Ralph Wrecked It

That fall after my arms healed, Ralph and I visited a couple museums and attended an opera, that, as luck would have it, required a weekend trip to New York City. As a proper young debutante, I was exposed to culture anyway, so the family was glad I was simply expounding on my knowledge, They saw the Manhattan trip as an innocent voyage, and not my first experience at long, strenuous hotel butt fucks. It was also a trip down memory lane for him. He had a taxi drive us past a building where his photography studio once was. It was also the location raided by the police while he was in the midst of making pornographic movies in the late 1950's. The six months he spent in jail had been the family's hushed shame.

While I occasionally dated men my own age, Ralph and I continued our clandestine, incestuous affair at various hotels near my college every few weeks. I refused to divulge any details, and my roommates just assumed I had a married sugar daddy. If they only knew the whole truth they would have shit their thongs.

It was during those visits that I gradually learned the family history, and that Ralph and Darleen's father did indeed own the mountain on which they lived, thousands of acres from a family land grant dating back to before the Revolution. After his death, lumber companies, who had ceased trying to deal with her father, approached Grammy, and she began selling timber rights, which over the years became the source of much of the family wealth. A portion of the money funded new clothes and finishing school tuition. Grammy transformed herself from a 'mountain hick' into a 'proper' Southern lady. She eventually fell for a young lawyer she met while negotiating the sale of the upper reaches of the mountain to the Department of the Interior as part of an adjoining National Forest.

The sneaking around with Ralph became less exciting once I had my own apartment at school, and I had no relatives or nosy roommates to answer to. We eventually ended things amicably and I began dating men closer to my own age. The summer before my senior year at Radford, I met my future first husband.

I was married with two young sons when Grammy, already a widow, died and I had to go through her belongings. What I found shocked the hell out of me and made me realize that incestuous cravings must be hereditary.

To be continued...