Hurrah for the Pirate King

After dessert, the males retired to the living room to watch the football game while the women cleared the table and did the dishes. I'm not a big sports fan, but I went with the flow. The others were glued to the screen, but when I heard hesitant chording I recognized as being the overture to The Pirates of Penzance coming from the parlor across the hall, I felt no compunction about abandoning the Bears to their fate and investigating.

Dariah was seated at a baby grand, the score open in front of her. She peered at it and struck a wrong note.

"E flat," I said, coming to the piano. She tried again and I frowned as she mischorded. Dariah looked at me and got up. I sat down and began to play the right hand part without looking at the music.

"At least I use both hands," she said.

Without replying, I brought the bass line in with my left and began to sing.

"Drink, oh drink the pirate sherry, Fill, oh fill the pirate glass..."

I hadn't finished the first stanza when Suji, Lakshi and Rani came into the room and gathered behind me with Dariah. As I began the second stanza, they began to sing. We barreled through the number and when it was over, Suji looked at me with the delight of a fellow fan.

"You like Gilbert & Sullivan, do you?"

"Yes. I'm a member of the Gower Street Savoyards company," I replied. "I know most of the D'Oyly Carte scores. Did you ever perform?"

"When I was in college," Suji said with quiet pride, "I played Major General Stanley."

"Really?" Without further ado, I played the opening of "I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major General." Suji took a deep breath and picked up the musical gauntlet, unconsciously taking the pose he'd doubtless used onstage as he launched into one of the most challenging patter songs in the Gilbert & Sullivan repertoire. The three women took on the chorus roles so naturally, I wondered if at one time family sing-songs had been a staple of household life. When it ended, I led the applause. Rani glowed with pride at the accomplishments of her father and her boyfriend.

Hauling out bound scores, we happily worked our way through selections from Trial by Jury, HMS Pinafore and Ruddigore before Grandmother came into the parlor. She looked worried.

"You'd better look at the forecast," she said. We trooped into the living room and changed to the Weather Channel. It wasn't good news. The storm front threatening the region had picked up speed and was bearing down on us. Predictions were for anything from 30 to 48 inches of snow in the next 12 hours. I looked out the window. The occasional fat flakes that had been falling as I drove out had changed to much smaller ones coming down and accumulating on the ground. I recalled the old Cree axiom, "Snow like meal, snow a great deal." I looked at the weather map again. If I didn't leave right away, I wouldn't have a hope of making it back home before the storm hit.

Rani's father was thinking much the same thing. "Dariah, your flight leaves at midnight? If we leave now, I think I can get you to the airport and make it back home before the storm front arrives."

"No need for that," I said. "I have to pass the airport on my way home anyway. I'd be happy to drop Dariah off if she's willing to ride with me. There's no point risking two cars in the snow." Dariah and Rani looked at me and then at Suji. He nodded.

"I accept," said Dariah. "Just give me a minute to get my bags." The party broke up as Bobby grabbed his coat and escaped to his car without even saying goodbye to Sushila, who glowered after him. I shrugged into my overcoat and Rani joined me as I brushed the snow off The Big Black Boat, letting the engine warm up and the defrosters do their work.

"You will be careful, Harry, won't you?" she asked, taking my arm. I turned to her and gathered her into a hug, looking over her shoulder at the sky and at her parents watching from the front porch. Dariah joined them with a carry-on and a large suitcase and hugged them goodbye.

"We'll be okay," I said. "If it gets no worse than this, I can make this trip with no trouble. Don't worry about me." Rani pulled herself closer and kissed me, a soft kiss that quickly turned rugged as our tongues dueled. She laid her head on my shoulder. Dariah was walking toward us with her two bags. I stroked Rani's hair and released her.

"I'll call and let you know when I'm safe," I promised. I loaded the bags while she and Dariah exchanged hugs, a few sentences in the same language they had used when I arrived at the house, and a serious look. Dariah and I climbed into the car, and with a toot-toot at the three figures standing on the porch, we set out for the airport.

By the time I got onto the interstate 25 minutes later, the snow was coming down hard enough to require intermittent windshield wipers. It was impossible to run at the posted speed limit of 65 mph. Dariah and I had been chatting companionably, but as the snowfall increased and my speed decreased our conversation trailed off. I looked sideways at my passenger. Dariah was looking at her watch, a worried expression on her face as she ran speed and distance calculations in her head. I reached into my coat and handed her my cellphone.

"You'd better call the airline," I suggested. As she dialed the number, I sped up the wipers. My speedometer was down to 45 and snow was starting to drift across the road in humps that would only get bigger as the wind speed increased. I could tell a plow had been over the road sometime in the last hour, but its good work was being rapidly undone by wind-driven snow and new stuff falling from the gunmetal-gray clouds. My own mental figuring indicated that making the airport with enough time for my passenger to check in, get through security and board the plane to Paris was problematic at best.

Dariah cursed and closed the cellphone. "All the lines are busy, and the wait to speak to an agent is more than 30 minutes," she said angrily.

I saw the blue sign that marked a rest area ahead. "We aren't licked yet," I said. "Let me just get off the road here and we'll try the Internet."

Easing into the rest area, Dariah hopped out and ran to the rest room while I got out my laptop and tied my cellphone into it. Two minutes later, I was online and searching for the airline's flight information. I read the report with a frown. Just then, Dariah returned to the car.

"Are you up?" she asked.

"Yes, but you're not going to like it," I said, turning the laptop so she could read the screen. The line on the page with her flight information was blinking yellow with one word in capital letters in the 'Status' column standing out: "DELAYED."

"That's good," she said with relief. "It means I can still make the flight."

"No, it isn't," I replied. "It means at the very least the airport is limiting takeoffs, with de-icing required before an airliner can even join the queue. I've flown out of there before in winter." I changed to the National Weather Service website and looked at the regional weather map. I'd been fascinated with weather systems as a kid before I discovered Gilbert & Sullivan, computers and girls; and had learned how to read the symbols not just for the highs, lows and fronts but also for the reporting stations. What I was seeing now translated to big trouble. Dariah could see it in my face.

"What is it?" she asked.

"This isn't a localized storm. It's a full-fledged blizzard moving east at 30 miles an hour, dropping at least eight inches per hour with increasing precipitation plus drifting snow on the ground. That isn't good." I handed her the computer. "You'd better see about making reservations at one of the airport hotels, just in case. I'll give you 5 to 1 your flight is canceled before we get there." Dariah set to work as I pulled out of the rest area back onto the highway, switching the radio to an all-news station to monitor the weather reports.

We hadn't been back on the road for ten minutes with my speed down to 40, as fast as I dared run in the slop and slush, when I saw flashing amber lights ahead in the distance. We were catching up to the plows, I supposed, but if that was the case why was I driving in loose snow and compacted guck instead of on at least halfway-clear pavement?

The answer to my mental question became apparent as we reached the lights and I slowed down even more. There was a plow there, all right. The trouble was, it was in the ditch and two big wreckers were trying to pull it back out. As we passed the accident, the Mercedes rocked and a gust of snow blew past the windshield, momentarily whiting out the world. The terrain here was flat, open farmland with nothing to slow the wind. Thinking of the force it took to push a snowplow off the road, I reached a decision.

"Dariah," I said, looking at her for a moment, "you'd better reschedule your flight and cancel your airport hotel reservations. We aren't going to make it. In fact, we're going to have to hole up and wait this storm out."

Dariah could tell I was not joking. "Are you sure?"

Before I could answer her, the news cut off in mid-word. The radio emitted a nasty-two-toned squeal I'd only heard in tests before. The squeal ended and a new announcer came on, with the tinniness that means the signal is coming in over a phone line.

"This is the Emergency Alert System. The Governor has activated the Weather Emergency Plan due to current and projected blizzard conditions. A state of martial law is hereby declared and the National Guard is hereby activated for emergency service. The following steps are being taken.

"All National Guardsmen are to report to their armories and commence operations to assist the Department of Transportation, the State Police and local authorities.

"All interstate highways are closed, effective immediately. All motorists are to exit the highway at the next exit and seek shelter.

"All police, fire and emergency medical personnel — " I switched the radio off. A blue sign on the right indicated that the exit ahead boasted an independent motel called Jack's Truck Stop & Motor Lodge. I just hoped they still had rooms as I guided the Mercedes gingerly down the off-ramp and turned west toward the big sign I could barely see through the driving snow.

Jack's was an early 1950s setup from the days before the interstate highways had been built. What might have started as a roadside bar had been expanded into a restaurant, followed by the addition of three wings of rooms meant to service tourists in for fishing and hunting and truckers who wanted a good meal and a decent night's sleep. The steakhouse and the motel formed a hollow square with automobile parking for diners in the middle and nose-in parking for the motel rooms along the inner edge of the square. The garage adjoining the complex had islands for four trucks and a dozen cars to fuel at once, and bays for three big rigs and four automobiles to be worked on at the same time. The parking area behind the service station-cum-convenience store held at least two dozen idling 18-wheelers. I pulled up in front of the office and Dariah and I went inside.

The key board behind the registration desk did not encourage me. Almost all the hooks were empty despite the 'Vacancy' sign burning below the main sign by the road. An old gent who might be the owner got up from his easy chair in the inner office and ambled out to greet us.

"Two more fish caught by the storm?" he greeted us with a smile. He had reason to smile. The governor's proclamation translated to good business for people like him, effectively trapping people just passing through. "All I have left is an efficiency. Queen bed, stove, refrigerator — "

"We'll take it," said Dariah before I could open my mouth, cutting him off in mid-description and putting a credit card down on the counter. "May we have the keys, please?"

The innkeeper/clerk/whatever he was handed her a registration form to fill out as he went inside to process the card. He came back a minute later and returned it, exchanging the form for two tagged keys.

"Number 30, all the way down in the far corner. Parking space is in front of the apartment. Enjoy your stay."

"Ha, ha, ha," I muttered to Dariah as we returned to the car. "I suppose we'll be lucky if the place doesn't smell of mold and the sheets have been changed sometime in the last year."

The reality was nowhere near as bad as I'd feared. Number 30 was a snug little bed-sitter decorated in Sportsman's Den with a small kitchen attached, including a complete set of pots, pans, utensils and dishes. A back door opened onto a tiny fenced patio that had a charming view of the 18-wheeler lot, but did offer access to the convenience store. While Dariah carried in her bags and the small suitcase that lives in my trunk with clothes for those short unplanned trips I have to make when a branch office's network goes down, I braved the elements to get some supplies. When I returned, covered in snow and shivering despite my coat, hat and gloves, she was watching the news.

"We may be here for a day or two," she said. "I just got off the phone with Lakshi and Rani at the house. They say it will be that long before the storm blows over and the highways and airports are reopened." She looked at me in the kitchen, shaking off the wet and setting down the groceries, and came over to feel my face.

"You need to warm up, she said firmly. "Rani said she would not forgive me if I did not take proper care of you. You get to the bathroom. You'll find your toilet kit on the shelf by the sink. I'll put the food away. Go!"

I obediently went. Dariah had even hung the cotton yukata I use in place of a bathrobe from the hook behind the door. The bathroom was nothing fancy; a long tub that might be big enough for two if they were friendly with a shower head, a pedestal sink and an infrared light to warm the bath separately from the main heater in the outside room. Flipping this on, I stripped and climbed under the hot water, groaning as it warmed me. I spent a long while simply luxuriating in the steam and hot water before taking facecloth and soap to wash myself.

When I returned to the main room dressed in the yukata, Dariah was waiting with a mug of hot instant chicken noodle soup. She pointed at the bed, which she had turned down.

"Under the covers with you, Harry. Hot shower or not, there is still cold blood out in your limbs. You need to conserve your body heat until you are fully thawed out." She disappeared into the bathroom and I heard the shower resume its drumming against the porcelain. I obediently climbed under the covers, wondering what we were going to do about sleeping arrangements. I was willing to take the couch but if Dariah was agreeable, the bed was big enough for two to sleep in it without touching.

The shower's splashing ceased. The bathroom door opened, releasing a cloud of fragrant steam. Dariah walked out of the bathroom. She had no clothes on.

Some women when undressed are naked. This sort are ashamed of their bodies or terrified at been caught without their armor. Others are stripped; ready for action and either aggressively defiant or provocative. Still others are nude, casual about their absence f clothing but not unaware of the effect of their condition on the human male. Dariah was different. She was simply unclothed and it was of no consequence to her. There was no change in her demeanor at all. She walked over to the bed and climbed in, snuggling close to me as if it was the most natural thing in the world for her to do. She drew me close and her hands began to untie the yukata's sash. My penis went from flaccid to rigid in about six seconds flat. Her intentions certainly seemed straightforward!

"Dariah, what are you doing?" She laid a manicured finger on my lips to hush me and lifted my hand to her breast as she looked intently into my eyes. The effect was hypnotic.

"Shhh. I promised I would take care of you. To me that means not just keeping you in good health, but keeping you contented as well. You don't have to worry about me. I'm not in the least domestic and I'm not husband-hunting. I had my tubes tied ages ago, so you don't have to worry about knocking me up; and I've never had VD in my life because I'm choosy about the men I bed. I must respect a man before I'll even think about him that way, and I respect you, Harry. I just want to make you happy, and I think you can please me as well. Shall we see?" She lowered her face to mine and we kissed.

My eyes closed as I gave in to her wishes. It's a gentleman's duty to try and please the lady, as I see it. Besides being not prone to argue I was not inclined to, given my current position.

She sighed against my mouth as my hand explored her breasts. They were tiny, barely more than slight mounds above her pectoral muscles. After all, a mannequin is meant to be a walking display rack for the designers' creations, an imaginary creation herself, not a real woman. But this woman was certainly real enough.

Small though her boobs were, her nipples were hard points the size of the first joint of my little finger. Rubbing them with my palm, I felt them tighten and lengthen as the stimulus of my -cold-roughened hand worked on them. Dariah moaned again and thrust her tongue into my mouth, throwing one leg over me and slowly rubbing her mound against me. I pulled her closer, cupping her ass-cheeks as I pinched a nipple and gave it a little tug. She groaned and broke the kiss, throwing her head back.

"Ohhh, that's good. Yes! I like that! I love it when a man plays with my nipples! Don't stop!"

I shifted my hand to her other breast and took the nipple I'd been toying with into my mouth, licking it like a candy cane and catching it between my teeth to pull it taut as I twisted the other one as if I was rolling a pencil between my fingers. Dariah gasped with pleasure and threw her head forward, her hair lashing me like a million silken threads.

"Yes! That's good! More! Ohhh..."

I could feel the wet friction of her labia against me as her pussy leaked its wetness and left a glistening trail along my leg. I had no doubt Dariah was ready to receive me. Twisting to meet her, I lifted her buttocks and lined her up with my cock. She gasped as my cockhead brushed along her slit, seeking the entrance to her tunnel of love. Her hand dropped to my groin to guide me, rubbing herself against the rigid pole that sought to impale her. The pieces meshed and my prick slipped into her. Dariah sighed as she felt her pussy lips part and my hard cock fill her soaking wet crevice. She began to move on me.

"Yes! Oh, how good you feel in me! Fill me up! Fuck my pussy!" she panted.

I was more than willing. After the adjustments two lovers must make to each other, we found a rhythm, my hips pushing up to her as she corkscrewed down onto my seven inches of hard male flesh, twisting to bring her clitoris into contact with me as she bottomed out at the end of each thrust. She moaned and I felt her pussy muscles ripple as she climaxed.

"Ohhh! Ohh! Ahhh! Ahhh! Yes! Yes! Yes! Cumming!"

She did not stop moving on my cock but instead spread her legs wider and reached down, bringing my hands to her nips and closing them on her breasts. Taking the hint, I squeezed the flat mounds, rubbing the nipples with my palm while I tried to pull her head down to mine. She locked lips with me and firmly pressed the hand I'd removed from her tit back where she wanted it. The sounds coming from her throat as our tongues wrestled were incredibly erotic and I felt my cock harden and lengthen even more. Objectively, I knew this wasn't possible but subjectively it certainly felt as if my seven inches had become eight, or even ten. Dariah was a marvelous lover.

Knowing that she liked having her nipples mauled, I didn't hesitate to pinch, twist and pull them. Dariah responded by grabbing my shoulders and digging her nails into them as she posted on my rigid pole, breaking our kiss to gasp joyously as her eyelids fluttered shut.