In Town for a Funeral

The wine cellar and the tunnel were dark and dank, and the back stairs up to the room above the Carriage House were steep, narrow, and creepy. I used my cell phone to light my way. There were more cobwebs, and I was sure I heard creatures scurrying past me in the passageway.

The door from the passage into the old wardrobe was open, but the wardrobe doors were closed. I could see light streaming through the slot between the doors. The doors creaked as I pushed them open, but I immediately forgot about creaking doors and the creepy passageway when I saw Flo reclining on the couch again in the same nearly transparent gown she had worn earlier. There were curtains covering the windows (I couldn't remember there being curtains earlier, but whatever) and the room was brightly lit with old-fashioned oil lamps. Flo was sipping from a glass of champagne.

"Cranston, you're finally here," she said. "I've been missing you for so long. Pour yourself some champagne and come sit with me." She patted the couch next to her as she spoke.

I was silent as I walked across the room to the bottle of champagne. Why had she called me Cranston again? Yes, it is my middle name, but I've always made sure no one knew about it. The wine sat in an ice bucket on a small table with another glass at the ready. As I poured from the bottle, I glanced at the label—Bollinger, 1927.

"Is this really eighty year old Champagne," I asked.

"Umm. . . . Yes. Taste it. It's marvelous."

"Where did you get it?"

"From the wine cellar. There are a couple of cases of it back in one of the corners. I think it was left over from Lucinda's wedding, or maybe from one of the parties she used to throw after her first husband died. But never mind the history of the wine. Come sit with me."

As I walked toward her, I sipped from the glass. It was marvelous wine. Most wines that old had long ago turned to vinegar, but not this one.

I sat next to her and she leaned against me, one of her large, soft breasts resting on my forearm and a hand on the inside of my thigh. She felt warm against the bare skin of my forearm.

"She was Flo then, not Lucinda," I said. "When she married Charles she went by Flo, but you referred to her as Lucinda? How come?"

"Oh yes, I guess that's right. I tend to get the two of them mixed up."

"That's okay. They were the same person after all."

"Yes that's true, but most people wondered about that. Flo was so free and open . . ."

"Kind of a slut from what I've heard," I said interrupting.

"Now Cranston. Slut is such a harsh word. She just needed . . . well, I think you know what she needed." She smiled at me over the top of her nearly empty champagne glass. It was a lascivious smile. As she spoke she moved her hand up my thigh and lightly brushed my partially engorged cock through my Levis.

"Yes, I think I know what she needed." I paused as I sipped the Champagne, and she continued to lightly stroke my covered cock. It was getting really hard now. "And I think you need the same thing now."

"Oh, really. Is that what you think?" she rubbed her tit against my arm as she spoke. "I think you could be right about that, but first I want another glass of this Champagne. Can I get you another?"

I handed her my glass as she stood before me in her translucent gown. She had put one foot on the couch between my legs. It caused the gown to fall away on both sides of her. Exposing her long legs and her sex. I could feel my cock twitch beneath my pants as she rubbed the inside of my thigh with her foot.

"I'll get your Champagne, but you need to get out of those clothes for me," she said.

I watched her walk across the room as I peeled my T-shirt over my head and shucked off my shoes and Levis. My socks and underwear had never been replaced since they had disappeared during our hasty escape a few hours earlier.

She walked back towards me holding the two glasses of wine. Her tits were swinging softly beneath the gown. I was lightly stroking my now fully aroused cock.

"Cranston, be a dear and hold these," she said as held both glasses out to me. I took one in each hand as I leaned back against the couch. Flo pulled her gown open, pushing the material to her sides all the way to her throat, and then she put a knee on either side of me as she climbed into my lap. She reached up and released the catch at the neck of the gown and let it fall away from her as she settled into my lap. My cock was inches from her pussy, and my face not much farther from her chest. She took a glass from my hand and slid forward just enough so my cock was resting against her pussy lips. Not in her mind you, but pushing the outer lips to the side and lying against her slippery, wet inner lips.

"Ummm," she said softly as she finished her first sip of Champagne from the newly refilled glass, "that's really nice."

"Which," I asked. "The Champagne or my prick rubbing your slit?"

"Yes," she answered with deliberate ambiguity.

I wanted to fuck her, but the voice in my head told me to take my time.

"How do you know so much about Lucida and Flo?" I asked.

My prick twitched and she gasped lightly as it rubbed her pussy.

"Oh my, that felt nice," she said, sipping more of the Champagne and ignoring my question.

"Lucinda and Flo?" I said, reminding her of my question.

"Oh. Them. . . . Uhh, I spent a lot of time here when I was younger."

"Really," I said, my voice dripping with doubt and skepticism. "Weren't they a lot older than you?"

"Sometimes."

"Sometimes? How did that work?"

She shook her head. "Trust me Cranston, you don't want to know. Just ignore those questions and make love to me. You'll be a lot happier."

I sipped my champagne and said, "You know, I had a dream about you earlier tonight."

"Ooh. Was it sexy?"

"Very," I said. "But it really wasn't you. It was Lucinda. I mean she had your face and your sexy body, but she had dark hair like Lucinda, and Earl called her Lucinda."

"Earl?" she said her voice tinged with a touch of shock. "How do you know about Earl? Nobody knows about Earl, at least no one who is still alive."

"I don't. It was a dream. Earl was a big black man—a servant or a field hand. He and Lucinda were here in this room and they were fucking. He had a huge dick. Was there a Earl?" I flexed my hips and the head of my dick nudged her clit.

"Oh fuck! You bastard!"

I did it again and she groaned.

"Earl," I repeated. "I asked you if there was a Earl."

"Oh yeah," she responded stretching out the last word. "There was a Earl." She was smiling now.

"And did he have a big dick?"

"So I've heard," she said coyly.

"So you never saw it? . . . or felt it?"

"I told you not to go there," she said still smiling. "You don't need to know."

I sipped my Champagne and smiled at her. "Okay. I don't need to know."

"Good boy, Cranston," she said as she leaned forward and rubbed her tits against my chest.

We each took a sip and then shared a long sloppy Champagne-flavored kiss. Each of us had one hand in the air trying not to spill the remnants of the Champagne and the remaining hand wrapped around the other's head pulling it tight for the kiss.

"I want to fuck you," I whispered, when we finally broke the kiss.

"And I want you, too," she answered. "But first I want to hear all the details about your dream about Earl and Lucinda. God, I haven't thought about Earl in years."

So I described the dream to her. As I told her the lewd details, she was working her hips up and down so my hard cock was sliding back and forth against her pussy and grazing her clit at the top of each stroke.

When I finished she asked, "That's it? He only fucked her once?"

"Well, it was a dream. Did he usually fuck you more than once in an afternoon here in the Carriage House?"

She picked up on my use of the word "you."

"Not me Cranston. It was Lucinda who was always fucking Earl. I never fucked him. Now let's fuck. Over there on the bed, right where Earl and Lucinda used to fuck."

As we walked over to the bed I was wondering how many other men Lucinda and Flo had fucked on this bed. She instructed me to lie on my back, just as Earl had for Lucinda. Then she climbed over me, a knee on each side of my hips. Just as Lucinda had with Earl, she used her hand to guide my cock into her cunt. It went in easier than Earl's cock had gone into Lucinda, and oh fuck! It felt so good. At first we just sat there with my cock fully impaling her. She was leaning forward over me with her big tits hanging down not quite to my chest and her long hair almost hiding her face. I reached up and began to fondle her tits and she groaned. After a moment or two she sat up and spoke. "See, didn't I tell you this would be better than asking stupid questions about Earl and Lucinda?"

"Earl and Lucinda who?" I said as I flexed my hips and drove my cock further into Flo. "Never heard of them."

"Oh Cranston, you're so good." Flo began using her legs to ride up and down on my cock, slowly at first and then building to a frenzy that ended in a screaming climax for her. After she finished her climax, she fell forward, her large tits mashed against my chest, and her hair covering most of my face. She was still breathing hard, and I could feel her cunt muscles occasionally giving my still-hard prick a squeeze.

When her breathing returned closer to normal I flexed my hips and moved my cock a bit within her still-tight cunt. I did it a couple of more times, beginning to slowly fuck her.

"Oh!" she said. "You're still hard."

"I didn't cum."

"Umm. Nice. So there's more?"

"Oh yes," I said as I continued to slowly fuck her by merely flexing my hips.

"Cranston," she said. "I want you to fuck me like Earl did. From behind, over the couch."

"You liked that did you?" I asked as I flexed my hips a little harder, driving my cock even further into her cunt.

"Oh fuck!" she chirped. "Yes. Yes, that's always good, over the couch like that. It goes in so deep."

"Well, I don't have that big dick Earl had."

"Cranston, your dick is fine," she said. I flexed again and she murmured, "So fine, always."

So I fucked her from behind, bent over the couch, just like Earl had fucked Lucinda in my dream, only I didn't pull out and spray my cum on her back as Earl had done. I timed my climax to match hers and as she pushed back against me, I held her hips and pushed back just as hard against her, filling her cunt with all the cum I could muster. She screamed, just as Lucinda had in my dream and I growled as I felt stream after stream of cum pump through my prick into her cunt. Then I collapsed on to her back. We were both spent.

We staggered back to the bed, where we curled up together and drifted off to sleep. I slept soundly, without dreams, and when I awoke, Flo was gone, as were the curtains and all of the furniture but the bed. I sat up and stretched, blinking my eyes and trying to remember where I was and how I got here. The sun was just rising and light was streaming in the windows on that side of the room. As I stood naked and looking for my clothing, the evening came back to me. "Oh yes, I told myself. I was here and I was fucking with Flo. But where is Flo, and where is the couch and the rest of the furniture that was here last night." I turned back towards the bed and realized it was gone now too. All that was left in the dusty room was a small pile of my clothes, my jeans, T-shirt, and shoes. "What the fuck," I said aloud. "Have I gone nuts? What happened to me here?"

Then I heard a voice in my head—Flo's voice. "Cranston, just don't ask those questions. It's better not to know. Just remember how much fun we had." There was silence while I digested what Flo had said. Then I heard her again, "Oh and you better get dressed and get back over to the main house. Your mother is looking for you. If you don't hurry you'll be late for the funeral."

I got back into the house in time to grab a bit of breakfast and get dressed for the funeral. The church was full. My mother and I sat in the back. Lucinda was in a closed casket at the front of the church. After the ceremony we all filed past the casket.

As I passed the casket, I heard Flo's voice in my head again, very softly, "Remember me, Cranston. Please remember me."

When I got back to California I found a small silver locket packed into my luggage. When opened, it had two pictures in it—on one side a picture of Flo and on the other a picture of a young man. I've always told myself it is a picture of Cranston, but it could be Charles. They were twin brothers after all. I was always surprised at how much the young man resembled me, but then again he, or his twin, was likely my great grandfather.

Epilogue

As it turned out I wound up owning almost everything. My Great Grandmother willed virtually all of her estate to my mother, as her only living blood descendant. Naturally lawyers for the rest of the family (all descendants of Jack's children) challenged the will. Much to my sorrow, my mother died in a car wreck before the litigation wound up. But eventually the courts upheld the will, so as my Mother's only heir, I got it all.

As I write this I'm on my way back to Charleston to meet with my lawyers and decide what to do with the various assets I've inherited. I wonder if Flo is still around?