Miranda Cortez: Ditch Girl

Even without his heavy Mexican accent, it would have sounded like something I wanted nothing to do with. I'd seen that place from the road. Huge, like some sort of monastery, English lord's castle, or something. Last thing I wanted was living in a place like that. None of my friends would ever come visit me! The only people I'd ever see would be the help, Miranda, Juanito, and her father.

Which raised an interesting question: Did Miranda have a mother? Maybe grandparents? What would I do except be Juan's sort-of-father, Miranda's sort-of-husband, and a kept servant all around?

"Let me put it this way. Miranda owes you her life, she knows it, and she wants to repay that debt."

I shook my head. She owed me noting except that which every human being owes another: Just be truthful and considerate concerning them. Yes, she hadn't done that very well up 'til the ditch incident, but you can forgive some oversight if they change. And apparently she had.

"Miranda loves Juanito so much I can't believe it," her father said, looking off towards the distance a moment. "Maybe it's because he survived so long inside her while she recovered from her rape and being trapped in a car submerged in cold water for two days."

That kid really was the result of a rape that took place before I pulled her out of Lateral A? He wasn't the result of some careless dalliance? Yes, I expected her family would hold onto the no-abortion philosophy per the Catholic Church, but not aborting the result of a gang rape? A bit hard on the woman, I'd say.

"You saved my only child from a fate she had no part in its cause. Please let me do this for you. I get what I want: Miranda happy and Juan to have a father. You get what you should have: a fine looking woman for the purposes a man needs a woman for—and hopefully more—and a boy who will worship you because you are the sort of man who should be worshiped."

"But I'm barely twenty-two."

"Just the age when you should have a woman to keep your body young."

Well, hit me over the head and offer me one of the finest pieces of ass I'd ever seen!

***

"John, please. I know I've been a shithead. Really I have, and I know it."

I shook my head. Now I knew why she stood in my doorway that Friday evening, and why little Juanito wasn't with her this time. But what could I do to stop this? Send her away without the politeness of asking her in for a few moments, at least?

"Can I come in? Just for a few minutes, John? Please?"

So I yielded. Once inside and the door closed, she turned, threw her arms around me, pulled me down and practically crawled up my chest as she kissed me. As our breath ran out, I swear I heard her whisper, "So far, so good."

She upped the ante with another drawn-out kiss.

By now she'd dragged me to the couch, sat me down with her practically sitting on my lap.

"You sure frustrated Daddy, you know? He's not used to someone refusing to do as he asks," she said once she pulled back far enough to look me in the eyes.

So? All I'd done was turn down his offer of paying me to fuck his daughter and pretend to be his grandson's daddy.

"Kind of funny, you know. You should have seen his face, him trying to explain you wouldn't accept his deal, without hurting my feelings, too."

"Sorry."

"Why? You're just an innocent bystander in this situation. No reason for you to apologize."

"I'm not apologizing for what I did."

"Good, and you shouldn't. You did nothing wrong."

"I'm only sorry that you had to go through all that. That's all."

"I know, and I thank you. I owe you everything I have and everything I ever will have."

"No, Miranda. You owe me only heart-felt thanks and you've already given me those. So we're even."

"You know?" she said slowly. "Once on a lark at the college, I attended a free-market economics lecture. I remember the lecturer claiming several times that in a the truly free market, both parties win in every deal. I didn't understand then, but I see we have free market here. You get your thanks, and I get my life.

"You had more than just your life with you last time you were here." I snorted a weak chuckle.

She looked blank a moment. "Oh! You mean Juanito." She looked down a moment, then back up. "No, correct that. Not really just my life. More like twice my life." The smile that came onto her face again sure looked good ... like one you'd like to wake up to every morning.

Damned! Get her out of here while you still can, I was thinking.

"I'm glad he likes you," Miranda said. "Every boy should have a man to look up to in his life, someone who contributed something valuable to him. His grandfather is a good start, but a boy needs a father most of his life, in Juanito's case, someone your age."

There it was again! God, I didn't need—or want—a kid, not yet, anyway! Even one cute as Juan. I'd barely graduated the U and found a job. I had my whole life ahead for kids and a wife— if I so chose.

"What's the matter?" she said as a way to end our next kiss. "You like him, too. I see it on your face and in your eyes."

Yes, I sure did. I'd admit that to myself when nobody might notice.

"So all I gotta do is my part," she said. "I got you halfway there already. So, how about bed?"

"WHAT?"

"You and me, your bed, until you must leave for whatever you do tomorrow."

"Uh ...."

"Well? Am I that terrible looking? If I am, why did you look at me the way you used to sometimes?"

"What way?" Now wasn't that the stupidest thing a man ever said? What I thought, what drove my expressions, what ... what? I remembered hearing a guy on the radio say he'd been enveloped in a fog of lust and fantasy when he asked his girl to marry him. Well, I better find a quick way out of my fog here or I'd be more father than I wanted to be, right then. And more husband!

Who had trained this woman? The mother I'd heard nothing of? Had Miranda learned this by being a lifelong bitch before the irrigation ditch incident? Where and from who?

"John? Now? Please?"

I tried to shake my head, but it wouldn't shake.

"No?"

Then my head did shake, not very decisively, but it did shake.

"So? Here's what I'm offering," she said.

With that she stood and stepped back. First, she bent and tipped off her heels. What I saw while she did so wasn't gracefully ladylike, but it sure was nice.

Neither was the way she stood and stripped off her top.

"How'm I doing so far? My bed offer is still on the table."

I didn't respond, at least I don't think I did.

"Need to see more of the deal? Oh, you're a tough negotiator!" Her tone said, and I love it!

Next, her skirt—at least I think that's what they call them—unclipped from her belt and slid down those long legs. Quite a display ensued when she stepped out of it, leaving a bra above, fishnet pantyhose and see-through panties below.

"Ready to agree?" She said, unable to restrain the hint of a giggle. "No? How about this?"

What was to answer? Obviously I was going to see it all.

She stepped over and propped herself up on my Lazy-Guy chair's arm. In a moment she'd wriggled out of those panties and the pantyhose as well. Then she stood and stepped back to where I sat looking up at her.

She reached between her breasts—and I do mean between, because they were dandies!— unclipped her bra, and slid it off her shoulders.

"There. There's my offer. All that I am, plus all Father offered last time he was here."

"Miranda, no."

"No? What's wrong with you, John? What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing. You're beautiful, sexy as hell. It's just ...."

"What, then? Oh, I know! Come here and sit on this couch arm here." With that, she urged me to do just so, me wondering where she headed with this.

She stepped close in front of me, took both sides of my face between her hands so I thought she might bend down and kiss me, but no. Instead she shoved my face between her breasts and held it there. Let me tell you, that did little to dissipate my lust and fantasy fog!

"Lick, 'em, John, Honey. Please lick them? For me?"

I did my best, I assure you.

"Ooh, feels so good. I really miss Juan nursing on them. As part of our deal, you gotta promise you'll nurse from me? Please? At least once a week?" She pulled back slightly and forced her right nipple to my lips.

"Oooh, even nicer!"

I thought nice too.

***

I hadn't yet converted 100% to wireless so I still had a land-line. One of its extensions lay on the night stand next to my bed. My cell's alarm hadn't rung off yet, so as I lay there enjoying the warmth of Miranda's very female body next to mine, I figured it wasn't seven o'clock yet so there was no reason to rush getting my Saturday morning started.

The land-line phone rang. I thought my teeth would jar out because it was loud with a capital L.

"I'll get it," Miranda said, practically jumping out of bed, mostly naked. "Hello? Yes?"

Pause.

"Yes, Father. Very good. Oh, better than that!"

Pause.

"No, Father. I don't think so. Not yet. I'm still trying to close the deal."

Long pause.

"Okay, Daddy. Just a minute while I give him the phone."

She handed it to me and said, "It's Father, as you may have guessed."

Okay, there I was, too relaxed to get up, yet I was supposed to talk to the father of this woman I'd just spent most of the night with my dick inside? Yeah. Right. Sure! With utmost caution I took the phone from her.

"Hello? Mr. Cortez?"

"Good morning, John. Sorry to roust you out so early. Have we got a deal yet?"

I shook my head. Miranda called out from her side, "He's shaking his head, Father. Guess that means I gotta work more on my salesmanship." With that she kissed my cheek.

"How is Juanito?" She said to the phone, once my kiss was over.

The phone croaked something in Spanish.

"Bien. Brunch still on? What time you want us there?"

Another pause crackled in the phone, including lots of Spanish I couldn't translate.

"Good, Father. See you then." With that she handed the phone back to me.

"Eleven or a little after."

"So, I gather I'm invited to brunch, even if I didn't accept?"

"Yes. Now I have—she looked over at my clock—almost four more hours and maybe more to work at selling you my deal."

"Ohhh."

"You're not faultering on me, are you?"

"No, Babe. I'll think of something."

"I hope so. I want to arrive at Father's place with a smile so radiant there's no need to explain."

Yeah, sure! I'd be lucky if I could even walk now, let alone after four more hours!

"Let's go play in the shower. How about that? You probably need a shower, too," she said.

I did. In fact I felt like I'd bathed in pussy juice and sweat for a week. I rolled toward my side of the bed to get up. God, I felt like I'd just played full time in the annual Superior Bowl—two days in a row.

"No, no, Honey! Not yet. Roll over here and let me suck you down again first. Please?"

"I got nothing left." Boy, that was the truth!

"Just let me try, okay? I don't want any of your spunk going to waste in the shower."

"It won't."

"Well, just let me double check. Okay? Please?"

What could I say to that?

***

As we walked into Mr. Cortez's rented house—mansion would have under-stated its description—I felt as if my knees and the rest of me were jello. Miranda hadn't slacked off one bit during our run-up to late brunch-time. If sex sells, she'd certainly done her best. Trouble was, sex with her was great, but I had no intention of becoming a kept parasite living off her father's bank account. But did I want to give in yet? Tell her, after last night, all she had to do to make our deal was promise me a night like last night once a month and get her father off his pay-me-to fuck-her kick?

No. You don't want to give in too easily when making a deal.

We wobbled in through the front portico and headed down the hall toward the sound of voices. We'd taken only a half dozen steps in when the guards I'd had that evening at my front door stepped out and blocked our way.

"It's all right," Miranda said to them, and with that, they disappeared, leaving us to continue our walk toward the voices. My head swivelled around, taking in the architecture, ornate clutter, grand furnishings, and nick-knacks—like paintings I knew weren't prints—and sculpture that wasn't Kewpie dolls.

When I looked at Miranda, she smiled up at me, then pulled me down to whisper in my ear, "Just showing you the sort of things Father's offering."

I shook my head. No way! She took my arm and urged me in our direction.

A good pheasant-shot distance farther along, she urged me toward a doorway to our left. This must be brunch, I thought. I was getting hungry in spite of my nervousness. She led me into the room, straight toward the smaller man I remembered from his first, deal-offering visit.

"Father? You remember John Slocombe?"

"The man so incorruptible to money I had to find another source of bribery." He shook my hand as he said, "My, you're both looking radiant this morning."

"Father!"

"Well, truth is truth, right?" His gaze shifted to his daughter.

She set her jaw the way she did when others would have muttered, Give it a break, will you?

He led us toward the table, the twelve others standing around while two women his age I took to be the cook and maid put the finishing touches on the table.

"Come over here, everyone, and meet Miranda's hero, Senior Slocombe. You, too." He waved toward the cook and maid as he said this.

I got the reception line in order of age, which surprised me because the two I took to be servants fell right into the line by age. Royalty treats maids and kitchen help as equals?

First, Miranda's maternal grandmother, then her grandfather.

Followed by her fraternal grandmother and grandfather.

Several aunts and one uncle of her father's generation.

The cook and—was this other woman a maid? Or something else?

Another gorgeous girl of Miranda's generation her father introduced as Aldonza, the cook's daughter.

A second equally attractive girl I learned was the maid's daughter, Adora.

And finally, the young boy, Juanito, in tow with this last girl.

Juanito separated himself from his handler and instead took over ownership of my vacant hand hanging at my side. When I looked down to see what was holding my hand, he looked up cautiously and smiled.

Okay? Was this part of Miranda's sales pitch, too? What could I do but return his smile. His widened.

"Okay," Mr. Cortez said. "Everything ready?" he addressed to the cook and maid.

"One moment, Sir. Keeping several things warm in case Miranda and Senior Slocombe were delayed. You all sit while Adora and I fetch them."

So we did, which took the moment the food's arrival required.

Me, at one end of the table, Mr. Cortez at the other.

Miranda at my right corner. Juanito at my left—and still holding my hand whenever he could arrange it.

Next to Miranda, the cook's daughter, Aldonza, and next to Juanito, the maid's daughter, Adora. I supposed that was to keep Juanito corralled once his three year old's concentration on

food ran its course.

Next, on either side, both pairs of Miranda's grandparents.

When they returned with the steaming platters of brunch, next to Mr Cortez the maid and cook sat, separated from the help's daughters by the three miscellaneous aunts and an uncle of Mr. Cortez's generation.

Sixteen all together. Quite a guest list for family brunch, but it appeared Mr. Cortez could afford it. I don't know where the heavies had evaporated to, but it wasn't to Mr. Cotez's brunch table this Saturday morning.

By the time brunch wound up, Mr. Cortez's family knew much more about me than I did about them—well, percentage-wise anyway. How much is there to know about a guy my age who has done little more than graduate from college and gotten a reasonably decent job?

Your parent's history? What you like and don't like? Never been in jail? Don't drink much? Not some super-jock athlete? The strange thing to me was: there were no questions about where I lived or my plans in that direction—as if my future were already mapped out. Was it?

Brunch had mostly concluded when Mr. Cortez stood and took the floor.

"John? I'm glad you joined us for brunch this morning. Now you know what sort of family Miranda's trying to talk you into. Honey? Why don't you and the girls show him around this place I rented and fill him in on what my place on Cedar Ridge is like? After that, try out the swimming pool. You like swimming, John?"

"No swimming suit."

"We can solve that, can't you ladies? Take Juanito with you. He's getting to be quite a swimmer, but keep an eye on him just the same, okay?"

So we did. The house was a beautiful building from the off-street side, too. Beautifully manicured grounds and gardens. Beautiful flowers, beautiful trees and shrubs, beautiful swimming pool, and now, well decorated with beautiful women. And Juanito had become a quite swimmer.

After putting brunch away, the cook's and the maid's daughters kept track of Juanito, but she and the cook's daughter traded him off so no matter who else was bending my ear, always one or the other was part of my audience. Miranda said less than the others, only looked my way with an approving smile so often I almost turned embarrassed. This went on until both the maid and the cook joined us, not to mention Mr. Cortez himself,

Soon thereafter, my questions were answered from observation. Miranda may have no mother anymore, but her father had two mistresses. And what about their two daughters? Were they in that picture, too? Without much guesswork, one could see they loved him. But why? Sex? They certainly were old enough—and mature enough. Age what? Eighteen at least, maybe twenty or twenty-one? And those swimsuits showed they qualified as full grown with no doubt.

Drinks flowed liberally around as the ladies—and the uncle and grandfather—grilled me. After one drink, I waved off a second. No sense trying to out-drink my two-drink limit. I saw more than one pair of eyebrows take note. A pending husband should never out-drink the woman who might become his wife, right?

After the fourth drink round skated past me, the sun got the better of most of us. Juanito seemed the only one unaffected. That kid was like a sea otter. In and out, up and down, and all over the pool. Miranda, the two domestic help women, their daughters and the aunts had already succumbed to sun-screen and were applying it liberally, but not Juanito.

"Well, everybody. John is getting sunburned," Miranda said. "I think I'll take him upstairs and put some lotion on him."

Sure, sure! the expressions on numerous faces said. Did she think she fooled anyone? Did she need to?

So we gathered our things and headed in. Through the two-story oak-and-glass doors into a room that must be used for huge—I mean HUGE—parties, down an equally tall hall, to an elevator that was no tin box. I'd expect one like this in a fine hotel somewhere.

Up we went: Third floor, down a more modest hall to a door at the end. Miranda swung the door open and gave her arms a what do you think? motion. What I thought was this looks like a James Bond movie set for a hotel room. One of the more luxurious sets.

"Like our bed?" she said, holding my hand and turning so she looked up into my eyes.

Ours? I shrugged, what can you tell about a bed from thirty feet away? Has a nice bedspread on it? Big enough for an arena football game. Soccer, anyone? How about rugby?

"Come over, sit on the bed, turn to lie on your belly. I'll put sun lotion all over your back."

I did. I just hoped what she had in mind would stop the burn I felt coming on already. I don't know about sunburn, but her application sure influenced my attitude about the near future. Whatever it was, it felt cool, and it felt good, and if you've ever had a woman give you a rubdown on your back, you know before long you're wishing she'd rub down the front of you, too.