Blue Ridge Romance Ch. 01: Welcome

I'm awakened by the winter sunlight pouring through the window, and a particularly bright beam falling right in my face. My wife is still asleep, facing away from me. I roll to an upright position and quietly get out of bed so as not to disturb her, tiptoeing into the bathroom to relieve my bladder and take a shower. She really wore me out last night, and my limp dick is still a little sore from being overworked. She's ovulating, and it makes her extra horny. She was a tigress, demanding a load in her mouth, then a hard pounding of her pussy, and finally getting me hard enough again to take her ass. I am amazed I can even stand up. I crank the shower to maximum hot, and let the water refresh me. I get out of the shower and shave (yes, it's a Saturday but like my old man used to tell me, "Shaving is like working - if you don't do it every day, you're a bum.") Now I feel like a new man.

I come out of the bathroom and see that's she's gotten up and retrieved our four-month-old baby. She's laying in bed nursing him, and as usual he's suckling like a greedy pig. He's a good baby, sleeps all night, but when he's eating you'd better not interrupt him. I slip back into bed, still naked.

"Oooh, a fresh man," she teases. "That last one was a pussy - I wore him out and he ran away!"

"You're so insatiable," I tease back, and kiss her first on the lips, then on her neck, then move my head down to the swollen nipple that my son is not using yet. She shivers in pleasure.

"Don't you start with me," she says, but she parts her legs so I can position my hardness between them. Kissing her arm and breast, I maneuver myself behind her so my cock slips between her warm pussy lips. Between her natural wetness and the residual cum I put in her last night, there's absolutely no resistance and it slips right in. She moans slightly, and I begin to fuck her slowly and gently while my son goes to town on his breakfast.

"Damn, I forgot the condom," I say, and I stop as if to pull out.

"Don't you dare, you bastard," she curses me, laughing. "I don't care if you knock me up, that cock stays right where it is." Since Jacob's birth, we've talked a few times about the timing for our next baby. We agreed that 3 years would be a good gap so we would only have one kid in diapers at a time. Since we got the post-natal green light from the doctor to start having sex again, that timing seems to have gone right out the window.

I make slow and gentle love to my wife, whispering in her ear about how what a hot mom she is, kissing and caressing her. Between the stimulus of my cock in her and the boy sucking on her sensitive nipple, a series of small orgasms flows through her. Finally, to my surprise my empty balls rally and come up with a donation and I have a small orgasm as well, spurting a meager contribution into her fertile womb. The sharp smells of sex and the sweet scent of my son permeate the tiny bedroom as my limp dick slips out of her moistness and I collapse onto the bed. If I could freeze time, I would want to make this moment last forever. Life is good.

My name is Ray Durling, and I want to tell you the story of how my normal boring life changed to a very happy one, and it all started because I got drunk and screwed up royally.

I'm not a big guy, 5' 8" or so, 160 pounds, 32 years old, had never been married. Dark brown hair, not overly handsome but not bad, or so my gay friends in Pittsburgh tell me. I'm not super fit, got more of what kids these days call a "dad bod", but I've got strong arms and thanks to my family's DNA I'm built like a fire hydrant. I dated some nice girls in college, but never found love. I took a year off after graduating with a BS in Accounting to pursue a career in minor-league baseball, then gave it up and joined Anchor Minerals and Metals to start climbing up the corporate ladder. I was climbing, that is, until I made the fatal mistake of getting too drunk at a holiday party and hitting on a beautiful woman, Anna Cortez, who as it turns out, was the wife of Gerald Cortez, a high-ranking AM&M Division Manager. (Apparently alcohol removes my eyes' ability to detect wedding rings. Who knew?)

My boss, Jerry Bellacort, was AM&M's Controller for Mining Operations. He liked me and managed to save my career by working a deal with upper management - I would apologize to the pissed off Division Manager and make a nice contribution to AM&M's favorite charity, then I would be sent on a 12-month assignment to a tiny out-of-sight corner of the AM&M empire - Hanson, West Virginia - to lay low, review their operations and implement cost savings. If that went well, I would be returned to the land of the living to resume my career at AM&M's Pittsburgh HQ. In Hanson I was replacing some ass-wipe named Rick Jarret. Apparently before he was fired he managed to piss off everybody from the head of the local Coal Miner's Union down to the kid in the mailroom. So, I had my work cut out for me.

I was bone-weary, far from home, sitting in a booth at a place called "Hank's Hi-Life Bar and Grill" and concentrating on the piss-poor signal I was getting on my smartphone while waiting for the burger and beer I had ordered from the bartender.

I heard a server walk up next to me, so I put my phone down and looked up into a surprisingly familiar face. Stunned, I stammered "Maggie, is it really you?"

The server gasped, looked at me wide-eyed, dropped the tray with my dinner, then ran into the kitchen.

Several of the patrons got up off their barstools and walked over to me, not a friendly face among them. They were all huge men, and any one of them could have broken me in half with minimal effort. A voice (wasn't sure which one it was, as I was in a state of shock myself) asked menacingly, "Mister, who the fuck are you and what the hell did you say to Marguerite?"

Gathering my wits about me, I tried to compose an acceptable response that wouldn't get my ass kicked. I held up my hands in a gesture of innocence. "Whoa, easy guys, I'm Ray Durling, a cost accountant from AM&M. I just got into town, I'm here in a long-term assignment. Marguerite took me by surprise, she's a dead ringer for the ex-wife of a buddy of mine. I didn't mean to startle her, believe me."

One of them snorted. "Oh, you're one of them carpet-walkers from AM&M. Great. After the last feller from the company left, we was hoping that was the last we'd see of Company men."Big man or not, that last comment was starting to get me riled. I stood up and faced the big man.

"Listen, friend," I said in a none-too-friendly way, "I just flew four and a half hours from Pittsburgh to Huntington on a 40-passenger puddlejumper, then rented a Jeep and drove 90 minutes up to this place. I'm tired, hungry and thirsty, so I stopped here to get a bite because it's the only place that's open. I'm not trying to bother anybody, I just want to be left alone." I took a step closer to him, looking up into his face and dropped my voice low to show I wasn't afraid. "You got a problem with that?"

His eyes grew wide at my insolence, and he took a step back, not out of fear but to give himself more room to throw a punch. Then a woman's voice - Marguerite's - called out. "It's OK, Mike. I know him." Son of a BITCH! It WAS Maggie!

Frowning, Mike and his other buddies backed off and went back to their seats, grumbling. The busboy cleaned up the mess, and Marguerite brought another tray with a fresh burger and new beer, then sat down across the table from me. "Ray, what are you DOING here? Did Arthur send you to find me?"

Art and I were childhood friends, grew up together in Pittsburgh's Glen Hazel neighborhood. Even though I was best man at their wedding, truth be told Art Bognar was a terrible husband. He cheated on Marguerite, and occasionally slapped her around when his insecurities overpowered his self-esteem. When she left, my only reaction was surprise - Art thought I was surprised she'd actually leave him - when the real reason I was surprised was that it took her so damned long to do it.

Marguerite Bognar - her maiden name was Hermosillo - 1s 5' 7". Her face was classic beauty, with a tawny Latina complexion and deep brown eyes you could practically swim in. On this night her shiny luxurious black hair was wrapped up in a bun. Pleasingly plump, she weighed around 160 but those pounds were packed on in just the right places. When I'd go over to their place for dinner, I couldn't keep my eyes off her beautiful face and the tantalizing curve of her ass. I was so jealous of Art for having won her heart instead of me.

And now I was here, sitting in a tavern with one of the most beautiful women I'd ever known. "Maggie, hand to God, I've been sent here on assignment. I haven't seen Art in about a year and a half, and frankly, even if I was still talking to him I wouldn't tell that asshole where he could find you, I swear!" I crossed my heart with my hand for emphasis.

I could see her start to relax inwardly. "So where are you staying," she asked, "in a hotel?"

"Just for one night. Tomorrow I'm meeting with a property manager. AM&M is leasing a furnished house for me." I paused, then blurted out what had been building up. "When I get settled in, can I invite you over for dinner, so we can catch up? I've really missed you!" Her eyes got wide. I took her hand in mine and confessed. "I've always thought you were swell, Marguerite." (Geeeez, who uses the word 'swell', 8-year-olds?) "I'm a pretty good cook, would that be OK with you?"

Marguerite took back her hand. Her eyes were a little wet, on the verge of tears. "Don't take this the wrong way, Ray, but I'm still a little freaked out by seeing you here. You bring up a lot of memories with Arthur, I'm not sure how to handle it."

A wave of sadness came over me. "It's OK, Maggie, I understand." She stood up, then patted my hand. "It's sweet that you think so highly of me, but right now I just can't deal. I need some time to process you being here. Can I ask that of you?"

I looked up at her, willing to do whatever she asked. "You bet, anything!" She patted my forearm, then turned away and her shapely ass disappearing into the kitchen was the last I saw of her for a long time.

++++++++++

The next morning I met Arden Lancaster, which was a pretty aristocratic-sounding name for a small-town property manager. He was 5' 6", stout, with a white beard and looked to be in his 60s - kind of like Santa Claus in the offseason. He took me to a little house - 900 square feet, 1 bedroom, 1 bath, a small living room with a fireplace but a surprisingly roomy kitchen for such a tiny place. "This was my uncle's house, God rest his soul," he told me, "after he passed away I cleaned it up, furnished it, and made some repairs. The insulation isn't the best; It's hot in the summer but if you open up the front and rear doors you'll get a nice cross breeze. In the winter if you get the fireplace going it'll keep you toasty warm."

"Looks great," I said. At least I'd be comfortable at night - for some odd reason the tiny bedroom had a king-sized bed, along with an old dresser and a wooden chair.

"One additional thing," Arden added, "is that it comes with a housekeeper. Faith Swensen, her name is. She's married to my uncle's friend Kurt, so after my uncle passed I gave her a job. She needs the income; her husband was injured in a mining accident, ended up paralyzed from the waist down. She's the only income they have. Initially the disability was reasonable, but 4 years ago, your predecessor Mr. Jarret told them they had determined the accident was 40% Kurt's fault for not following procedures, so his disability payments were reduced by 40%." He shook his head. "Damned shame, that. Mrs. Swensen's in her late 50s and should be retired by now."

He looked up at me, and whispered conspiratorially, "Truth be told, she's still a fine-looking woman. If she was a widow, I'd sure come a-courtin!" He giggled almost girlishly, then returned to his normal voice. "Be careful what you share, though, Mr. Durling. Mrs. Swensen can be quite the gossip. Her younger sister Hope works in the drug store, and their baby sister Charity works in the Post Office. Between the three of them, Faith, Hope, and Charity know the secrets of most everybody in town."

I finally met Faith Swensen face-to-face after I'd been in the house a week. I'd forgotten some work papers on the kitchen table from the previous evening, so I came home from the office mid-day to pick them up and she was there, cleaning. She was thin, over 6' tall, rather regal with her long white hair tied up in a bun. Her face was indeed pretty, but her eyes...they were deep blue and gorgeous. The old saying about eyes being like swimming pools? Yeah, that was her.

I said hello, my eyes never leaving that pretty face. Somehow I made it through the small talk, but when it was over I had a warm hard feeling in my pants. When I got back to work, instead of reviewing expense reports I took an hour to review her husband's file. Turns out her husband's disability payments weren't reduced; he was being cheated. The amount was the same; 60% of it was being deposited to his bank account, but 40% of it was being diverted to another account, belonging to - big surprise - Rick Jarrett.

Over the next few days I made some calls reporting my findings to HQ. My bosses agreed we did not want this to go public - the press and the union bosses would have a field day with it. Instead, we quietly redirected the funds back to Kurt Swensen, with a letter informing them that the Company had revisited his disability and adjusted the amount retroactively. The Company hired a forensic accountant and a private investigator to hunt down Jarrett, but by then he had fled the country to hide somewhere in the Caribbean.

++++++++++

I was still hopeful I could get Marguerite to warm up to me, I asked her multiple times to have dinner with me, to no avail. I asked her on picnics, to go hiking, horseback riding, anything to get us to spend time together. Her answer was always a polite "no".

Finally, one Thursday night an envelope slid under my front door. Just before bed I spotted it, opened it and read it.

"Dear Ray,

I'm flattered that you hold me in such high esteem that you keep trying to spend time with me. I've known for years that you had a crush on me - even Arthur pointed it out. He used to tell me how if he died, you'd be happy to take his place the very next day. (How sad THAT never happened.) But like I told you, I've put those days behind me and started a new chapter of my life. Seeing you brings me back to a very painful time, one that I don't want to revisit.

This is why I am asking you to please forget about me. As painful as it is for you, it's for the best for both of us.

In friendship,

Marguerite."

After reading that, I didn't sleep well that night. Friday morning though, I was going down into the mines so I had to be on my toes. Determined to forget her, I pushed her to the back of my mind to allow myself to concentrate. I was wearing overalls, work gloves, steel-toed shoes and safety gear, because there are seldom any second chances if you mess up underground. A lot of the miners were surprised to see me; in the four years he was here, my predecessor never went into the mines, but I've always been a hands-on guy - my grandfather was a farm laborer and I inherited it from him, I guess - it's important to me to see how things work first-hand.

At the end of the day even though I didn't do any actual mining I was still exhausted. I headed down to a place called Jumbo's Bar to relax, and to nurse my pain over Maggie's letter by drowning it in beer. A tiny thin woman with mousy brown hair about 5' tall walked up to my table and asked, "Mind if I sit with you?" She was kind of pretty, in a plain sort of way. Looked to be in her 30s, but people who live and work in mining towns show more wear and tear than easy-living city people. Like Mrs. Swenson's, her eyes were a vivid blue, her skin pale and white.

"Free country," I answered, "pull up a chair. Gotta warn you, I'm pretty lousy company right now. Would you like a beer?"

"Love one," she responded. I waved my hand at the bartender, and he brought over two. "You're new in town, I seen you a couple of times at the gas station and the grocery store," she said, and extended her hand. "I'm Darlene."

I shook it. Firm, nice and warm. "Ray Durling," I responded. An uncomfortable silence followed, then I decided to come out of my funk and be nice. "I'm an accountant at AM&M," I said. "What do you do, Darlene?" Her eyes were indeed remarkable. This was getting interesting.

"I'm a hair dresser over at Top Hair and Nails. I ain't been doing it for too long, so they mostly let me cut the little kids' hair and the older ladies who don't want to spend too much. But I'm getting better at it."

Just then an unwelcome voice boomed out. "Well, if it ain't the carpet walker!" I turned to look, and sitting at the bar was Mike, the guy that I went toe-to-toe with at Hank's Hi-Life when I first got in town. "Buddy, that there is Darlene Fitch. You need to stay away from her. She's the town bicycle, man, everybody's had a ride!". Three of the other guys at the bar laughed. Darlene's face reddened, and she looked down at the ground, her face scrunched up as if she was about to cry. "I'm sorry Mr. Durling," she said, her throat sounding tight, "I'll leave you to your beer." She stood up as if to leave, but I took her hand and pulled her back into her seat.

"You sit tight, Darlene, I'll be right back and we can continue to get to know each other." I stood up and walked over to the bar. Mike stood up and looked down at me, it was evident he was primed for a throw-down. Damn, he was big! Before he could say a word, I got in close so we were chest to chest, and began speaking in a low tone. "Now, listen, amigo," I began, "I'm a new guy in town and trying to make friends. Why you wanna get in the way of that?"

The look on his face was half-surprised, and half enraged. "Whatta you want to spend time with that piece of trash for?" he growled, pointing at Darlene. "Seems to me you got piss-poor taste in friends."

"Who I hang with and what I do is none of your god-damned business," I growled back. "f I were you, I'd apologize to Darlene for talking shit about her and making her feel bad."

Some of his friends let out a laugh, some let out a groan; they knew what was coming. Just then, he slammed his foot down on top of my left foot. His eyes got wide when he realized I was wearing steel-toed boots, so it had no effect. His shock gave me enough of a pause where I jerked my right knee up and nailed him in the nuts. He bent over in surprise and pain, and that was enough to allow me to plant a good hard punch on his jaw which knocked him backwards on his ass. His friends roared with laughter. I wish I could tell you the rest of the fight went well, but it didn't. Last thing I remember clearly was being face-down on the floor of Jumbo's with a face full of peanut shells, pushing myself up and slurring, "Is that all you got?" Then everything went black.

++++++++++

When I woke up Saturday morning, the sun's rays coming through the window burned like laser beams. My head was throbbing, and more of me ached than didn't. "Good morning," I heard a woman's voice say. Turning my head - painfully - to the right, I opened my eyes and saw Darlene sitting there. She asked, "Can I get you anything?"

"Yeah, a glass of water and a couple of ibuprofens would be nice," I managed to whisper. She brought the pills to me and helped me get them down. "How long have you been here?"

"Pretty much all night. I figured you'd need some caretaking after being in a fight." I groaned, as the shredded memories came trickling in. Her voice got a little quieter. "I wanted to thank you, Ray. Nobody has ever stuck up for me like that. Never in my entire life."