Firecracker Ch. 03

"Yup. She's bin nice to me."

"She is nice. I kin see why she likes ya." Leaning over, she smiled as she searched the frothy water for something.

Keith tapped her on the shoulder. "Look Stace, even if I'd let ya git closer, I'm an old fashioned guy. Not gonna take advantage of my daughter's daughter and not gonna cheat on somebody who loves me."

"Really?" she replied, looking up at his face with broad eyes.

"Really, really." They looked each other in the eyes for a few moments: hers questioning and his calm and peaceful. She glanced down again, trying to find something while heglared at her and crossed his arms, waiting her out.

After a few long moments, she looked away and pulled her hand back. "Tell ya what," he conceded at last, "after you girls get cleaned up, I'll take ya over to th' Legion fer a while. Y'all kin dance and drink all the diet Coke ya want."

"Sounds great, Pawpaw," she enthused, clapping her hands and dancing inside. His eyes followed her, and saw a familiar shape from years long past.

It was an August afternoon in his eighteenth year, in the farm country of his birth, when he's seen that ass before, or at least, one like it. Vivian Chetham was his steady girl, and they were enjoying the summer before he expected his draft notice. They were at the pond on his grandfather's farm, and her long lean body excited him despite the modest one piece swimsuit she wore. The nicely appled butt captured his eyes and his imagination stirred.

"Gosh, Viv, you got a nice backside."

"Keith, how dare you!" She complained, smiling.

"Hell, sweetheart, nobody else's out here. I like th' look of your ass."

She looked away and faced him so he couldn't see her backside. "I guess a girl should be greatful for the appreciation, but nice boys don't tell their girls they have a nice butt."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry, Viv. But that's how I feel."

"Keep your hands to yourself."

After a while, they used the rope swing over the deepest part of the pond, taking turns in the freedom of momentary weightlessness, and as she took her sixth turn, he noticed how her little nipples became hard in her swimsuit and the swimsuit pulled into the crack of her ass.

"Damn, you're a looker, Viv," he said as they climbed up the bank for another launch into the blue.

She saw his interest arising in his swimsuit with a surprised look. "Doggone it, Keith. You're bigger than my dad. How big is that pole?"

"Why don't ya find out?"

Stepping up to him in challenge, she touched the outside of his suit and gasped as his affection swelled to full expression. Suddenly, she turned and ran away: "Stop, stop," she said, laughing as she ran toward the hill at half speed.

He was lithe and supple, and he chased her down easily as a wolf tracks down a rabbit despite his handicap. They discovered each other's bodies in the midst of the cornfields that afternoon, making love until the early evening. The new level of their relationship took up all their attention from then on, two young, supple bodies in dialogue every free and private moment at the Drive In, in the fields under the stars, behind the barn during lunch breaks, and at the end of a long dead end road tradition staked out as the lover's parking place.

Morning sickness and other changes told them the results of their loving, but they lived in denial as along as they could, enjoying the last days of free love as long as they could. Before he left for the Army they had to get married at the country seat to preserve her honor. Five months after he left, Sandra Jean Winslow was born on a day her father was slogging through Vietnamese swamps. When he came back to Vivian and Sandy, he was no longer lithe and supple, and his athletic grace was forever gone.

Keith lifted himself out of the rapidly cooling water, slipped on his bathrobe, and hobbled across the deck using the furniture to support himself until he got to the door and his walker. Just after he reached his bedroom, Kammie bounded through the door after him, wearing her robe, and gave him a long kiss full on the lips. She smiled and slipped out of the robe, her tan a shade darker all over her body. He shook his head and she pouted for a moment before fetching a plaid halter top and jean shorts to wear.

A few hours later, Keith sat at his usual stool at the American Legion bar alongside his old friend Harry Kerns. Keith was a long lean figure in a white t-shirt and jeans over his flip flops: a contrast to his chubby friend in a plaid shirt, brown shorts, hairy legs and white shocks in sandals. Kammie, Erin, and Stacie were dancing on the floor with each other, all the fast numbers and all the slow ones, ogled by a dozen grizzled vets who cowered in groups of two and three and bragged quietly to each other how they would make one of the girls his eternal love slave with one evening's domination. The girls disdained to meet their gazes but smiled to themselves in acknowledgment of their adorers' lustful ambitions. "They're really sumthin' Keith," Harry said, his eyes fixed on a banquet of 18 year old pulchritude.

"Yeah."

"Too much fer one man t'handle."

He punched Harry in the arm with irritation. "Two of them's my grankids, ya damn pervert. Sheeyiyut!"

"Ow. I din't mean nothin', Keith," Harry mewled rubbing his arm. "Jest wanted t'say they was bootiful."

"They are beautiful."

A few 30 something men entered at sat at a table across the way from the dancefloor. Keith kept a close eye on them, but they seemed to be self absorbed. Harry gave him a look and tapped his mug for a refill. Jill Barnes the barmaid served him, and he gulped it down at warp speed. "Ya know, Keith, most folks think Sandy's outta her mind."

"I'd agree."

"They like Mike and think she's doing him wrong. Doing her girls wrong too, not to mention her boy who's in Iraq. How's he gonna feel when he finds out his momma's a slut?"

"Frankie wrote me this mornin'. He's sad but not surprised. Thought his momma was gonna slip the leash while he was gone."

"Well, I'd never known it. Mike's such a good guy, kinda quiet, but dependable."

"Yeah. He deserves better."

"He's the son you never had."

"He's been good ta me." They sipped their beers in the silent communion of drinking buddies that go back decades.

One of Keith's other friends from his old unit stepped up to the jukebox and threw some coins in. A couple of Beatles tunes from the White Album were followed by Meat Loaf's "Two out of Three Ain't Bad," and it took Keith back to an awful night years ago.

The lights were dim in the nursing home at 3:00AM, and Sandy was asleep on the floor by her mother's bed. Vivian Winston was off the machines at last, her scraggly hair trying to cover her scalp, and her skin was blotched and spotted. Keith sat next to her in a chair, holding her hand, his ornate walking stick resting against the wall. Her chest shuddered, and she pressed the call button.

"What's up, honey?" Keith asked softly.

"Heart palpitations. Dangerous, dangerous. Hope the nurses will come."

"I'm sure they will."

She took a deep breath. "You moron. They didn't last time. You had to go to the nurses' station."

"Do ya want me to go now?"

"Yes, of course I do."

Keith walked down the hall, but no one was in sight, either at the circular station or in the break room. Walking around, he got no sense of where they could be, and returned to the room.

"Can't find them," he said simply when he returned.

"Damn bitches must be havin' a smoke." She tried to take a deep breath and partially succeeded. "Ya, now, I don't know how I ended up with you."

"I do. It was a summer's day at the pond out on the old farm."

She shook her head. "My daddy insisted I marry you after I got pregnant. 'Specially since you were goin' to 'Nam. I din't want you; I wanted Junior Fredricks. He made good of his life: with his concrete business and his farm. Never married, kept pinin' away after Brenda Ruth all his life. I coulda made him happy."

"Now, Viv honey, how could you know he. Junior never paid any attention to you and I did."

"Yeah, and what did I git for it? Raisin' a baby alone and my husband comin' home a cripple two years later. Junior didn't go to war."

"Junior ate hisself thirty pounds heavier one summer and flunked his physical."

"You shoulda some somethin' like that. Ya got crippled in a war we lost for no purpose. Ya just made my life hell." She blew out a breath and wheezed as she took another. Her eyes were blazing accusation at him. She tried to talk, but nothing came out. Suddenly, her head fell back on the pillow and the hand Keith was holding went limp.

"You kept me goin' in those swamps," he whispered softly. "You kept me going through all those months in th' hospital. You, you, you. I passed up every bimbo in Saigon fer you. I did my best fer you when I came home. I loved you then and I love you know. I did fer you better than that fat jackass Junior Fredricks ever could. You've always been my Northern Star."

In thirty minutes when the nurses finally answered the call button, Vivian had been dead for fifteen minutes. Keith held her hand until the undertakers carried her away while his daughter sobbed quietly against the wall, refusing consolation.

A couple of their old friends on the other side of the bar gave a wave and left for their homes. Harry looked at the girls a few moments and asked: "How's Kammie doin'?"

"Okay, I guess," he said shaking his head.

"She gonna stay a while?"

"I guess, but I'm not holdin' my breath."

The music shifted from Garth Brooks to Tim McGraw. "Th' way she looks at ya is enough t'see. You got her hooked deep, buddy."

Keith snorted and sipped his beer, shaking his head. Harry drained his beer and put the mug down on the counter, nodding to the barmaid for another. Keith shook his head no, and Harry smiled. "Whut?" Keith asked.

"Nothin' Keith, nothin' Ya got it good. Enjoy it while it lasts."

"You bet." The music droned on, and Rosie Brown sidled over. She wore a white low cut blouse, a dark skirt, sandals and heavy makeup. "How's it goin', Rosie?" Harry looked at her with poorly disguised lust, but Keith kept his eyes on hers and not on her cleavage.

"All right, Keith," she said batting her eyes. "You enjoyin' babysittin'?"

He laughed. "Very nice, Rosie, very nice. You enjoyin' th' peace 'n quiet?"

"Oh, I dunno. Thingsa been pickin' up. How's it goin" with you Harry?"

"Not bad, Rosie, not bad. Ya look nice t'night."

"Thanks. It's good t'know there's a man around who can appreciate a nature woman. May pay you back someday. I'll take a Canadian and Seven, Jill."

"Yes, Rosie," said bartender Jill. She was a slender woman in her mid 40's with red hair, wearing a delicately curved tube top and long legs tucked into her jeans shorts and flip flops. Rosie took her drink and moved aside to a nearby table, her eyes fixed on Harry until she sat.

"Well, somethin' may happen there t'night," Harry said smugly into his beer.

"Since when?" Keith giggled. "Rosie's only bin good enough fer a lick and a promise most of her life. I remember stories 'bout her in High School: got dozens of guys into the back seat but never put out. If she din't have those three boys with Stevie Kinder, I'd think she was a virgin."

Harry moved over conspiratorially. "Fred Turpin said he got to third base with her last month. Nicest head of his life, best in the west. She may be softenin'; she's bin alone for over ten years. Maybe she's got motivation now."

"Well, I kin see your motivation from here. Good think ya din't drink enuf beer to drown yer pecker yet. Go on and try your luck, buddy, and Godspeed t'ya."

Harry sidled over with his beer, sitting down next to Rosie and starting a muted conversation. Jill came back by, putting a fresh mug in front of Keith with a question: "How's Frankie doin'?"

Keith nodded. "Frankie's bin doin' okay. Things're better over there, and he feels good when he's at base. Patrollin' still scares the shit outta him, but I told him that's good. I was scared shitless in 'Nam all th' time and it saved my life a few times. What's left of it."

"Oh, you're doin' pretty well, Keith. Don't let anybody tell ya otherwise. We all have a runaway kid: haven't heard from my Jess for a year now. Damn stupid girl met a boy on the Internet and went t' Cleveland to live with'im. Ya learn ta live with it. Mike's better than a son to ya: he won't let ya down, and it looks like the twins still like ya. I think Kammie's a real good, loyal kid who'll make you happy a long time. Have I ever led ya wrong?"

He lifted his stein in salute. "Nope, Jill. You've always hit the nail on th' head."

She snorted. "If I'm so damn right 'bout everythin', why did I marry three losers inna row?"

"Dunno, Jill, dunno. Thanks."

"Remember me in your tip, big boy." She moved off, and Keith spent the rest of the evening nursing his beer and watching the girls dance. After an hour, Harry and Rosie left together hand in hand, with a persistent horny glow from his eyes lighting their way.

The girls were lost in their dancing the entire evening, gyrating wildly with the upbeat numbers and gliding gracefully during the slow numbers, taking breaks to drink diet Coke. The men in the place kept an eye on them, but when their eyes met Keith's, their interest faded. Shane Harrison started in the door toward the end of the evening, but when he saw Keith, he took a U turn and left. "Why's Shane still here?" Keith asked.

Jill came over. "Not time ta go yet. Word has it he's scared ta go."

"How much time's he got?"

"Dunno. If he don't go soon, they'll give up on 'im."

Closing time arrived and the four made their way home. A half Moon sank in the west as they came down the walk to Keith's lake house. The twins snacked on some day old doughnuts they liberated from the Legion, and bedded down quickly in their room with little fuss. Kammie untied a couple of persistent knots from his shoulders at his request before helping him change for bed. She slipped into her oversized t-shirt and gave him a long kiss before turning off the light and spooning back into him.

He looked at her sleeping head and breathed in her scent. There was a day when Vivian's perfume could send him into a fever, but that magic scent was long lost from his memory. Kammie's scent and warmth worked their magic on his preoccupied glands, and the resolution of many of his worries helping him focus. Reaching over, he started stroking her face with tender touches, one finger at a time, the running back to trace the line of her earlobe. Kammie's earlobes were a key to arousal: she started breathing heavily and trembling at his earnest touch.

She ground her hips back into his crotch and purred as she felt his interest in her swell for the first time in several days. He leaned over and whispered dangerous words in her ear, words he'd never let himself saw for many years: "Sweetness, I love you." Turning over, she kissed him full on the lips, driving her tongue into his mouth to meet his tongue. She sucked his tongue into her mouth like a cock and his pole raised in full salute to her. Sitting up and getting over him, she sighed as his hands found her perfect breasts through her t-shirt, tweaking her erect nipples. Her t-shirt came over her head and she was bare and the dim light, lowering her chest so he could suck her nipple into his mouth and chew it gently. Reaching between her legs, she found his rigid pole and guided it deep inside her, undulating her hips as his rose to meet her. On and on they danced, one inside the other, relishing the tight wet clasp of velvet on solid red pulsing flesh. He leaned back and she leaned forward, keeping him inside her, so his hungry mouth could continue teasing her rubbery nubs.

Sitting upright with a gasp, her moment of ecstacy took her and thrashed her around wildly, which brought him to his moment of gushing completion that overfilled her eager vagina. She rode him until there was nothing left for either of them, reaching down for the overflow, which she scooped and slipped between her lips as he watched in adoration.

Finally, she lay on top of him, still fully impaled, and closed her eyes. He stroked her hair and caressed her silken backside as her feathery form captured him. His mind raced with possibilities, looking at many possible futures before he settled back into the present, his manhood claimed by perfect submission, and his rugged, oft-wounded heart beating safely at last in the chest of another.