Shady Oak

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"We're headed out into God's country...Naked!"
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My thanks goes out to Kttn and Aleirian for taking the time out of their busy schedules to edit Shady Oak.

*****

This year Jean and I celebrated our thirty-sixth wedding anniversary. I pause occasionally to glance at my wife, when she first crawls out of bed in the mornings with her white curls all tangled and snarled, or when she lays a loving hand on one of our grandchildren, and there is not one thing I would alter about her or our life together. Our hands unconsciously intertwine, even now, when we walk through a shopping mall or when we stroll along a deserted beach. When I cup her breast or lean against her from behind, goose bumps still dance across her skin. She is one fine looking woman, more beautiful to me now than when we first encountered each other many years ago.

The memory of our first kiss still emanates through my body like the warmth of fine wine and to this day, she still brandishes her special power over me.

* * * * *

We met in college, Jean and I, fumbling through classes, trying to find a balance between books and beer. Groceries were never included in the budget, so the cupboards overflowed with Ramen noodles and peanut butter. We pooled our resources and shared a small house within driving distance of campus and our competitive natures got us through four fantastic years together. We never dated or became intimate. I had never kissed her, I mean really kissed her, even once, for fear that it might smother the natural bond we felt for each other. We became good friends. Bantering back and forth, exchanging jokes, horsing around and maybe, just maybe, I should have made my move sooner because all the signs pointed towards a favorable relationship, but the opportunity never seemed to present itself.

We shared it all, from towels to toothpaste. We studied together, partied together, cried together, and shared our deepest, darkest secrets on cold nights when the wind blew and snow buried the path to our cars. She had her friends and I had mine. At the ripe old age of twenty-three, her interest focused on older men, while at eighteen I was still enjoying my first tastes of freedom.

After graduation, we both took jobs in our respective fields. I went to Seattle and Jean headed for Wichita, but we still kept in touch by letter or phone when we had a chance. The years slid by and on my thirtieth birthday, I was still single. I had given up the dating scene. Everyone I knew was now married or divorced. Occasionally someone new would come along but it never panned out. Maybe I was too fussy.

That year my grandfather passed away and I inherited "Shady Oak."

Gramps had held me close many nights after my parents died. A drunk driver had swerved into our lane and hit us head on. The squealing tires, the busting glass, and the screams still haunt me. I was fourteen. Gramps and grandma had taken me under their wing and I had lived with them in their old farmhouse until I left for the university seeking my degree in industrial aviation. Grandma passed away during those years. I visited Gramps often. His favorite stories centered around the oil fields of Kansas and the oak tree that sat on his property. Each time I visited, he made me swear to preserve that old tree.

Jean picked me up at the airport. We shared memories and a few laughs over several cups of coffee. It felt good to hear a familiar voice. She chauffeured me from Gramps house to the church and stood by my side as they lowered the casket into the ground.

It surprised me how many friends Gramps had. Every pew was full. Jim and Connie Hackart were there. He and Gramps had grown up together, served in the military together, and worked the oil fields of Kansas side by side. I had known him forever. He lived about five miles south of my grandfather's place. Gramps had met Connie in high school, he never cared for her that much. She loved to gossip and when she got older Gramp's would refer to her as their own personal "Yenta." "That woman thinks she knows more about everyone in this county than they know about themselves!" He would yell at their car as it pulled out of the driveway and slam the door behind him. I guarantee Connie noticed Jean at my side and I silently laughed knowing her wheels were spinning in overdrive!

Jim's age showed, he now walked with a cane. He made it a point to come over and give me his condolences then he asked if I planned to return to Kansas. I told him that was my plan. He volunteered to take care of Gramp's horses until I got everything sorted out.

After the funeral, Jean drove me back to the airport, waiting and waving on the tarmac until the jet lifted off.

It took a couple of months to get my affairs in order, one day blurred into the next. The house in Seattle sold quicker than I had expected which freed up enough money to hire professionals to move my belongings from Seattle to Kansas. I arranged an in-house transfer to the Wichita facility. That meant a long commute from the country into the heart of the Air Capital of America but it also meant that the time I had vested in the company would not be lost.

Moving day finally arrived, the packers had boxed and labeled my belongings the day before. They were loading those items and what furniture I had into the moving van while I packed my car. The last thing I did was call Jean to let her know I was on the road.

The house sat on sixteen acres on the outskirts of Wichita, butted up against the newly built turnpike that linked the northern and southern borders of Kansas. Built in the late eighteen hundreds, the house did have some modern conveniences such as indoor plumbing and electricity, but it lacked central air and heat. An old wood stove monopolized one corner of the dining room, in the other corner sat my grandmother's spinning wheel. She knew how to spin but that spinning wheel had sat in that corner for years, merely as a decoration. My grandmother used that room to feed some thirty cowhands at the turn of the century. There used to be bunkhouses on the property to house the men. I never saw them. Gramps told me that they sat vacant for a number of years and those burned down long before I was born.

An old barn filled with tools stood about seventy-five yards from the house. Inside sat the sleigh that Gramps used in the winter to gather wood for the stove. When we went to visit at Christmas, if there was enough snow, he would hitch Thunder and Storm to that old sleigh and attach large sleigh bells to the their harnesses. We would all pile onto the two red leather seats bundled from head to toe in ski hats, woolen scarves, and down jackets. Grandma would bundle hot bricks near our feet, and then Gramps would snap the reins. The horses would prance through the snow, the bells would jingle, and we would ride away like a scene on a Hallmark Christmas card.

My favorite spot, the place that held the most memories of the summers I had spent with my grandparents, was under the branches of the old oak tree that grew between the house and the barn. It was a massive tree, hollow at the base, large limbs shooting off each side. Its gnarly roots stuck out of the ground creating pockets so you could sit and lean against its trunk as though the old tree wanted to share whispered tales of wagon trains, pioneers, buffalo, and railroads. Gramps had told me that he had bought the land because he fell in love with that old tree and that it was over a hundred years old when he built the house. I had spent many hot summer days beneath the shade of that tree with a book in my hand.

It felt good to be home.

* * * * *

Within a few weeks, I had learned how to maneuver the freeways of Wichita. It took a bit longer than that to get all my belongings set up the way I liked them. There were projects that needed attention but overall the house was in good shape. One weekend, I moved two wobbly Adirondack chairs into the barn for some fresh paint and much-needed repairs. I was afraid that Jim or Connie would stop over, sit in one, and topple over. Those two chairs had symbolically guarded the front door for as long as I could remember and were the first thing you saw when you stepped onto the porch.

I thought I had heard a car door slam while I hammered away in the barn but I disregarded it and continued working on the chairs. A few minutes later, I heard Jean yelling at the top of her lungs.

"I brought dinner and some paint brushes! Where would you like me to put them?" She stood beside her car waiting for an answer.

"Just a sec," I yelled back, wiping my hands on my jeans as I ran over to her. "Let's take them in the house." I said as I took the casserole dish and picked up the lid to get a peek at what was inside. Then I looked at her and winked. "Where's yours?"

She slapped my wrist then scolded, "That's for dinner, get your fingers out of there!"

"But it smells so good!" I tried to put on my best-rebuffed little boys face. "And to think I had my heart set on a cold turkey sandwich but I suppose, if you twist my arm, I'll have to settle for this." I grinned.

It really did smell good. My mouth was watering as I tucked it away in the refrigerator.

"And these," I handed her the paintbrushes she had brought, "we can use in the barn. Come on out and give me a hand."

She fell in love with the sleigh when she saw it. I knew she would.

"That is the most beautiful, romantic...you are," she emphasized, "going to take me for rides in it, aren't you?"

"Yep, if there's enough snow!" I grinned, and teasingly added, "You know, I often wonder if Gramps and Grandma christened that sleigh, whatcha think?"

She ignored me and picked up a paintbrush.

I slid up behind her and whispered in her ear, "You know, I just bought a new four poster bed, want to help me break it in?"

She laughed and slapped my chest with the paintbrush. "In your dreams!"

We finished the chairs in a few hours then went back to the house. I lit the gas range and set the timer waiting for it to preheat. While I was busy gathering plates and setting the table, Jean wandered around the house. She liked the old wood stove but questioned my ability to split the wood needed to keep the house warm in the winter. I told her I could always get a wood splitter if the axe got too heavy. Then she eyed the spinning wheel.

"Careful, the spindle is sharp." I now reprimanded her.

"What happens if I prick my finger? Whatdaya think? Will I sleep for a hundred years?" She grinned as she ran her hands over the antique.

"Probably, then I'll have to wake you and there's no telling which set of lips I will choose to kiss first!"

"Stop it!" She grinned.

* * * * *

The following weekend was stifling. I wrapped a towel around my waist after climbing out of a nice cold shower and opened all the windows hoping to capture a stray breeze but the hot, muggy Kansas air continued to cling to every inch of my skin. I wished that Gramps had modernized and added air conditioning but instead an old swamp cooler sat on the porch. It simply pumped more moisture into the already dripping air. Regrettably, I had used the last of my savings to get the house rewired. Each time I switched on the television and turned on the toaster the lights would flicker and I had to run down to the basement to replace a fuse. Hindsight did not factor in at this point, so I slipped on my swimsuit, grabbed an ice-cold beer, and sat in my favorite spot under the shade of the old oak tree. Then I heard the phone ring.

"Hey guy, whatdaya doing?" Jean cheerfully asked.

"Trying to beat this miserable heat, whatcha need?" I replied as I wiped a few drops of perspiration off my brow.

"I've invited some friends over for a swim and there's cold beer by the pool. Thought you might like to join us some time this afternoon."

"I'll be right over," I said without hesitation. "Want me to stop and pick up something at the quick shop. Ice, beer, pop?"

"Nope, just bring that sexy body and a smile. I'll see you in a bit!"

Within the hour, I had made myself at home and was sampling a sandwich in the Jean's dining room. A kerthunking sound and a splash filtered in from the backyard as someone dove into the pool. Within minutes, Jean laughingly came through the back door, sauntered over beside me, and butted her hip against mine.

"Glad you could make it!" she said smiling, handing me another sandwich. "Here, try this one," she said holding the small piece of meat and bread up to my mouth.

Taking it from her hand, I thanked her and applauded her on her improved culinary skills.

"Well," I laughed, recalling her first attempt at a gourmet dish while we shared the small house back in college. "At least there's no need for a fire extinguisher this time!" She had gathered the last of our loose change for a bottle of rum, and had spent hours dicing and slicing, then added the rum to the sautéed vegetables, and lit it. I laughed so hard my eyes watered watching her dance around the kitchen yelling "Oh shit!" "Oh shit!" "Oh shit!" as the skillet flamed and the stove ignited where she had spilled the precious rum.

"You jerk! I haven't burned anything in ages!" she laughingly exclaimed as she shoved the sandwich in my mouth. "You didn't complain about my cooking last weekend. In fact, you didn't even want to share!"

"So, who's coming over?" I asked, still laughing between bites. "Do I know anyone?" I leaned over and gave her a friendly peck on the cheek.

Jean put her arm around my waist and let her hand slide down across the back of my slacks. It was a casual "feel" but I noticed it!

"I think you have met Angie and her husband, Darrel." She looked around and pointed at another couple with her sandwich, "I'm sure you know my brother John and his wife Carol." Rolling her eyes she simply stated, "I pretty much asked everyone I know to stop by for a drink and a dip in the pool." Crinkling her nose, she stood on tiptoe and scanned the guests trying to see over their shoulders then kissed me on the cheek and said musingly, "Make yourself at home, grab a beer, there's plenty outside by the pool." She patted a paper napkin across my brow then continued, "Can you believe how stuffy it is out there today?"

"Tell me about it," I said as I shook my head in agreement, "And thanks again for the invite, I could sell tickets to my place. It's as hot as a sauna, all you need is some eucalyptus leaves to spice up the air!"

"Yep, I bet it is! Go jump in the pool and cool off, I'll be out in a bit as soon as I get my swimsuit on." She gave my shirt a friendly tug, and headed towards the kitchen making a sharp left up the staircase to change.

I changed into my swim trunks and headed out back to the swimming pool. I sunk slowly into the cool refreshing water with a beer in my hand then climbed aboard an air mattress and lay back enjoying the sun.

I had just taken a sip of my beer when Jean came out the back door. She wore a skimpy baby pink bikini. I nearly choked. I had never seen that much bare skin, let alone her skin, displayed that openly. Sidetracked by one of her friends she stopped to talk while glancing over at me. I held up my beer in mock salute and she returned my wave then blew me a kiss before returning her attentions to her company.

Sitting sidesaddle on the air mattress with both legs dangling in the water, I bobbed up and down watching her and the way her full tanned breasts overflowed the tiny wisp of fabric tied around her chest. Her breasts jiggled and bumped against each other like small round melons when she walked. When she sat and crossed those long legs, you know, the way girls do, with the ankles twisted, she caught my attention on that hot thirsty day like a mirage in the New Mexico desert.

Peeking over my sunglasses, I laid back and admired the way her body curved in at the waist and flared back out at the hip, my eyes never left her, or her heart shaped butt the rest of the day.

I watched as she chatted, engrossed in conversation, twisting her hips and that tiny waist, leaning over to share a witty interpretation of some new artist or music she had discovered. Then she would lean back and let out a great peal of laughter that spilled out of her and always had others laughing with her. Her gentle camaraderie, her subtle wit, and the way her face beamed with a down to earth, comfortable, and charming manner drew people to her in the same way that it had the first day we met. It was no wonder she had a horde of friends streaming in and out of her house on that hot Saturday afternoon.

She soon dove into the pool and swam over along side me. I leaned over and offered her my hand. She swung her slender leg over the air mattress and settled behind me with her arms wrapped around my waist.

"Let's see if we can take them out!" She giggled leaning against my back. We paddled around the pool using our hands to propel ourselves, laughing, and splashing, kicking up water and leaving empty mattresses floating all around us, until an onrush of her friends toppled both of us and we plummeted into the water. She giggled as she splashed with both hands. Then I dunked her and dove beneath the water to find she had escaped and had started to swim towards the ladder, burying me with tons of water in her wake.

I pulled myself back onto the air mattress and lay in the hot sun downing a couple more beers. A call of nature forced me from the pool, so I rolled off the air mattress into the water and headed inside to find the bathroom occupied.

As I stood outside Jean's bedroom door, I noticed an open book lying on her bed, bedraggled and dog-eared, the spine so damaged I was surprised no pages were hanging out.

I slipped into her bedroom and picked up the well-worn book, recognizing the cover. I knew these publications well and knew they always got steamy reviews. I judged from the titles of the books that cluttered the shelves on a nearby bookcase that she definitely enjoyed reading erotic material. Laughing to myself and shaking my head, I never suspected that she held any interest in that area. My long held assessment of her had always been the "girl-next-door," the "untouched innocent."

I decided to place the paperback, front cover side down on her nightstand after looking around and thinking she might not want the neighbors to find this laying around. As I rounded the bed, I slipped and hit my toe on the edge then instinctively grabbed my bruised foot as the book fumbled out of my hands and into the air landing open on the bed. Still squeezing my foot with both hands, my little toe throbbed as I gingerly sat on the bed and gazed down at an obviously well read passage. I continued to rub my foot while picking up the book and reading a few more paragraphs. Actually, I felt that I had invaded her privacy by the time I got through the first page. I found myself checking out more of the pages she had marked. Then, as though being hit with a bolt of lightening, I realized that these pages were an insight into Jean's fantasies.

Taking this one-step further, I tested the paperback by resting it on it's spine on the night table and watched as it magically opened to the same pages repeatedly. She may or may not have experimented with any of the practices described on these pages but knowing that she had read them aroused my curiosity to a fever pitch. I peeked out the window and saw Jean still sitting and visiting beside the pool then returned to my spot on the bed, silently reading more of the sultry words. I read a few pages but soon nature reminded me why I came into the house to begin with. I laid the tattered works of revelation on the nightstand and finished my business in the bathroom.

I took the long way around her house and entered the backyard through the side gate rather than using the back door. As Jean hoisted herself out of the water, I quickly grabbed a towel off one of the lounge chairs and virtually tripped on the wet cement trying to get it over to her. Her eyes lit up when she saw me, giving me a cheeky grin, both of us laughing at my clumsiness, and then she thanked me for bringing her the towel. The bits and pieces of erotica that I had just read were causing vivid images to dance seductively around in my head. I watched as she patted that fluffy white towel against her breast. I smiled at the way she bent over, running the towel up, down, and in between those luscious long legs of hers.