, cradled; she doesn't fight. Her arms stay around my neck and she snuggles her shoulders a little.

"Untrue," she tells me. "Your form isn't good, yet, but man you know how to move every other way." I remember last night, when we bowled, she corrected my form and I rolled a strike. Sure, I might have still been distracted by her hard nipples pressed against my back-- "Fred, you could be a good bowler. Maybe not the best, but good enough to get into league."

"Aw, you're just sweet talkin' me."

"You got that right, you'll suck forever," Emma teases, and I lift her to slurp her earlobe. She shrieks softly and her fingernails sink into the flesh of my shoulder.

"And you'll be ticklish forever," I say to her, and kiss her neck and her chin and she wriggles in my arms. I kiss her lips, no wriggle there, but when I move to her neck, she fusses and lets out cries. I suck her other ear lobe and she throws her head back and relaxes, she no longer responds to tickle but I feel her warm breath quicken and her blue eyes cloud.

"Um, Fred...take me to the bedroom. Now. Please..." Her eyes meet mine and I see need in them. I've learned something else about Emma: tickle her and she gets hot.

"Wow, not so cocky now," I say, with a bit of teasing in my voice. I carry her through the front room and past the tree, down the short hallway to the bedroom we had left so long ago and so shortly. I set her down on the bed and she is already dropping her pants; she doesn't bother taking her shoes off, she just drops everything down around her ankles and crosses them.

I walk to the dresser and pull a condom out of a box that once held twelve. The box says the condoms expired last July.

"You know, these are expired--"

"Huh? Oh...oh no." She brightens. "Forget 'em. Get the lube." And she rolls over to a doggy position, her divine ass thrust into the air.

Oh yes; the Emma's butt rule. I find a slightly-sticky bottle of lube and take off my shirt, keeping it handy.

My hands run across the cheeks of her ass, down between her thighs and up to where they meet, feeling her hot and wet and receptive to my fingers between her lips. Her butt starts to rock in a swaying motion as I rub her clitoris so gently; she moans my name long and low as my thumb slips slowly into her. "Oh, c'mon Fred, fuck me," she pleads, and I dribble lube down the between her cheeks and press with the ball of my finger, not entering her, just pressing and moving in circles. Emma shakes a little and I slip my thumb out and back into the wet warmth of her sex. My fingers of that hand still touch the center of her pleasure and I feel fresh dampness; Emma's ass relaxes and accepts my fingertip to the first knuckle, then the second and I pull it from her a little way and dribble more lube, cleaning up with my shirt and slipping my finger into her effortlessly to the third knuckle. She draws a choked breath and her head drops to the bed. "Oh God, Fred, take me, take all of...huh...Ohh!" Her disappointed groan ends abruptly as she feels me against her tight opening, pressing; it's now impossible to continue playing with her down below, so I pull out my thumb and she grabs my hand, pulling it to her lips and sucking the taste of her sex from my thumb as I press harder, deeper, feeling her stretch to accommodate me and watching her wiggle her ass to take me.

I bury myself in Emma a little at a time until I can go no further; she drops herself from her knees to her belly and writhes beneath me as I lay my weight upon her, driving myself deeper and making her purr. I raise myself, pulling out of her burning, gripping circle, and plunge slowly in, and Emma's answering cry is pained ecstasy.

Buried within her, I rotate my hips against her, I feel her respond, rubbing against me. I feel her raise up a little and I see her hand slide beneath her; I know she's found her spot when she gasps and groans. I pull away from her, and slip back in, and her cry is lower and throatier and I can hear her fingers in her wetness beneath me. I pull away again and slip my hand down between us to take hers. She squeezes it and then resumes her play, and I slide back inside her in a smooth motion.

I plunge in a little faster, and she is undeterred; she makes it plain she wants more and I pull out faster and thrust deep into her. I feel her rise again and her hand comes out from beneath her; I lift and pull her arm up behind her back to lick her fingers. I release her but her arm stays. I take the hint and grasp her, then take the other arm and hold her harmless. I pull her up, back onto her knees, and pull back on her arms as I thrust into her, and I can feel her ragged breathing through her shoulders. Kneeling between her legs as I shaft into her, I feel the wetness running down her thighs on the outside of my own.

Emma stiffens. "Ohh my God..." she cries, stretching the last word out as she trembles and I feel her grip me and squeeze, again and again, I hear choked groans from her in time to her squeezing, I feel her ring milking me and I get chills and I hear myself groaning but can't stop it and I feel myself swelling and an explosion of pleasure throughout me, starting somewhere behind my tool and traveling everywhere and I'm throbbing, and each throb is a wave of pleasure, and each throb spills into Emma, no barrier between us. She hisses as she moves with me, crying out as a new plateau sweeps her, pulling her arms against my grasp just a little, to hurt her just a little as she comes and collapses onto her belly beneath me.