In Love with Lori Ch. 07 Pt. 02.1

Please be aware this story contains elements of taboo sexual relationships, if this offends you please stop reading now.

Many thanks to my editor, GrandTeton, for leading me along the paths of righteousness (at least where grammar and punctuation are concerned...) and for taking the time to identify and temper my wilder flights of fantasy.

This is not the real world, it's an imaginary world of my making, and things happen the way I think they should, not how they would in real life, so please remember to not take any of this too seriously, it's just a story...

Have fun,

BB1958

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Secrets Revealed:

House-hunting took up most of my time for the next several weeks. Poor Davey was well and truly back in the swing at his hospital. He came home to Sybil's house every night wrung out and ready to drop, but that inner steel of his kept him going back for more, keeping his head above water and his mind in the game through all that punishing schedule.

In turn, I was overwhelmingly, unbelievably proud of him. Mom had told me once how he'd fought to get where he was today, willpower and sheer determination to succeed in his calling and be like his daddy keeping him afloat where so many other men would have given up and sunk without trace, and it was beginning to pay off.

So while he studied, worked, trained, and learned, I did what I could to find the place we could call home; Sybil's house, for all its warmth and welcome, was her home, not ours, and I couldn't help but feel twinges of discomfort at the thought of how much we were imposing on her. She never said a word, bless her, and her warm presence was a boon and a blessing, but nevertheless I would have felt more comfortable in a place of our own, and she understood that; Sybil's was a place of refuge, and gladly given, but we had to strike out on own, and soon.

And then Sophie finally came home. By the time the days rolled around to the day she was due to arrive, I was a frazzled wreck; I'd spent the night before they were due back pacing and worrying and fretting and snapping at Davey, Rosie, Jimmy, everyone, really, and driving poor Davey insane.

By the time we set out to meet her at Heathrow, I'd swung the other way, and now I was a terrified bag of nerves, all sorts of weird fears and bizarre feelings roiling around inside of me; at one point I was actually convinced she'd forgotten me, which probably gives a great, big, neon-lit clue as to my mental state right there and then.

Davey was comforting and Jimmy kept his mouth shut and stared stolidly ahead after I bit his head off for no good reason, but I could see the looks he and Davey were exchanging, those special 'shutupshutupshutup, she nuts, don't set her off, for fuck's sake!' glances that would have pissed me off if I wasn't so busy freaking-out.

Actually arriving at Heathrow Airport and getting to the Arrivals Area was a blur, and still is; I don't rightly know how we got there, because all I remember was circling round and round in the parking garage, then next thing I know we're in the Terminal 5 Arrivals Area. After several lifetimes of alternately fretting, feeling scared, losing it with Davey and poor Jimmy, and slowly losing my mind, suddenly she was here, my mom was home, she was here, and I could finally hold her again.

I don't think I need to go into what I was feeling; all I could do was squeak 'Mom, Mom', endlessly, and she was too busy squeezing the life out me to correct me, and Uncle Richard's arms around both of sealed us together; Sophie may have been Davey's aunt, but now she was truly my mom, I could feel it in waves running through and through me, and Uncle Richard was everything Daddy had been, he felt so like my daddy it was impossible not to think of him as anything else, and he was there, warm, loving, making me his daughter, drawing me in and making us a family.

I glanced at Davey, and his expression was unreadable; he looked transfigured, as if he'd finally worked out what was going on inside me, like he'd finally got it for real, not just what I'd told him before, and I loved him even more for that. From where I stood, I could see the knowledge dawning in his eyes that Sophie was my mom now, and if she was my mom, then in a very real sense she was his mom too. She was just who he needed in his life, and everything about her that had shouted 'MOM!' at me was doing it to him, too. We were truly family now.

*

Sophie is a master of organization, and with her around, the pace stepped up a notch, whether house-hunting with me or interviewing dressmakers, caterers, venues, florists, and jewellers, then project-managing the whole thing into one complete event. I was awestruck; I thought I was capable, and reasonably organized, but what I knew amounted to tidying a toy-box compared to Sophie, with her memory like an elephant, her ability to relate one fact to another, and her razor-sharp attention to detail.

The day after she arrived home, we went shopping, picking out the watered silk for my wedding dress, then we went off to interview, bully, coerce, and intimidate various seamstresses she knew of until she found one she liked. She was adamant and unshakeable on several key points: no peach, apricot, or champagne - Royals and Eurotrash did that and it was vulgar, and no satin, taffeta, or organdie; brides in this family married in white watered silk and Honiton Lace, with subtle seed pearls, no sequins, ruffles, bows, mutton-chop sleeves or shepherdess petticoats, idiotic Bo-Peep bonnets, or angel wings, and definitely no silly Marie Antoinette extravagance. As far as she was concerned (and that meant as far as everyone was concerned), my dress was going to be modest, ladylike, subtle, and devastatingly gorgeous, with long sleeves and a sweetheart neckline - no plunging necklines, especially with a set like mine, no push-up bras or willpower dresses, no bare shoulders, and especially no garters to take off in public; Davey wouldn't like that, and most definitely neither would Richard. 'Nuff said.

Whether we liked it or not, this was going to be a society wedding, and I had to make sure that no matter who turned up to try and upstage me, whether out of spite, malice, or just sheer bloody-mindedness, I was going to outshine them or die trying; it was my day, and no ex, also-ran, never-was, or wannabe was going to take first prize away from me. Sophie wanted the competition (if any) to show up, stare, gnash their teeth, and go home and cry.

What did I tell you about Ladies Who Organize?

In the midst of all this, I found the house I wanted, in the same village as Sophie and Uncle Richard (was there ever any doubt...?), a beautiful, mellow, red-brick and sandstone vicarage dating from the middle of the eighteenth century, with dozens of unexpected little rooms and hidden, snug little corners, tiny, private, walnut-panelled sitting rooms with their own fireplaces, just big and cosy enough for two people to sit and enjoy the fire with a cup of tea, a slice of cake, and some private conversation, large, imposing reception rooms and bedroom suites with tall, classically Georgian windows and polished wood floors, and two wide, sweeping, almost terminally elegant staircases; Davey told me that was because one was for going up, and the other was for coming down, and I almost bought it, until I saw that grin he was trying to hide, so I paid him back with an elbow in the ribs and accidentally-on-purpose stepping on his toes in my peg-heeled cowboy boots.

The house stood in several acres of gardens, ancient apple and pear orchards, with a large duck-pond, and best of all, a paddock with two sweet, silky-muzzled little grey donkeys and a gigantic English Shire Horse with a head like a beer-barrel and feet like gunpowder kegs. The animals came with the house, their care was one of the conditions of sale, and without them there was no sale, but I was in love at first sight with those three beauties, so I signed without hesitation; I wanted that house, it ticked all my boxes, and the three special additions were the sweetener on the deal as far as I was concerned.

Sophie had decided that Davey and I, like his daddy, and his grandfather before him, should be married in the chapel of Kings College, Cambridge, their Alma Mater; when Sophie took me to meet the dean of King's College chapel, I was bowled over by the place; I was expecting a small, modest, chapel-type chapel, with room for a few dozen people, kind of like the one I always avoided back home, not the huge, magnificent Gothic masterpiece it actually was, bigger, older, and more imposing than the cathedrals in some cities. Davey's daddy had married our mom here, so Sophie felt it was appropriate we formally tie the knot here too; it was something of a family tradition. As soon as I walked into the chapel I knew I wanted to be married to my Davey in this place, it was in our blood, and, if and when our children married, it should be here too; this place was part of us, of Davey and me, and it should be part of them too.

Bridesmaids: Rosie was going to be my Maid of Honor, no question about that, but Sophie and I felt I should have someone who knew me, preferably my oldest friends, pretty much family, to be my bridesmaids, and I should decide soon; the dressmaker wanted to start on the dresses, and she needed to know who she was making them for. Of course, Sara Mason and Josie Gregor were my choice; we'd been inseparable since kindergarten; there was no way I was leaving them out of the most important day of my life.

Inviting Sara and Josie was a lot easier than explaining who I was marrying; they were in college in California and Texas respectively, and were unaware I'd left Des Moines, let alone that I'd met someone and we were getting married, and especially who I was marrying; dancing around the truth like a cat on springs was the only way I could avoid flat-out lying to the pair of them, but it gave me a few uncomfortable moments, I can assure you!

Calling Sara and telling her I was getting married, in England, and I wanted her to be my bridesmaid with Josie was hard enough; telling Josie was almost impossible. She'd always known, or suspected, that there was something I wasn't telling her, and when I told her my husband's name was 'David Denham, I could hear her mind going "OHOO, Really!!!???" all the way down that phone line, even though she didn't know the 'Denham' name; she'd always known Davey as 'Davey Keene'; as far as she knew that's who he was, but mercifully she didn't quiz me any further. When I told the girls to get their passports sorted out, their tickets were waiting at the Air Canada desk at La Guardia, open flights, so get moving, we had dresses to fit, they promised to be here inside a week. Tick one more item off the list of several thousand...

*

The Cat's Out Of The Bag:

While all my kerfuffle was going on, Jimmy and Rosie were happily falling harder for each other. As a favour to Davey and I, Sybil had given Jimmy his own room in the house, and while I don't think he abused his guest privileges by sneaking into Rosie's private apartment after dark, he respected Sybil far too much, but the fact remains, something hot, hard, and heavy was going on there; Rosie went around with that secret little smile, Jimmy looked permanently dazed and sandbagged, and I had enough spare room in my head to wonder when they were going to tell us all what we already knew.

I was all for having a little private chat with Rosie, but Davey absolutely balked at that; his exact words were "mind your own business, and let her mind hers; when Rosie wants you to know something, she'll tell you, so just drop it, please?"

Of course I did, but I had eyes, and I could see there was something up, so I sort-of-worked-out something with Davey that meant we'd all get what we wanted. When I told Aunt Sybil that it was time for us to go, she understood; much as I loved living with her, in her home, I needed my own home even more. Davey says it's the nesting instinct; maybe so, but I still felt we should leave before we outstayed our welcome. David and my gift to Rosie and Jimmy (which had nothing to do with the fact she was my Maid of Honor, and everything to do with the fact she was the closest thing he had to a sister, and yes, I know...) was our way of giving them what we had; I could see Jimmy casting around, looking for a way to ask Rosie to marry him, and having a good job and a home they could forever call their own would seal that deal that for him, and keep them near us, the thing I wanted most in the world.

When Rosie hugged us, I clearly heard Davey murmur "Love you, Maid Marian, be happy!"

Rosie whispered back "I'm not your Maid Marian any more, David; lucky you, you're marrying your real Maid Marian! But look, I have a Little John all of my own now!"

*

Moving into my new home was a strange, emotional experience; Sophie had hired movers to collect all the things we'd shipped over from Bar Harbor from the storage unit in Banbury and she and I had spent a couple days arranging the furniture; everything, every little piece of furniture or trinket reminded me sharply of mom and daddy, even in their new setting, but I'd resisted the urge to arrange the furniture as it had been in Mom's house: new house new layout, no old ghosts.

Of course, I could have just dumped most of that stuff, but there was too much of Mom and Daddy in those worn, comfortable pieces; Davey and I both had vivid memories of sitting on Mom's lap in her big old green La-Z-Boy recliner and watching TV, Davey watching endless afternoon reruns of 'Champion, The Wonder Horse' and 'Casey Jones', and Mom singing along with me to 'Sesame Street' and 'The Elephant Show', and 'Mr. Rogers', and listening to Mom while she read Curious George, Paddington, Pooh, Alice, Snow White to us; tossing that chair out would have ripped a hole in my memories that nothing would ever heal, so it stayed. One day, I was going to read to my babies in that chair, that was what it was for.

*

David & Lori: an 'Interlude'

The first night Davey and I slept in our new home, I wanted him to be inspired to try as many things as possible; as he put it when we first took possession of the house:

"You know something, Angel? There's an old custom, it might even be a legal obligation, that the new homeowner christen every room in the house; we have to put our mark on this place, just so we know down inside that we're home, and so the house knows who we are. So, when we've moved in properly, you game for some games?"

Silly question, really; Davey's kind of 'christening' always makes my eyes bug-out, so yeah, I was game, and I made sure our first night in our new home was everything his dirty little mind could dream about!

That first night, the house was still kind of sparsely furnished, but I'd had the movers drag Mom's big old couch into what would be the family room, and then I dressed it with sheets, pillows, throws, and comforters, closed the shutters to block the evening sun, and turned off the main lights, so the only illumination was the golden light from a couple of table lamps, giving that enormous room a soft, intimate glow, and I waited, a little impatiently, in my bathrobe, with my hair pinned-up, and Yardley 'English Rose' spritzed strategically on me, just to add that alluring (I hoped!) touch.

When he'd come in, Davey had given me that quizzical, adorable, 'half-squint-half-raised-eyebrow' thing he does when he's puzzled, but his eyes lit up when I shook out my hair, undid the belt on my heavy bathrobe, and it slide to the floor, leaving me stark naked for his delectation.

"Darling Girl, every time I see you I fancy you more!" he breathed and I knew he wasn't lying, not if that bulge in his pants was any indicator! I think he got that I wanted to play a little. We'd been too dead serious for too, too long, and the bedrock of our relationship has always been the fun and clowning around we do with each other. I wanted to regain some of that; everything had just been too real lately; Des Moines, Bar Harbor, Boston, they all seemed a long, impossible way away, and a whole geological age ago, and it was time for David and Lori to play again, to recapture some of that. Fuck reality; we had plenty of time for that later!

Davey started stripping off, but I stopped him; I was his wife, I wanted to play, this was MY game, so I was gonna unwrap him. He grinned when I batted his hands out of the way and loosened his tie, unbuttoned his shirt (well, started to unbutton his shirt; after three buttons I gave up and just yanked it over his head, stupid fucking men's shirt buttons, why are they so small and fiddly, AND on the wrong fucking side...?), and pulled him closer by the waistband of his pants so I could tease him with little nibble-kisses, just pecking at his lips, and ducking back when he tried to take them further, while I unlaced his belt and undid his pants.

Of course, Davey being Davey, his hands were busy too; just as I slid his zipper down, his hands clamped around my butt and pulled me right up against him, jamming his tented cock hard against my pussy while his fingertip stroked my little hole, making me gasp.

"So you want to play hard to get, do you, you minxy little sexpot?" he grinned, squeezing my butt-cheeks and pulling them apart as he rubbed his boner against my slit. That was about the time lights, bells, and whistles went off in my head, but I manfully (womanfully?) pushed him away and tugged his hands off my butt (a little regretfully, to be sure, but just who was supposed to be seducing who here, anyway?)

Davey toed his shoes off while I tugged his pants down, made him step out of them, and threw them dramatically across the room, and when he finally pulled his socks off (because there's nothing sillier and less alluring than a naked man with a thundering erection standing in his sock feet...) I had him just where I wanted him; naked, torqued-up, hot and bothered, and ready to play!

I think Davey was feeling some of what I'd had fizzing inside me all day, because before I knew it, our lips were locked together, and our hands and fingers fondling, squeezing, touching, and stroking.

"What does Milady desire?" he breathed when I finally managed to wrench my lips off his and draw a shuddering breath; Davey kissing me has all kinds of deep-down side effects on me, and I wanted a clear head, because what was coming next was going to put my mind in orbit. In answer to his question, I slid to my knees, watching his eyes light up and his dirty little mind go into overdrive.

As I kissed and gently licked his velvety-soft erection, with that steely core just under the smooth skin, once more my head was filled with the scent of him, even stronger and more potent now, the scent complexes he was giving off firing-up my brain and causing all kinds of things, wild fantasies and deep-down desires to surface; Davey once told me I smelled like Christmas to him, but I had no words to describe how he smelled to me; shower soap and cologne, but under all that, the fresh, clean-skin smell of healthy young male, and the salty, ozone tang of the clear liquid seeping from the end of his cock.

As I sucked and rolled my tongue around the end of his pulsating cock, he hissed softly, obviously enjoying the feeling, so I sucked some more; Davey is a very tactile person, he likes touching and being touched, and the tensing of his muscles and tendons told me how much he was liking what I was doing to him.

We kept on in this vein for a few more minutes, but he obviously had other things on his mind, because at some point he pulled away from me and took my hand, raising me to my feet.

"Your turn, Angel-May!" he grinned, walking me backwards toward the couch and that big soft pile of cushions and comforters. I lay down on my back so he could continue kissing me, his lips playing over my body in an endless rain of kisses, first my neck, then my shoulders, a quick, soft flick of my nipples with his tongue-tip, sending electric shivers through me, then down to my belly, finally swirling his tongue in my navel, something he loves doing. I grinned as he kissed and lapped even further, heading south to his ultimate target.