You Can't Go Home Again

It was one damn fine day on Monhegan, as they say here. Don Annas came in from walking the path to the bluff and then back through the orchard. Sylvia heard the screen door clatter.

"You got sand on those shoes?" she called.

"Already doing it!" he lied, and kicked the deck shoes off to join the rest of them by the door. "I saw three deer! In the orchard by the lick!" He was projecting his voice to reach her in the kitchen.

"Wonderful! Must have been that doe and her two young ones. There's coke now, I went to the store!"

"I need the bathroom, I'll be right in!"

Sylvia heard him taking the stairs two by two, as he habitually did, and smiled craftily to herself. She'd left off skimming the soup when the door noise reached her, and she now was removing her bra. She was half naked in her sunny kitchen when his exclamations could be heard up above. She buttoned her blouse up again and stuck the bra in with the kitchen linens.

Sylvia had taken in the young man when his Bangor family had exploded in a confused and wretched way. He was crippled by guilt over his inability to save his mother, and a lot of other emotional shrapnel which was frozen in his belly in self-defense. He was so frozen up he couldn't even start himself up again.

He had needed a mother, the way Sylvia saw it, and she'd been one of those, once. She took him home. But you know-- she was very definitely not his mother! And being back on the island for a while always cranked up her appetites.

His footsteps descended, much more slowly. She had been anticipating this all night and all morning. It was a wonder to her that he didn't notice her drooling during breakfast! She shut off the heat under the iron stewpot. Her nipples were up.

"Sylvia?"

"Right here, Don!"

He came through the doorway looking like one of the deer, nose first, all skittish, ready to bolt. "Um, I found the picture. Are you upset?"

"Now think about it. I had to take that! And then print it! Didn't I?" He nodded. "You were watching the Coulter girl so hard you never noticed me."

Alice Coulter had been throwing frisbee the day before yesterday for her dog on the beach. So that was the time, thought he.

He'd stood in his room at the window, watching Alice and masturbating, and today there was a three-by-five of him doing it stuck in the mirror frame in the bathroom. Now that he thought it through, he realized she must have waited for that moment, or taken a lot of shots, because white drops were falling off his knuckles in the photo. Don was very unsure what to do next.

"You probably already counted how many women your age are on the island."

"Ya..."

"Two. Alice and Sam Fellowes, right?"

"Right."

"Well, you don't get either of them, I'm afraid. But I have a solution for you."

He just looked at her, more like a deer than ever.

"We can start right now, if you like."

Suddenly he got it. He pulled in air and his eyes got wide. Sylvia chuckled and put her fists on her hips. The nipples pushed little humps into the front of the blouse.

Don noticed them, and her challenging smile. She was thirty-eight or so, twice his age, and she had a little belly, but she lived well and kept very active. Her hips were broad and womanly, but then, so were Alice Coulter's. His head spun a little. He looked into her face again.

"Well, you ought to say something! If you don't tell me yes pretty quick, it'll be no."

"Yes! I mean, sure!" She extended her hand, and he took it, stepping toward her.

She expected a kiss. Giving up reasoning, he went ahead and kissed her. She broke it to kiss across his cheek and lick his ear, and one strong hand slid down over his ass. He reciprocated by handling a fine full breast, which brought a little mew from her, in signal to continue. He kissed the hollow of her neck and shoulder and thumbed the big nipple. Her hips pushed aggressively into him, rubbing in a little circle, and she squeezed the flesh through his back pocket.

As if by common consent, they held each other at arm's length, hip-to-hip. As usual, she had something practical to suggest. "Let's not do it in the kitchen; my room?"

"Good." His voice didn't work very well; he cleared his throat. "Good," he repeated.

"I'm so glad you've decided to do this. I have too much history with all the men here, one way or another, and visitors don't stay very long. I'm going to be wanting you a lot at first, it's been a long time."

"I'm glad, too; I'm just shocked a little, that's all. I can keep up with you, I hope!"

"We'll be most of the rest of the day at it, then! I like it all! Come on up!" She led the way, giving his jeans a feel before moving to the stairs. She had cutoff shorts exposing good strong legs; her ass was muscular and very firm-- she was a robust woman.

Don was making mental readjustments on the way up the staircase. He'd known her for several weeks, but he was seeing her this way for the first time. What was it she looked like in the shorts with the round firm ass-- R. Crumb! She was an R. Crumb woman, but older. Okay, okay, I can deal.

"I took a good long shower and soak this morning and I taste clean all over," she told him.

"I'll be the judge of that!" That was wit.

"I do hope so!" She turned and grinned. "I'm pretty hungry; as long as you taste like a man, I'll be happy."

"Guaranteed." Something about her insolent jutting ass grabbed him by the libido. He reached around her, taking a firm tit in each hand, and hugged himself into that fine field of assflesh, nuzzling the back of her neck. She braced her powerful legs and leaned her head back. He stroked her neck and down the cleavage, hanging onto the right breast and rolling its thick nipple. "Hard already!" she said. "It feels nice in there."

He reached in and felt the tit directly, and she popped buttons loose to give him more range. Her ass pushed against his cock. She turned her head and kissed him.

"It will!" he said. "As soon as you get those off!"

She twisted out of his reach and unbuttoned the shorts. Smirking, she peeled them off her hips and let them fall. The tops of her calves caught them; she kicked them across the landing. Don was unzipping and pushing down his jeans, but stopped to watch as she turned her fabulous ass to him.

"God, Sylvia."

She climbed from the landing, ass rising step by step, giving him a view underneath it of her neatly trimmed graying pussy. He kicked off his jeans. "You like this ass-- God, there it is," she said, when the boxers fell away, "I saw that big thing and I had to have it-- You like this, come on to bed and climb right on it!" She slapped her buttock. It was a very firm one. Robert Crumb would definitely have approved of it!

He strode two stairs at a time up to her bedroom doorway. "Lie right down!" he said, holding on to his cock and chucking away his boxers.

"Let me suck that once first." Sylvia dropped to her knees on the painted softwood, staring hungrily at Don's long and beefy cock. The idea suited Don, and he stepped up to her.

Her fingers stole in under his balls and hefted them; she palmed his ass. All at once her mouth slid right down half his length. He could feel her throat. It opened, and she jacked her head in closer. Her salt-and-pepper mass of tight curls was right up against his belly in an instant. He couldn't see past it, but he could feel her nose driven into his hair.

"Holy fuck!" Don said. The woman didn't fool around! She pulled back until his cockhead was free of her throat. Her eyes were squeezed shut and streaming with involuntary tears. Her tongue rolled around his cock, thick drool came out the corner of her mouth-- and down she went again to the root!

Don was eight and a quarter thick inches when really up full. Not everyone could take him that far down. He was deep into her neck; it was a sensation he wanted to get used to!

She cupped his ass and pushed two fingers up along the cord behind his heavy balls. Both hands pushed him deeper yet into her throat. Her jaw was wide open now. Hungry, she'd said! Was that swallowing? He reached down beyond her hardworking head for the lush tits.

Wiggling side-to-side like a fish fighting the line, she came back off him, gasping. She swallowed and got her reflex under control again. Strings of saliva and throat secretions connected his cock to her face and dripped onto his hands at her chest.

Don's face made her smile. He was awestruck. "You still got it, Sylvia!" she told herself.

"You taste like a man to me," she said hoarsely. "Come fuck me!" She grabbed his waist; her breasts slid against him as she pulled herself up. She tossed away the blouse and climbed onto the four-poster on hands and knees. She wiped her eyes, chin and nose and braced for the onslaught, dropping to her elbows.

Sun washed in through the wide window, gilding her hard-muscled back. Her hard, thick nipples grazed the quilt. But he was zeroed in on the pussy.

He clutched his cock and pushed in, standing on the braided rug. Holding one hand on top of her hips to settle her a little lower, he sank into Sylvia's deep, sweet, silky pussy. It took five or six strokes to stretch her deep enough to take him all, but he was used to that.

"Don't worry about a thing, baby, the womb's gone; you can come in there. Ah! M'God, Don, you're huge!... Oh, Christ, this is good!!"

She adapted pretty quick for someone his mother's age. Both hands free now, he grabbed on and started slamming hard. He was young and athletic and hadn't had any for a few weeks. It was very good indeed.

_______________________

Don would have been living hand-to-mouth right now if it weren't for Sylvia. His family was scattered, his father in the county hotel awaiting his trial, his mother dead, his folks' house burnt to a husk. You could lay it all at Beverly's doorstep, certainly, but the only one who hadn't helped her along was Don's dead mother. Don never knew where she'd come from, apart from her soft accent, which to his ears sounded southern. There is a type of southern speech that drives New Englanders nuts waiting for the sentence to finish. Hers wasn't like that, but the tones were southern. He'd come home at the beginning of May term to find her already there, mysteriously and from nowhere.

His mother Penny had fallen gravely sick over the latter part of the winter, and Miss Kingman had entered his parents' home as a home health aide, and made an arrangement to live there. She'd been given his room. You can't buck something like that, home health costs so much that any arrangement which ameliorates the expense is precious. She went out and made rounds on three to five other patients around town, using his mother's car, which she couldn't have driven anyway. In the meantime, she was right there for his mom.

It all sounded reasonable, if extreme. But his haunted dad was so different from the tinhorn tyrant he'd been accustomed to, his mom so depleted and pathetic now, and his room gone. He lived in the attic at first, but it always got very hot up there in high summer and he was clearing a storage room upstairs in back over the kitchen in order to set a bed up in there. What he'd expected to come home to wasn't there at all; he felt dislocated.

The longer he stayed there, the less he was able to cope. Beverly was a rock, though; he began to count on her as his parents were doing. His summer job saved his ass, the way he saw it now. Beverly Kingman Rosado hadn't planned to get involved with the old man, but it was too sweet a deal to get squeamish about. She'd taken over two times from Rosalind, mostly because Rosalind hated the old guy. He wanted to run everything. Nobody understood his wife's medical problems like he did, including the docs. Penny was getting better all the same, though. Beverly had gotten there just in time to stop that.

Gil was detestable and bossy, but he sweet-talked her. It was an advantage she could accept. The family had so much money! The kid went to California to school. It was perfect, and all she had to do was make it a little better for Bev Rosado.

She told Rosalind to go ahead and leave them to her, and swapped her for the Ochs family. Then she cried in the kitchen.

"Beverly! What is it?" Gil Annas was forty-five, paunchy. He'd once cut a handsome figure in naval uniform, and that was now history. But he still ran his household personally, in every detail. He'd been used to a good amount of subservience in the bedroom, too.

But his wife had been weak and ill. He couldn't just lie her down and plow into her while she breathed through an oxygen mask, so he'd gone months without any sex. He was susceptible. Bev was soft, blonde, young, healthy and right there under his nose-- crying at the kitchen table, right at the moment.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, God!" Beverly straightened up, blew her nose, and wiped her tears. "Never mind, Mr. Annas, yall don't want to hear my problems, I'll be okay. I'm sorry, I'll be right out!" She flapped a hand toward him helplessly.

Gil took it, held it tenderly, and bent forward just enough to look down her dress. He insisted gently that she could tell him, surely it was nothing that couldn't be fixed. She turned teary eyes on him and started in, holding his hand, so he couldn't sit down across the table out of reach.

At the critical moment, she threw herself against him to cry when her sadness was just too overwhelming. He was still standing, so she hugged him by the hips and her bosom lay heaving with her sobs right against his crotch.

She held on there through the rest of her sob story, making sure there was a good amount of friction. Gil reacted gallantly, she could feel it very clearly! He even stepped in closer to make sure he could push it into her warm tits. W.C. Fields always said you can't scam an honest man. You can't seduce an honestly upright one, either, but it was clear it wouldn't be a problem.

She leaned back, hugging him; the cleavage pushed up. She buried her face into his belly, she leaned both hands against the front of him, accidentally on his stiff cock, appealing into his eyes. "The agency makes all the money, it's so hard to make ends meet..!"

By the end of the evening, she had the kid's room and the wife's car, and she was just getting started. He moved her in the next day, using his truck to help her pack her things across town.

That night she changed into the threadbare old white poplin dress, and left her slip in her new room. Her light blue low-cuts could be made out easily through the thin cloth. She wore the tiny matching bra under it, too. It was too obvious; but she had a voluminous jacket to wear with the ensemble. She watched him trying to see into there around the jacket all evening long, like a dog on a scent trail. She was more attentive to him than to the patient. She thought of the evening as all foreplay, an extended tease. Reaching for things her skirt rode up and the jacket fell open; stooping or bending, those little blue panties shone right through-- it was like a dance. And she touched him as often as she could. She thanked him and smiled on him; she squeezed his arm or his hand fondly when she left his side.

Having access to the whole house as she did, it had been easy long ago to reconnoiter the sex gear in his wife's closet and dresser drawer. Gil liked lots of high heels and stockings, lots of shiny fabrics. All right.

She was twenty-two and in reasonable shape, pale and blonde. She had never been a beauty queen, her face was blunt and rounded and she had too much brow ridge. But he was already beyond her face.

Heels were an asset every time. And a shiny nylon taffeta shortie robe could be hauled in close to accentuate her bust, or let open to reveal herself to him. She put on a taffeta camisole, just a short tube on spaghetti straps, loose, taking all its shape from the body beneath it. With the robe, the heels, and some sweet lies, Gil would fall like a ton of bricks.

She appeared in the dark front hall in the outfit, and he saw her from his seat in front of the television right away. He'd never seen so much of her legs before. She called his name very softly.

He checked Penny, but she was asleep. He came to her in the front hall. She just had to hug him! She did so very tightly. His erection was soon clearly palpable against her soft belly, so she rolled it with a little twist of hip.

"Oh, dear! I've aroused you, I didn't mean to." She pulled decorously back.

"I couldn't help it..."

She acted flustered, as though the whole idea were new ground. "I'm really very very grateful to you, Gil, but I could lose my license! It would be unethical." He wasn't saying anything. "You must have gone a long time, I guess." Still nothing. "Oh Gil!" She hugged him again, and stayed body to body, leaning on his shoulder as though she would be there all night. "I wish... but I can't."

"No one would have to know," he said.

"That's the way, you old bastard," she thought. He was playing the game now, an seriously. "Only a matter of time." Then she spoke aloud: "It's been a long time for me, too, but... Are you sure it's a good idea? Can I trust you to keep it secret?"

He was absolute in his promise of secrecy.

"I shouldn't, though... Oh, dammit, it's not fair!"

He was spinning reasons and murmuring them in her ear between kisses. One hand was riding at the top of her buns, and he sent it lower. She pushed her hips up to intercept it when it got to a certain spot.

"Mmm. I like it that way, too. There's lubricant in your wife's things. You wouldn't mind...?"

He wouldn't mind at all! He was feeling her all over now-- he jumped when he discovered she'd worn no panties. The hair down there was wet to his touch.

"Are you sure it will be okay? Maybe we shouldn't after all..."

He was very convincing, and she allowed herself to be persuaded. She fetched the lube and they went up to her room.

"Please do the anal sex first, Gil? I'll have to suck it a little of course, for that, but I want it right away... oh thank you! Here, all you do is, you just squish some on, and then open me up with a finger, push the lube in there a little before you go in. I'll get you wet."

She throated him, in fact! He wasn't Superman in the cock department, it was easy. She throated him quite a bit, he was astounded. She then lay on the bed and sent her legs far back. Her knees rested on her shoulders! She was so young and limber! She stretched herself open a little, lightly pulling her asscheeks away from each other.

"Okay, go ahead. Oooh... oh. Make little circles and stretch it open... Mmh! Fuck me, Gil!"

He placed his cockhead and leaned in. He entered easily, and she told him how wonderful it was. He could only buttfuck a twenty-two-year-old girl for about thirty seconds, of course, after months of abstinence and the two days of teasing buildup she'd put him through. She never expected any better of him, that wasn't the point.

But it was the idea that he'd done it which would work on him, cementing him to her and bringing on a lot of guilt. Guilt and lust would get her what she wanted.

She eased him out the door with expressions of great satisfaction and gratitude after the anal interlude and some snuggling, and a little straight sex, also very brief.

The new order was begun. She got herself clean and masturbated, then slept.

The next night she had silvery-black thigh-highs, heels and a garter belt under the shortie. "Gil? Could you come up a minute?" she called in a soft voice. Once more, he left the television and followed her into the hall. The robe was closed, but he had to look up steeply at her since she was most of the way up the stairs. Stockings! He loved stockings.

She met him at the top of the stairs, standing athwart them, backlit. He waited decorously on the landing, eight feet away and five steps down.