Sorrel's Long Journey to Love Ch. 08

She quickly pushed him away, "So what's the hint?"

He tried to pull her in again but she resisted, "That was the hint." He said as he tried to grab her again, but she resisted again.

"What's the computer got to say" she asked?

He was a little hurt, but put a good face on it, "Let's see." He fumbled with the keys a little, but finally finished typing in his password and hit start, then began typing in what he wanted to access.

The computer responded, "Access denied."

He tried again; got the same answer.

Fletcher typed in Sorrel's old password, but the computer still vomited out the same response, "Access denied."

There was one other password only he and Warren knew; their secret company password that got them into anything and everything. He typed it in, "Access denied."

He turned back to Sorrel, "That last password should have worked. Only two people know it, me and Warren." He turned off the computer and slid it back under the bed, "Don't worry, I'll call Warren and see what's going on. It might be that some upgrade is being installed."

Sorrel knew he was lying. That last code word should have worked. His brother wanted to keep him in the dark about something, "OK. So tell me about tomorrow's fishing trip."

That's right he remembered. He said they'd go fishing tomorrow, "Oh it'll keep for a while. What do you say we go in the living room and watch some television? We could put an old movie in."

Sorrel smiled, "Sounds good to me."

Together they strolled into the living room. Fletcher turned on the tube, they found something to watch, and both curled up on the sofa. Every now and then Mary passed through and glimpsed over, but she kept her mouth and her thoughts to herself. Robert and Richard were in and out once or twice, but they didn't even see their father or Sorrel there. Marion knew where they were, but she was deliberately avoiding them. Friday night's traumas had been enough for her.

Saturday dinner was taken quietly. Everyone seemed either tired or pensive. Bedtimes all came early. Fishing, Fletcher had admonished, wasn't for the feint of heart or the late to rise.

Gone Fishing:

Morning came early on Sunday. The boys were up first with Fletcher a close second. Marion and Mary bailed, deciding on church instead. That left Sorrel, who's earliest had always been early, but never 4:00 a.m.,

"What kind of fishing requires getting up in the middle of the night," she asked

Robert was quick to respond, "We're going after crappies."

"Crappies," asked Sorrel?

Richard, "They're a smaller fresh water fish. This is the time of year when they spawn. We get up now, get to the lake early, and we'll catch bushels of them before breakfast. It's fun!"

Robert jumped in and asked Sorrel, "You know how to use a rod and reel, right?"

"Well I..."

Fletcher finished for her, "Sure she does boys. She's an old tar."

Sorrel spoke up, "Now wait a minute..."

But she was interrupted by Fletcher, "What, you're not an old tar?"

"I'm not even a young tar, or anything nautical for that matter. The only fish I've seen have been on a plate, cooked, and well seasoned," Sorrel said, hoping to set the record straight.

"Oh boy," said Robert, "I'll teach you."

"No you won't, interjected his father, "I'm in charge of all novice fishermen."

"What's a novice," asked Richard?

Robert explained, "Sorrel is somebody who never went fishing. She needs to learn how to do everything, so she's a novice."

Richard added, "Mom was a novice when..."

Fletcher stopped him, "Yes, your mother was a novice once too, but we won't go into that."

Robert laughed, "I bet Sorrel goes into it like mom did."

Fletcher ended the levity, "Come on let's get in the SUV. I've already hooked up the boat trailer."

Off they went; two boys, one man, and one woman, down to the lake to catch bushels of crappies. The ride was pleasant, though still dark, cool, and the morning air was damp. They reached the put in. Fletcher lowered the boat in the water and helped Sorrel in while the boys got the supplies on board.

Fletcher had two thermos bottles ready; one with hot chocolate, and the other with coffee. They had a small cooler filled with sodas for later.

They added another cooler for which Sorrel found no explanation, "What's in that cooler?"

Robert told her, "Worms."

"Yeah, the bait," said Richard.

Fletcher chimed in, "Yeah today everybody baits their own hooks."

Sorrel flipped out, "I'm not touching any worms."

Robert asked, "How are you going to catch any fish."

She smiled nicely, "I'm sure some kind and considerate gentleman will come along and bait my hook for me."

Richard giggled, "Don't count on it."

The boat motored quietly along the shoreline until they found 'the cove.' This was the spot where they always fished. It was quiet, secluded, and always produced a good yield of fine tasting crappies. The boys grabbed their rods, the worms, their thermos, and jumped from the boat. In a matter of minutes both had their lines in the water, and within seconds it seemed Robert got the first bite. He pulled in a nice sized bluegill, maybe nine inches from mouth to tail.

Fletcher helped Sorrel from the boat, and despite prior assertions, baited her hooks. He explained how she should raise the rod over her head, hold the line down with one finger, and then as she threw forward release the line.

Sorrel gave it a try, but snagged her hooks in one of the branches of an overhanging tree.

Fletcher, like the gentleman he was, took her rod and pulled and yanked until the hooks came free. He refitted her hooks with fresh bait, found her a better site, and stood back.

Sorrel tried again, and this time her line went well out in the lake, an overall good cast for a novice. She turned and smiled, proud of her new found fisherman's skill.

Fletcher smiled back. He put his fingers to his lips admonishing her to be quiet so as not to scare away the fish.

Sorrel returned his smile, nodded, and began to wait for her first bite. Fletcher got his line in, and began to wait as well.

Robert had already caught two more good sized crappies, and what looked like a yellow perch, though they probably were wrong about the identity of the odd fish.

Richard got several nibbles, then a bite, and last was able to bring one in. He was excited, as his first fish was the largest so far.

Fletcher had the fish line in the water. As the boys caught their fish, he showed Sorrel how to pull a piece of thicker line through their gills, thus securing them for later, but enabling them to remain alive and fresh in the water.

Sorrel whispered she thought it was senselessly cruel, but Fletcher assured her it didn't hurt the fish. Sorrel wasn't so sure, and asked if he had been told this by one of the fish he threaded. He explained that he had.

For several more minutes the boys continued to get nibbles, an occasional bite, and a sporadic catch. Fletcher caught a couple, but thus far Sorrel hadn't had any success.

Fletcher got her to reel her line back, and he put new bait on her hooks. She got off another cast, and knelt down to await her first strike

It didn't take long. She got her first bite. She shouted, "I got a bite!" She started to pull on the rod, winding in the slack line just as she'd seen the boys do, but her fish wasn't coming in so easy.

Both boys and Fletcher realized she was having more trouble than was typically expected of even a larger crappie.

Robert said, "That's not a crappie."

"Yeah, she's got something big," added Richard.

Fletcher commented, "Bet it's a pike."

Sorrel was still reeling and fighting. It certainly was something bigger than any of the boys or Fletcher had caught so far. They all drew their lines from the water to watch the drama unfold.

Sorrel was game. Everyone had to agree to that. She certainly was putting up a good fight, but the weight of the line was light, and the size of the fish was immense, her efforts were producing little net gain. Then to everyone's astonishment the fish jumped high out of the water!

Yes it certainly was a pike, and a big one too! Fletcher saw it. He silently bet it was two perhaps two and a half feet long, maybe five, six pounds. He called over, "Be careful, they can bite."

Pike are a fish known to occasionally bite unwary fishermen. Generally, there's little danger, and certainly none when fishing from a bank with three helpers standing by. That didn't matter to Sorrel. The mere mention of being bitten was too enormous an announcement. All that came to mind was the movie Jaws. She yelled, "Oh, oh," and dropped the rod. It fell in the water, and quickly started to drift away from the shoreline.

Fletcher jumped in the water to retrieve the rod and reel, but by the time he got there Sorrel's fish had either broken the line or bit through it. Her giant pike was gone.

"Why did you let go of the rod," Fletcher asked?

"You said it would bite me," answered a distressed Sorrel.

"No, no, I merely said they sometimes bite. They seldom really do," he explained.

Sorrel wasn't happy, "This would have been one of the sometimes."

Fletcher was very understanding, "That's OK, come on, I'll put on some new bait and hooks, and you can fish for crappies."

"That's all right," said Sorrel, "I'll just sit over on that rock, have some coffee and watch."

Robert laughed and pointed to his brother, "Told you."

Richard grinned, "Yeah, just like mom."

Fletcher was laughing too.

It occurred to Sorrel Diana must have had a similar experience with a similar outcome. She didn't say anything, but it made her feel good. There was no resentment here, no jealousy, none of the things she'd been so worried about. They were accepting her.

They continued to fish for another hour or so, till they caught what they thought was a fair allotment. They reloaded the boat, and put back in the water to their original point of departure. Overall it had been a nothing experience; no big emotional moments, no traumas, no big admissions, but for Sorrel it was important. She knew she was being accepted, becoming a part of a family. In that one respect it meant a lot.

Fletcher had been worried about the boys. They had been largely out of loop. The fishing trip was their official introduction to the woman he hoped would become their stepmom. He thought it went well. He believed they were OK with Sorrel.

They got back to the put in where Fletcher hoisted the boat back on the trailer. Sorrel tried to help. He didn't stop her, though her help was a waste of time. The boys got everything else in order, keeping the fish in water, the thermos bottles were dumped of their residual content, the life jackets stowed away. They drove back quietly. Everyone was a little tired.

Back at the house Fletcher suggested Sorrel might go inside take a warm shower and a nap. Mary and Marion were in the kitchen fixing chicken and potato salad. The boys drifted off to the pond.

Fletcher went down to the pond too where he cleaned the largest fish but, when no one was looking dropped the smallest remaining fish into the pond. All but one of then slowly recovered and swam off. He thought, they'd gone fishing, bonded a little, and they'd restocked the pond for Ole Rupert. He brought the cleaned fish back up for Mary to fry. They'd have a picnic in the backyard later. Meantime he thought he'd take a shower and a nap too.

That afternoon:

Sorrel went upstairs. She was tired, but it was a good tired. She untied her tennis shoes, stripped off her jeans, tube socks, the plaid cotton shirt she'd worn, and her bra and under pants, got in the shower and lazed in the warm water. It was a delightful feeling soaping all over and then letting the pressure from the shower head rinse her off. She lathered and rinsed twice. Twice she shampooed her hair. Wrapping up in a big fluffy towel she walked over and sat on the bed. It was time to make a decision.

She hadn't slept with many men, only two really, and she hadn't done anything in close to eight years. Oh sure there had been some furtive self fondling occasionally, but nothing real, nothing meaningful. She didn't even know how to act around a man in bed; never had any genuine experience. What would Fletcher think of her if she offered herself to him? Maybe it was time to find out?

Sorrel took a nice quiet nap. It was a kind of twilight rest. She was in and out, sleeping, dreaming, fantasizing, and being a little afraid.

She got up and went back to the bathroom where she brushed her teeth, and brushed out her hair. She took her time this afternoon, curling it in a newer style, at least a style Fletcher had never seen. First she combed it out evenly, parting it down the middle. She braided it tightly around the sides well above her ears until each side reached a rough junction near the back. She took these two braids and braided they're ends together until it all came down in a short piqued tail which she flipped back and down under the base of the combined braids. If she had a white cap she would have looked very much like one of the young Amish women at the farmer's market.

She looked at her vagina. It wasn't something she customarily did, but this afternoon she took a pair of scissors and trimmed it so that it looked almost, but not quite, hairless.

She took some pink make up base and worked it in around her face and her cheeks. She added a little blue eye shadow, some darker mascara, some slightly darker pink lipstick, and last some clear lip gloss. Looking herself over in the big mirror she thought she looked almost like a child.

She checked her fingers and toes. Clipped them carefully, and applied some clear polish.

She went to the bureau and picked out a white cotton eyelet lace nightie. She slipped it over her head. It came down to be just even with the bottom of her rear cheeks. It had a sculpted scooped front that framed her breasts nicely, and curled down in the center to be just even with the base of her breast line. The top of the faintly laced cups revealed a hint of aureole.

Looking at herself in the full length mirror she thought she looked pretty good. She only hoped Fletcher would think so. She walked over to the house intercom and called downstairs, "Hello Mary? Is Fletcher about?"

Over the intercom she heard the garbled response, "No he's still in his room. Want me to get him?"

Sorrel nervously whispered back, "No, just tell him I need him upstairs." Shortly she heard the distant call to Fletcher, and his low response. She went back over and sat on the bed to wait.

Downstairs Fletcher had been fooling with the computer again. He couldn't believe he was blocked out of his own company. When Mary told him Sorrel needed him he asked if she knew what was wrong. Mary's negative response was irritating. The last thing he needed this afternoon was more teasing. He sighed, slipped on some tennis shoes, adjusted his pants and T-shirt, and made his way upstairs. Breathing heavily as he slowly trundled along he thought, 'duty calls'.

Sorrel sat on the side of the bed uncertain of what she was doing. She looked at the mirror in the distance, timidly pressed a hand against her hair. Did she look all right? Would he get the wrong impression? Was she doing the right thing? Did she really want to do this? How should she behave?

She heard him make his way up the steps. He was taking a long time. She heard every foot fall. Why was he going so slowly? He was at the door.

"Sorrel," he asked, did you want anything?"

Shyly she responded, "Come in please." Her voice sounded faint, a little hoarse.

Fletcher turned the handle, opened the door and stepped in. He noticed the hinges squeaked a little, "These hinges need..." He was stopped cold, dead in his tracks. He'd never seen anything like her. God she was beautiful! She was just sitting there. On the bed. She looked a little frightened, "Sorrel."

Sorrel stood up.

Fletcher was frozen in place. He couldn't move. His heart was racing. The only other movement was the rapid growth of his manhood. "Sorrel," he said again. He was too choked up to say anything. He started toward her.

Sorrel stood motionless, on the bed, waiting.

He reached for her and with his right hand touched the side of her face, "Sorrel." He took his two arms and slowly wrapped them around her. Her leaned down and kissed her cheeks, her nose, and then her mouth.

"Sorrel," He said her name again. He kissed her long and lovingly. She took her two arms and wrapped them around his body. She kissed him back.

He smelled her, the fresh scent of clean soap, the ambrosial aroma of her freshly washed hair, and that special fragrance only an aroused woman can exude. Her skin felt so soft, so hot, and it looked so pink, so fresh, so delicate, a child's skin but on a woman's body. He pulled her in more tightly.

Sorrel responded with gentle grace. She was truly a novice for the second time today, but she wouldn't throw this one back, not this time.

Together they slipped back on the bed. He was half in shock, half in disbelief. How could he have ever hated this woman, doubted this girl, questioned her in any way ever. She was so pure, so fresh, and oh so beautiful. He pressed his lips against her long swan's neck. He took his hands and cupped her small firm breasts. He gently rubbed up and down the aides of her body, feeling every nook, every cranny.

He held her at arms length. He kissed the tip of her nose, her eyes, and each precious cheek. He caressed her mouth with his lips. He reached under the crisp white nightie and found her breasts. He covered them with his hands, rubbing over her nipples with his palms

Together they reclined; her head resting on the top sheet. Side by side they lay there.

He took his hand and rubbed over the curve of her ass cheeks, down her upper thighs, and up against her vagina. He laid his hand on her pubis. It felt small. Though she'd given birth to two children, she was still so small. He pressed down gently but firmly on her pubic bone. She pressed back against his hand.

For several minutes they lay languidly side by side, kissing, caressing, and sharing their private treasures. He gradually pushed one, then two fingers inside her vagina. He slowly massaged the inside of her vaginal cavity, inside and out, side to side, and bottom to top, gently rubbing, pressing, always using his fingers to excite and entice. He could feel her increased wetness, her rising arousal.

Sorrel was beside, then beneath the man she loved. She was amazed at the pleasure two fingers and a palm could bring. She could feel his hard hot manhood pressing against her pubic bone. She used her hands to cradle his head against her chest, pushing his face against her breasts. She wanted him inside her. She pulled him as tightly against her as she could.

Fletcher withdrew his two fingers, and replaced them with that singular instrument that marked the truth of his virility. He was careful, sliding in only slowly at first, but her wetness, the torrid heat of her vaginal walls, and her hot breath on his neck were unrelenting, unbearable, overwhelming, and enrapturing.

He couldn't resist. He plunged in as deeply as he could. He couldn't get enough of her. He had to get as deeply inside as possible.

She received him openly, willingly. She tasted the sweetness of his lips, she smelled the spicy aroma of his aftershave, and she felt the broad powerful strokes of his manhood as he went deeply inside her. He filled her, he engulfed her, he invaded her deepest secret places, and she loved him for it.

Their moments of sex, of orgasm, of warmth, and of union was more than a simple carnal embrace; it was a holy consummation of two peoples, though only recently discovered, deep and abiding love.