Sammy, Tammy, and Me

From my seat at the computer, I could move my head a little to the left and see the middle of the back yard. That's where the lounge chair was laid out flat, and that's where Samantha was laid out flat on top of it. But there was nothing flat about Sam. I took a quick peek, and noted the little bumps in the skimpy bra, where her dainty nipples were standing up gradually straighter as a capricious breeze played over them.

I yelled out, "Hey Sam, watch out you don't get dehydrated." She was carefully tanning the places where her swimsuit had left light patches when she went to the water park. Before she went out she applied sunscreen to the tan places and oil to the light spots and explained, "When I get back to Boston, I want everybody to look at me and wish they had an uncle in Arizona. It snowed right after I left, but I was here in the desert sweating and soaking up rays! All my friends look pale and sickly. Let 'em look at my tan and eat their hearts out!"

At times like this, I considered the six foot high brick wall enclosing my backyard to be one of the best features of my house, maybe tied for first place with the eight feet of glass in the back wall of my office. I pulled my head back to focus on the monitor and type another paragraph, then looked up as the sliding door opened and Sam came in. "Time for a nice, cold bottle of water," she explained. "It gets hot out there. Forty degrees back home today! Hah!"

"While you're at the fridge, how about bringing me a beer?"

"Okay, but you'll have to twist the top off. Those things tear up my hands."

"Not a prob. How's the sun worship going?"

"Great! I wish I could do this in April back home. March and April are completely unpredictable. The TV says partly cloudy and we get six inches of snow. Try to plan a ski weekend and we get warm rain. One week we're worrying about a flood and next week they've got the snowplows out. We've got a nice big cedar closet in the attic, and I'd like to be able to take the winter clothes out of my bedroom closet and put 'em away up there, and get my spring clothes sorted out and hung in my bedroom closet. But no, I have to have clothes laid over the chair in my room so I can get up in the morning and put on whatever matches the weather forecast. Winter stuff in the closet, spring stuff on the chair. And it'll be like that on into May. You must remember that blizzard we had on Memorial Day. What a drag!"

"I sure do remember. I don't miss any of it. It's all the Pilgrims' fault, you know."

"What'd they have to do with it?"

"They came across the north Atlantic late in the season on the Mayflower, a dumpy little sailing ship that bobbed like a cork in the big waves. The Pilgrims were seasick and had to stay on deck, in the fresh air. They built cooking fires right on the wooden deck, and they tore the ship's boat apart for firewood. They were supposed to be going to Virginia, but they got forced north by storms, and by the time they landed at Plymouth the ship was a total mess. The crew had their work cut out for them making repairs, just so they could get back to England before the fierce winter storms set in. The Pilgrims thought they'd seen severe winters in Holland, but that first winter here they lost a lot of their members. Between pneumonia and starvation, they were dying faster than they were reproducing, and their population didn't stabilize for years. When it finally did they decided it was a sign from God for them to stay on, but that was just spin doctoring. The truth was, they had no choice. They had no way to go anywhere. They didn't have a boat and couldn't have sailed it if they did. They were stuck in New England.

"Of course, things are different now, and you and your family could escape, but you don't. What's that about, inertia? I'm sure glad I bailed out when I did, but you'd rather stay there and complain than move to a place with a decent climate."

"But I have my job there. If I quit and move out, how can I make a living?"

"Open your eyes. You work in an insurance office. You have years of experience, and you could run the place all by yourself. All over the world there are insurance offices. They're staffed by young women, who are always getting married and moving away or having babies, so there's constant turnover. Pick a place where you'd like to live. Go there and look it over. If you like it, check the help wanted ads. Do interviews, nail down a job, arrange to start in two weeks, go home and quit your old job, pack up, and move. If you go about it right you'll get a better job, a better place to live, and a chance to start your life over."

"Sounds like a lot of work."

"Everything worth doing takes some work. But it's not rocket science. If you're not willing to put out a little effort, then you can stay in your same old rut the rest of your life and be miserable. You'll complain to everybody you know and make them feel miserable, too. Then your friends will stop being friendly and instead of being just plain miserable you'll be miserable and friendless, a bitter old maid. But it's your life. You can make it better. You, as in Sam. The one standing here with the well tanned body. It's a free country, and you can do whatever you want to do, wherever you want to do it, but the only one who can make it happen is you."

"Well, I like it here."

"It gets hot in the summer. Really hot."

"I know. I've been here in July, remember. It was hot, but I found summer in the desert a lot easier to take than winter in the northeast. So how do I get a job here?"

"The way I just told you. Grab the newspaper off the coffee table. Find the classified ads. Pull that section out. Then take the rest of the paper and lay it out on the sofa before you sit your oily butt down, and look through the ads. Mark the ones that look good to you. Telephone to make appointments for interviews. You're not risking anything by going to talk with somebody."

That afternoon Sam made phone calls, and the next morning she took my car to go from one interview to another, with all the addresses carefully entered in my GPS. By the time she strode into the house in the afternoon, she was smiling and confident.

"Hey, Unk, this is a piece of cake. The first two interviews were rough because I was nervous and I didn't know what to expect. But from the third one on, it was more like me interviewing them. I've got more experience than most of the people who were talking with me, and they never asked me a single question that I couldn't answer. This is going to come down to getting a bunch of offers and picking the best one. I bet I'll have a job by the end of the week. Tomorrow morning I'm gonna call up and arrange to take my second week of vacation now. Can I stay here for a while?"

"Long as you want. There's plenty of room. You'll need a car, but I don't think that'll be much of a problem. Your car in Boston is a pile of rust, as I recall. Give it to your sister and I'll start looking for something around here for you. Here in God's country there's no snow, no salt, no rust, so cars last forever."

And so it went. Inside of a week Sam had a job, and all that was left was a trip home to Boston to tie up loose ends and escape. Moving was simple. Most of what she moved were clothes, and her life's possessions arrived on my doorstep in four big boxes, transported by UPS for a couple hundred bucks. She used my car to commute the first week, and after that drove her own wheels, a little Dodge sedan with low mileage, previously owned by a middle-aged lady who died prematurely at age eighty-three.

Making my house over from a bachelor pad to a family home was fairly painless. I had to make some hard decisions and toss out some junk that had been taking up space for years, but I didn't miss it. I started to eat home cooked meals several times a week. Sam was a good cook by my standards, and she didn't leave the kitchen a mess the way I did. I was eating more salads and fewer corndogs, and gradually the improved diet seemed to make a difference in how I looked and felt. I started to do more and sit less, and by three months after Sam moved in I'd replaced twenty pounds of fat with ten pounds of muscle. I was no body builder, but I had a waistline again and I was moving a lot better.

Our relationship was easy and laid back. I made no attempt to hide my appreciation of her looks. I wasn't about to do any serious hitting on my late wife's niece, but it would have been impossible to deny that she was a joy to look at. On her part, she appreciated the fact that I was providing a roof over her head, and she understood that I wanted her to be happy in her new home state. So all in all, life was good for both of us.

* * * * * *

What our living arrangement did not provide for Sam was real privacy. So when she started to drop hints about how nice it would be to be able to bring a friend in to stay overnight or for a weekend, I understood what she was driving at. "Look, we've got that extra lot next door. I bought that years ago, got it for a song, just so nobody'd build a house there and leave me feeling hemmed in. Simplest thing'd be to put a trailer on it, or a park model, and you'd have your own little house. The kitchen and bathroom in those things are too small, but you could use this kitchen and just use your place for a bedroom and sitting room. If you want to hook up a park model to this house, you could add a roomy, modern bathroom in the transition piece, and you'd have all the comforts of your own wing of a sprawling mansion. Maybe the old tiny bathroom and kitchen could be made into a walk-in closet. If we could get something for just a few grand we could swing it for cash, or if you want something a little nicer, I could help with the down payment and you could take out a loan to pay for it. Think it over, talk to your friends, see if they have any advice. Maybe there are other ways to work out something without spending an arm and a leg. You can't be the only person around here who wants to live elegantly on a tight budget."

Wednesday night Sam wanted to talk business. She had priced some park models and established that she could get what she wanted for $13,000. That's when her experience in the world of insurance and high finance came into play. A park model is just like a little house, made to fit on a lot in a trailer park. If you leave it sitting on the original shipping chassis, it's personal property, like a car or a microwave oven. Take it off the chassis and install it on a permanent foundation and it's real property, and the interest rate on a loan is about 80% less. So she was able to get a mortgage loan at an interest rate so low that the monthly payment was less than her car payment. Then she got a home improvement loan to build a spacious bathroom with a large stall shower and connect the little house up to the big house. The total of the monthly payments on her home improvement loan, mortgage, and car loan was less than the rent on a decent apartment. She liked the way it all worked out because she could have privacy and no nosy neighbors. I liked it because I'd still have Sam's company. Plus home cooked meals. Plus a neat kitchen.

The construction project dragged on for four months, but when it was done it was wonderful. By that time Sam had a best friend who moved in as her roommate. Tamara, or Tammy as we soon called her, ten years older than Sam, was on the rebound from a relationship that had lasted a couple of years. Sam had the bedroom, and Tammy had the foldout couch in her living room. They agreed that if one of them wanted to have a boyfriend in, the other girl would spend the night somewhere else, and if all else failed, she could use my guest room. It sounded like an imperfect arrangement to me, but they insisted it would work, so we launched into our experiment in group living.

You may be thinking that I was getting a raw deal on this, so let me hasten to explain that Tammy had the body and legs of a swim suit model. Her face wasn't quite as perfect as Sam's, (nobody's is) but she was still a pleasure to look at. She had a careless attitude about clothes when she was at home, which kept things around the house interesting for me. Both girls were intelligent, clever (which isn't the same thing at all) and cheerful. My home was constantly blessed with youth, beauty, and joy.

One Friday night Sam was out on a date with Dave, a guy whose house, car, and boat she'd insured. Tammy was staying in my guest room, just in case, and suppertime saw us sitting on the living room sofa sharing a pizza. "Sam seems to find all the good hunks. I'd like to be on a date tonight and bring the guy home to get laid. Why does she have all the luck? I must be doing something wrong."

"Oh you'll get lucky. With your looks and personality, you can probably get any guy you want. Maybe you're just too timid."

"Well what the hell, I can't very well rub my body up against some guy and say, 'Hey, wanna fuck?' can I?"

"That would work, but it lacks subtlety. What about striking up a conversation and saying that you're new in town and you don't have anybody to show you around, or something like that. I'm sure most guys would rise to the bait."

"But nobody even looks at me. Look at you. You're here with me eating pizza and you don't even know I'm alive. You're not that old. I should think I could get a rise out of you, with these Daisy Duke cutoffs and this shirt with half the buttons open. I don't think you even noticed that I took off my bra when I went in and washed up for supper."

"Well, if you'd been sitting across from me, instead of alongside of me on the sofa, I'm sure I would have noticed that."

"Okay, here, I'll get up and get a chair from the dining room table. There, now I'll lean forward to grab a slice from the box. How's that?"

"Holy shit!" Her boobs nearly tumbled out of her shirt, and her right nipple seemed to be winking at me. Fortunately I was wearing old shorts, because the slice of pizza I was holding fell from my hand and landed upside down on my lap. "You trying to give me a heart attack?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. That sauce will make a mess of your pants. Let me help." She grabbed up a paper towel and leaned over to wipe the tomato sauce off my shorts, but in the process the growing mound in my lap got a good massage. "There, how's that? Oh, look! Did I do that?"

"What do you think? Does that prove that I'm not immune to your charms?"

Tammy lost all interest in the pizza. She pushed aside her paper plate and walked around the end of the coffee table to sit at my side again, only pressed tight against me this time. "That looks interesting. Let me make sure it's all right." As she spoke, she undid my belt buckle and unzipped my shorts before I could stop her, even if I wanted to. Reaching inside my underwear she pulled out my cock, cradled it in both hands, and leaned down to inspect it closely. Her breath felt warm on it, and it continued to grow under her gaze. "Oh, it's so nice. I didn't hurt it, did I? Hey, look at it grow. I think it likes me!"

My reply came blurting out before I could think. "Why don't you kiss it to make it better?"

Things happened fast then, and I'm not sure of the sequence of events, but we wound up lying on the sofa with the coffee table shoved out into the middle of the room and our clothes scattered on the floor. "Let me feed you my tits," she said while supporting them with her hands and shoving one after the other into my mouth, so I could lick and suck the nipples. "Go ahead, suck them into your mouth as far as you can. There's plenty there for you to play with. Oh, that feels so good! There's nothing like getting my tits sucked!" I might have had some snappy answer, but I couldn't talk with my mouth full. "You've done this before, haven't you? You're real good with your tongue. I bet you're good at eating pussy, aren't you? Want to have a box lunch at the Y? Give me a kiss and we can turn around and do each other."

We got into a sixty-nine position and went after each other's genitals as if we'd been starving. The position was awkward, because I had her partway over on my left side so I could get the fingers of my left hand busy while I was licking her clit. My thumb joint kept hitting my nose. I did manage to twist my wrist around to rub my fingertips up against her G spot, which drew a few moans and a little more hip movement. I steadied her with my right arm looped around her right thigh, and finally got a good firm grip on her ass so she wouldn't fall off onto the floor. After a minute she spread her legs farther apart, which shifted her weight and improved our balance. Just to be on the safe side I stuck my right middle finger into her asshole for a better grip.

Meanwhile, I was getting a blowjob that would set an all-time world record. Granted it had been a long time since my last BJ, but I was positive she was the best cocksucker I'd ever been with. She had a way of licking up the whole length of my cock, from root to tip, and then sucking it into her mouth, while getting her hands into the act somehow to produce sensations I'd never felt before. I figured I must be getting the better end of the deal, so I was surprised when she lifted her mouth clear of my crotch to say, "Oh, you fucker, you've got me ready to come! Come on, don't hold back, give me your load in my mouth! I swallow!"

We thrashed around on the sofa for a few minutes, grunting, straining, going alternately rigid and limp, until finally we relaxed and just held each other tenderly. We didn't want to move, which was just as well because Tammy was dribbling from both ends. Finally we rolled off onto the floor very gently, and managed to separate without injuring each other. She crawled around so our heads were going the same way, and we shared a deep, probing kiss that lasted a long time. My cock was softening, but the kiss got me growing again, and her squirming and humping against me helped. As soon as I was hard she slid up on top of me and got a hand down between us to guide me into her. We started a slow, deep fuck that gradually picked up speed and intensity until we were banging away with slapping and squishing sounds. We came at about the same time, and as our bodies relaxed we lay on the floor, pretty limp, wrapped in a tangle of arms and legs and gasping for air.

I pulled my face back enough to look eye to eye with Tammy, and started to say something, just as she did the same thing. We both stopped, and I said, "Go ahead."

"No, you go first."

"All right. That was absolutely marvelous. I think you must be the best I've ever had. That blowjob was out of this world, real Monica Lewinsky stuff. Then that set us up for this dynamite fuck. I don't know if I can even stand up after all that."

"That's just about the same thing I was going to say. I don't think I've ever come that hard in my whole life. And twice in a row. Wow! We've gotta keep this quiet, because I want to do this again and again, whenever we can get some private time together. This was way too good for just a one night stand."

"Grab our clothes to keep us from leaking all over the place, and let's go take a shower together. Then I want you in my bed tonight. And every night if we can manage it. Maybe you could tell Sam that the bed in my guest room is a lot more comfortable than her fold out sofa, and you can get a better night's sleep over here."

"Your bed will be even better, and we'll have room to snuggle. But the sex will cut into our sleep time. I hope Sam won't object to me having a relationship with her uncle. I really like her, and I don't want to lose her as a friend."

"Really, we're not blood relatives. Her mother was my wife's sister. Of course, they're both dead now. But I've always liked Sam, and just like you, I'd feel bad if she resented the idea of you and me getting together. So let's try to keep our secret for as long as we can. I'm sure she'll catch on some time.