Mouse Bk. 06 Ch. 03

PUBLIC BETA

Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.

You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.

Click here
Rob_mDear
Rob_mDear
1,563 Followers

She kissed him again. This time she lingered, letting the kiss grow more passionate.

When they both looked again, together this time, the woman was gone, having disappeared over the rise. Mouse nuzzled into his chest as they walked on.

"I love you," she said.

"Of course you do."

She punched him in the stomach.

"I love you, too."

* * *

Michael scowled. Another time, another place, maybe even in another mood, her short, tight dress and fuck me pumps would have sent his blood rushing. This particular dress had random, six inch tears angled across it, as if a huge monster had raked its claws in a sidewise swipe along her body. Smooth, olive skin peeked out from within, sometimes dangerously close to her ass and tits.

But this was just dinner out, in town, to a place that Michael had told her was frequented by his subordinates from work.

He saw them there frequently.

She knew it, and she was doing it to piss him off. She'd say it was to make a statement, but she knew it would piss him off.

"We're not going out like that, Mouse."

"Oh, come on, Michael. This isn't so bad."

"Yes, it is."

"It's not. I dress like this all the time."

"Yeah, when you want to get laid."

"By you. Yes."

"By anyone. Yes."

Mouse scowled back at him. She momentarily tried to make herself smile, probably to warm Michael up that way, but she quickly lost it.

She was probably tempted to change into something even worse.

"Look, why don't you just go by yourself. If I'm an embarrassment, just leave me here."

"Mouse, stop. You know..."

"Dave would like this outfit."

"That's not fair."

"He would."

"So you'd rather spend time with him?"

"Maybe."

"Just so you can dress like a slut?"

"Stop calling me that."

"Stop dressing like one."

Mouse stormed off. He wasn't sure if it was to change, or pout, but he didn't care. He was growing tired of this. It was fun, sometimes, but not all the time, not every minute. The little brat had to grow up some day.

Michael sat down, fuming, wondering if he should just go out by himself, to calm down, and to get away from Mouse for a while.

<8 Babies, Sitting

"No, way, Melanie, no fu... no way, you can't do this to us."

"You have to, Mouse."

"No way."

"I'm with Mouse. No way," Michael chimed in.

"You have to. Please. I'm begging you."

The little boy, the toddler, ran through the room. Melanie held the baby out towards Mouse. It couldn't have been more than six months old.

"You can't. What would their parents say?" Mouse asked firmly.

"I already told them I was doing it. They don't have much choice. They had to get to the hospital. Her dad is probably dying. But Jenn is out, and I have to get to work. I've used up all of my sick days in therap... I've used them all up."

"What about Rick or Doug?" Michael asked.

"They can't watch a baby!" Mel said.

"Are you crazy?" Mouse asked.

Mel and Mouse had both spoken so quickly, together, that Michael wasn't sure which had said what. The message was clear, though.

"There must be someone else," he tried. He could tell he was whining now. The whole idea really frightened him. In time, some day, with his own kids, yes, but not someone else's, not now, with no warning or practice or lessons. They had to give lessons for this, didn't they?

"Look, it won't be for that long. His sister is driving down here now. She'll be here within two hours, two and a half, tops. She'll come straight here, and take them off your hands. You can last for two hours."

"Two and a half," Mouse said.

"Tops."

"If it's any longer..."

"Look, I have to go, I'm going to be late. Thanks. Annette thanks you, too. Thanks."

Melanie passed the baby to Mouse. Michael expected her to drop it as if it were painful to the touch, or to at least fumble and struggle, as if there was no way she could ever hold a baby.

She looked like she'd been doing it all of her life. She looked like she'd been born to do it.

Michael couldn't decide how that made him feel. He felt a million things at once. He felt pride, fear, shock, regret, longing, hope and confusion. Lots and lots of confusion.

Melanie was out the door almost before he could say good bye.

And then it got awkward.

There was the boy, staring at him, silent, expressionless, with a face that looked like it could burst into a smile or tears or shit at any moment. Poop, he thought to himself, not shit, poop.

There was Mouse, holding the baby, but Michael didn't exist any more. She was looking at the baby, talking to the baby, cooing and glowing at the baby. Michael was gone. It was Mouse, and the baby.

It was his little sister, and the baby.

It was Michael, and the boy, and Mouse with the baby.

For two fucking hours.

Or more.

* * *

"I think I'll take him out to the tire swing," Michael offered.

"Don't let him get hurt."

"What?"

"That swing's dangerous. Be careful."

"Mouse, you must be kidding. You used to do somersaults off the damn thing."

"I was crazy. Mom and Dad were crazy to let me. I don't know what they were thinking."

"Look, he's only three. Or four. Or whatever. I won't even let go of him."

"You better not. Be careful."

"Mouse, he's not that fragile. He's a boy. Boys are tough."

"Don't you dare let him so much as skin a knee, Michael. Not one knee."

Michael grinned at her as he held his hand out to the boy. For his part, the boy readily took his hand, or rather, a single, thick finger of Michael's hand. Michael had to look down, way down, looking at that tiny hand gripping his finger the way he might grasp a handrail on a stair.

He smiled back at a scowling Mouse, before leading the boy out into the yard.

* * *

Michael strolled back in, with Andy on his shoulders, and both of them grinning like maniacs.

Michael had never imagined it could be so much fun. He'd never thought a simple swing could elicit so many giggles and wild peals of laughter, or that they could sound so magical, be so uplifting and inspiring and even contagious.

Actually he could imagine it. He remembered it. Mouse used to do that, long ago, when he had bothered to take the time.

Now he was mad that it would only be two hours. He looked at the clock in the kitchen. Thirty more minutes.

Michael walked into the family room, with Andy still on his shoulders, being careful not to let the boy hit his head as they went through the door. Mouse was there, sitting calmly on the couch, with the baby still in her arms, and that same look of calm investment in her face. Michael stood for a long time, just watching her, studying her expression and her face.

"Are you going to come in?" she asked eventually, still without taking her eyes from the baby.

He hadn't thought she'd even noticed him.

"Do you want to trade off?"

"No," she said too quickly.

"Good. Andy and I can't be separated. We're twins."

More peals of laughter from up above his head. The kid had a great sense of humor.

"How old are you, Andy?"

"Faw!"

"Four? Well, if we're twins, then I must be four, too."

Even more peals of laughter. It was raining giggles.

Michael lifted him up, then dropped him most of the six plus feet from there to the floor, catching him by his armpits at the very last moment, to settle him onto the ground.

"Michael!" Mouse snapped.

She was looking at him, now, glaring at him. Michael glared back, but was unable to erase his grin.

"Be careful," she hissed.

"He's fine. You're fine, right, Andy?"

"Wight."

* * *

Mouse watched him with a wary expression, but inside she glowed just like he was, and not only because of the baby. Michael was just as she'd imagined him. He was a wonderful father. He was so very good with Andy. And he was a good balance against her.

Mouse shocked herself at her fear. She couldn't believe that she was the overprotective, doting mother. She was the controlling one. Good God, she was Melanie. Lord help her, she thought, she was Melanie. She. Was. Melanie.

But Michael was more than Michael. Michael was Dad, and Mom, and Mouse, all in one. As a dad, with a kid, Michael had the best of all of them. He was patient, confident, kind, understanding, and protective, but secure enough to give the kid space. He could do what Mouse always thought she would do, but maybe actually couldn't.

He was a marvel.

Mouse looked down at the baby.

She couldn't believe how in love she was with Michael. She soured as she thought that they could never have this together. No matter how much she wanted it, there was no way.

If this was what they wanted, they had to give up on each other. They had to choose.

* * *

"Why the hell... heck won't it stop crying?"

His voice was full of tension.

"Don't call her an it."

"It's... she's making me crazy."

"She's making me crazy, too, but she's still not an it."

"Okay, okay, but do something."

"I've tried everything. I've fed her, burped her, put her down, picked her up, sang to her. I'm out of ideas."

"Well you're a woman. You must know something."

"Gotta go potty."

The baby's cries redoubled, drowning out her older brother's needs.

"What, Andy?"

"Gotta go potty."

"It's down the hall, that door right there," he said, with a cursory point of one finger, before returning his full attention to Mouse and the little noise maker. "Was there anything in the bag? Didn't Mel leave a bag from her mom?"

"I looked. There was this lame toy, and I tried it, and I don't think she can even see the damned thing. That was it. Diapers, bottle, tissues, rattle, toy, more diapers, formula, a small blanket..."

"Gotta go potty."

"What? I told you, that door right there."

"I think he needs help."

"What?"

"He needs help. He's only four."

"Help?"

"Yes, help."

"Okay, I'll hold the baby..."

"No, you help him. You. I'm not putting this precious down."

"That precious could shatter diamonds with her crying."

"Gotta go potty."

"I think you better hurry up."

"What? Oh, God, okay, come on, Andy."

Michael took Andy's small hand in his and lead the way. He might have imagined it, but he could swear the kid was waddling strangely as he walked. Michael, vividly imagining the consequences to his day if he took too long, picked up his pace, nearly dragging the small boy along like a pull toy.

* * *

Now Andy was crying, too. Mouse looked like she was ready to cry, the baby was crying, Andy was wailing and running in tight, dizzying circles in the middle of the room, around and around and around, with the look of a ferocious warrior on his face. Just watching him gave Michael a headache.

Michael put his hands over his ears, feeling as if he were ready to explode.

Around and around the wicked, noisy little tornado went, until he fell flat on the ground and was still. Michael moved to him, to see if he was hurt, but before he could take two steps the boy was up again, running in circles, wailing like an extra in a Godzilla movie.

Then down he went again. Again he was still.

But this time he didn't get up. When Michael went to him, he could see that the boy was fast asleep, right there on the floor.

* * *

"I'm so sorry. I really am."

It was about the fifteenth time she'd said that, and no amount of apologies made up for the agony of the long hours. Michael accepted her apology gracefully, constantly lying to the woman that it was no problem. Mouse accepted, or rejected, the apologies in silence.

She still held the now quiet baby. Andy held onto the woman's hem, while she stood still, patiently waiting for Mouse to turn over her charge, which Mouse was simply not doing.

Mouse looked down at the infant, who had silenced herself, for no apparent reason, only minutes before her aunt had arrived to pick her up. Michael could see the soft, sad, smile in Mouse's eyes. Even after the stress and discomfort of the past several hours, Mouse still didn't want to give up her burden.

Michael looked at Andy, looking up at him with wide, thoughtful eyes. Michael realized he had no idea what the boy was thinking. What did he see, when he looked up at Michael? A poor temporary substitute for a father? A big, no, a giant friend? Someone he could trust?

Michael couldn't tell. What he could tell was that, despite the potty incident, and the rather nasty and unexpected change in demeanor for the boy before his nap, despite these annoyances, Michael was still going to miss his little pal.

Mouse looked fondly at the baby, then sadly up at Michael. With a visible sigh she handed the baby over.

"We'll take them again, any time, if need be."

"Oh, I'll be sure to let Sally know. It looks like you two did a wonderful job. You make a cute couple, too. You should definitely have kids of your own."

Michael looked at Mouse in a panic, then glanced down at her hand. They were both wearing their wedding bands. Of course this woman would make some rather obvious assumptions.

"I think we might, some day. When the time is right," Mouse said, smiling.

Michael moved to show her to the door. As soon as she was out, Mouse burst into laughter. Michael, unable to restrain himself, copied her, although more nervously. It was funny. The whole thing was more than funny, and he was sure that Mouse would repeat the whole story to Melanie, and their parents, and everyone else, in a way that left Michael's image more than a little tarnished.

And she was welcome to do so. He didn't mind.

What he did mind, what he couldn't shake, was the depressingly harsh reminder that they really were going to have to choose.

<8 Prom Night

Michael drove, not exactly knowing where to.

Beside him, Mouse looked out the window of the car, watching the dark, formless shadows of ancient, tall, broad trees race by in the black night. An overcast sky blocked much of the recent moonlight. They were on a winding country road, too closely lined with overhanging trees, speckled with an occasional farm field, but almost no houses. The road was one that was unfamiliar. It gave the illusion that they were far from civilization.

It made Michael nervous.

"How much further?"

"I'm not talking to you."

She said it with a hint of laughter in her voice. She was so far unable to properly play her part. They were supposed to be mad at each other. She was supposed to be furious. They'd presumably been fighting all night, at her prom.

She looked rather silly, but very attractive, in her old prom dress. Mouse's smooth, bare, olive skinned shoulder's were intoxicatingly sexy, to Michael, marred by not so much as a spaghetti strap. Her dark hair fell in curls, tickling the skin just above her sweet, little, rounded breasts. They showed the barest hint of cleavage, exaggerated by the way the tight gown constricted her torso, pushing her nubile breasts together, and up, and out.

Michael remembered, twelve years ago, furtively peering at that same spot on the gown, and her body, just before leaving with her date, her actual date. His pretense for stopping by had been to pick something up from his old room, but in reality he was there to see Mouse in her dress. He stole what glances he could, now, to enjoy the sight once again, and enjoy the once secret memory, while trying not to drive off of the black, devious, winding road.

The gown itself was made of a pale, pastel, lime green satin that shimmered with soft highlights, when there was any light. This darkness thankfully hid everything below the bust, where the dress was a riot of ruffles and crinkles, and fabric flowers and things Michael didn't even know the names for.

He couldn't believe Mouse had once picked out a dress like that, but of course she'd been eighteen at the time, and that was what all of the dresses were like back then. Style in fashion was determined by what everyone thought everyone else liked, not by actual personal taste, or rather, not by any taste whatsoever. One wore what everyone wore. Back then, even Mouse had to fit in. Everyone did.

But gaudy or not, she was still Mouse, sexy, bubbly, warm, and ultimately his hot little baby sister.

And this was her fantasy. She wanted to relive the night of her prom the way she wished it had unfolded, with Michael as her date, because her own date had, in the fantasy, gotten horribly, painfully, and messily ill.

She really shouldn't have wished that on him. He was a nice enough guy, and interested in her, and interesting enough in his own right. As jealous as he had felt at the time, Michael even liked the kid. The poor guy didn't deserve to get too sick.

But he just wasn't Michael.

* * *

Mouse led him, after considerable driving, down a short dirt drive that branched off of the already secluded country road, to a spot behind an old dilapidated barn. One entire wall had collapsed, while another leaned inward precariously. Assorted timbers and beams and planks stuck out at odd angles, like the pikes of a disorganized rabble army marching through the night.

They pretended to fight, but they weren't very good at it. Surprisingly, they were only good at the real thing. Pretending to fight was too strained.

She made fun of him for breaking up a fight between two guys at the prom. There really had been a fight, between Jake something-or-other and Kevin whoever. In real life, Kevin had lost. In Mouse's world, the fight never got anywhere, because her mature twenty nine year old brother-date had stepped in to break it up, embarrassing her to no end with the scene.

She was also mad at him for flirting with her friends. Carolyn Tern, it seems, had tried very hard to get him to go out back with her, and Michael had almost, if innocently, gone with her, being naive or perhaps conveniently ignorant of what she'd had in store for him.

Mouse had a lot of things to pretend to be mad at him about.

* * *

"Am I pretty, Michael?"

Mouse looked at him with wide, dark, saucer eyes above a shy, frightened mouth.

"You're beautiful, Mouse. Absolutely beautiful."

"No, Dork! Don't say that. You'd never have said that. Come on, try harder."

"But you are. You're gorgeous, and you always have been."

"I have not, and I am not. I'm pretty. I'm a slut, so I turn heads. But I've never been gorgeous, and back then I wasn't sure that you ever even noticed me, at least as anything but a pest."

"I did."

"But you never said it."

"Well, I did."

"Well, it's my fantasy, and you didn't, so start over."

"I don't know, Mouse. You're my little sister. You're just eighteen."

"That's better."

Michael turned to look ahead out of the windshield, at the riotous black silhouette of the crumbling barn.

"Look at me, Michael."

Michael looked back at her.

"Am I beautiful?"

"I could see how some guys might like you."

"What about you?"

"Shit, I guess you're pretty, Mouse. Look, how long do we have to stay out here? I want to get home."

Mouse smiled, pleased with his newly found comfort in his role. This was getting better.

"What about my body, Michael? Do you think boys would like my body?"

"Shit, Mouse. I'm your big brother. I don't want boys to like your body."

"But do they?"

Michael turned back to look out the windshield again. The moon had begun to peek through distant holes in the clouds, and was shining straight through the wreckage of the building into his eyes. He could see Mouse squirming in her dress out of the corner of his eye.

She climbed up onto her knees in her seat, turning to face him and sitting back on her haunches.

"Look at me, Michael."

Michael glanced at her. She held his eyes with hers, dark and serious, so his glance turned into a stare. Her hands reached back behind her, fumbling a moment, and then the top of her gown popped and loosened. Until now it had looked painfully constricting, pushing her small breasts together so nicely.

Rob_mDear
Rob_mDear
1,563 Followers