Sorting Out The Smiths Ch. 01byandy_charles©
Tales From Sechs City -- welcome to Sechs City, a wealthy, middle-class costal area of Western America in the state of California. A gorgeous, quiet largely uneventful place, people move to the city to follow their dreams, to live their day-to-day lives. It's almost too perfect to be true...
It was an afternoon of brilliant warm sunshine in Sechs City. It was the type of afternoon that nobody wanted to miss, that made a working man for one split second envious of the unemployed, that every kid in school wished they had sports yet couldn't believe they were stuck in their sweaty math rooms. It was the type of afternoon purpose built for lazing by the pool, picnics in the park, or stripping to the bare minimum (if that) and topping up a tan.
West Avenue was home to some of the wealthiest families in Sechs City, and to those who did not have the good fortune to live there, it seemed even more amazing in this sunshine; for it was common knowledge that each house came with its own large gardens and high fences for private sunbathers, its cool individual swimming pools, either outside or in (and sometimes both), its expansive marble surfaced kitchens made for bare feet to tiptoe on in quick relief.
In particular, one house stood out among all the rest. It was the largest and most expensive house on West Avenue and it belonged to the Smiths. It was the godfather of West Avenue, all three stories of its red brick magnificence. The immaculate lawn was dutifully tended and cared for by one of Sechs City's most prestigious gardeners, who had once worked for the White House. Its large indoor pool and beautiful conservatory looked out onto the luscious backdrop of exotic plants, tall sturdy trees and bright green bushes.
The bi-annual parties that were held there -- one at Christmas, the other a neighbourhood summer barbeque -- were renowned for their originality and their overwhelming factor of fun, and the neighbours of West Avenue were this afternoon awaiting eagerly for the latest summer barbeque in a week's time.
But the cherry on the cake was the Smiths themselves: Lewis, a 42 year old successful property developer, his beautiful wife Lianne, who did not look a day over 25, let alone her real age of 37, and their top of the class son, 18 year old Jack, who everyone expected great things of, not just his parents. They were warm, they were friendly, they were caring. They seemed to be one of the most perfect families you were ever likely to socialise with in West Avenue, if you were so lucky to do so.
Of course there was gossip, but then there is about any successful family. The latest buzz concerned the handsome, muscular man who had for the past three months now being visiting the house during the day on a twice weekly basis, often for two hours or so. But, as most pieces of gossip about the Smiths ended up, this was quickly brushed aside whenever you laid eyes on how happy the family were together. Gossip was gossip: the truth was easy to see. There was nothing wrong with the Smith family.
On this afternoon the house was unusually quiet. Lianne and the family maid, a tiny, gruff but lovable 60-something named Wanda, had gone to the Sechs City Shopping Mall to begin preparations for the neighbourhood barbeque. The expansive lounge, with its three-piece flower print sofa suite, its large plasma wall screen television and its immaculately polished hardwood floor, bathed in a warm glow as sunlight filtered through the half-open blinds. Only the distant hum of a washing machine in the basement below could be heard to disturb the silence.
The door opened and a head cautiously peered round, brown eyes widening with every second they took in the sight of this room, as if it were one of the eight wonders of the world. Long blonde hair glowed in the sunlight, while red lips surrounded the mouth that was hanging open in wonder. The rest of the beautiful body made its way now into the room: young, slim, slightly bronzed legs peeking from a short black school skirt and small b-cup breasts hardly noticeable under the crisp white shirt and loosened red and white striped tie.
The girl was followed by Jack Smith, walking as casually as he could without looking too smug about the current situation. Under his short brown hair his brain was whirring excitedly, hungrily. It had taken weeks of planning, on a scale almost as great as his parents preparations for one of those lavish parties, but it would all be worth it. Seize the moment, his father often told him. Well, this was exactly what he was going to do. He quietly closed the door to the lounge and watched as Ashley Webb, one of the most gorgeous girls in his class and arguably the greatest notch on any young man's bedpost wandered around his lounge, gazing in awe at everything she could see.
"Do you like it?" he asked her finally, speaking slowly so as not to betray the growing rush of excitement that was pulsing through his body.
She looked at him, a large smile on her pretty face, eyes dazzling. "How could anyone not like this?" she said. "I can't believe this place! It's huge!"
Jack nodded. "And this is only the downstairs lounge," he said, leaning slightly on the closed door. "Wait until you see the rest of the house: the kitchen, the pool, the bedrooms...the garden too," he added slightly hurriedly, afraid it would be all too clear what was going through his mind, the perhaps premature stiffness he felt in his designer underwear under his black school trousers.
Ashley turned round fully to face him, shaking her head slightly. "How come you've never invited any of us here before?" she asked. "Think of all the parties we could have had here over the years, the amount of times we've been crammed into Fiona Gordon's place like sardines, when we could have had all this space?"
Jack scratched his shaved chin. "I just like to keep my social life separate from my home life," he replied. "and I don't see anything wrong with that. Besides my parents would drive everyone wild, and they would never, ever let me have a party here with all you guys."
"Well, what about a party with just me?" Ashley asked slowly, taking a step towards him and rubbing her neck with her right hand. She was standing perfectly in the strands of sunlight that beamed through the window blinds, and Jack's hungry eyes could just make out the outline of her bra through the white shirt.
"Depends on what kind of party it would be," he replied, hoping he wasn't going to break out in a cold sweat.
Ashley smiled wickedly. Slowly she began to undo the five buttons that held the thin cotton of the shirt together. Jack was rooted to the spot. All he could do was watch. This was the moment he had been waiting for, the moment that would rank him as one of the legends, the lucky few who had been chosen by Ashley Webb for pleasure.
He stared as Ashley removed her white shirt and let his drop to the floor, before quickly pulling her skirt down over her legs, her eyes always on his, that smile of hers widening with delight at the hold she had over him. She stepped away from the skirt and stood, hands on hips, in a matching lingerie of white with fat red cherries on short green stalks printed all over the bra and briefs.
She held out a hand, inviting him over, where their lips met, hungrily, lustfully. Jack's tongue was like an unleashed animal, wildly exploring her mouth before it began to lick and suck its way down the neck and over the gorgeous breasts.
He felt her hand on the lack of his head as his own ran their way around her body and onto her pert butt, pressing her into his stiff member which gained a brief moan of anticipated pleasure from her lips. She grabbed hair and lifted his head up.
"My, we are a party animal, aren't we?" she said huskily. "But there's no rush, baby...is there?"
Jack quickly shook his head. "This place is ours for hours still," he assured her.
"In that case," Ashley said, leading him over to one of the main sofa that was toasty warm from the sun's rays, "we've got plenty of time to warm up."
She began to unbutton his own shirt, and in his impatience he was aware that she was teasingly taking a lot slower to remove his clothes than hers. It was frustrating -- he wanted her to see his well-kept body, feel her hands all over his chest. As she continued to unbutton, he stroked her lightly around her stomach and across her smooth legs, as if trying to tell her through his movements that this was what he wanted her to do to him. Finally she complied, running his shirt over his shoulders, kissing him again as her hands explored. She seemed to like what she felt, and even more so when her hands travelled further downwards. She unzipped his trousers and stroked the quivering tip as it poked out from between the folds of his underwear.
"I like to feel the excitement I give to a man," she giggled, licking her lips gradually.
Jack swallowed. Now would be the worst time to over-excite himself with his imagination. He had to stop thinking and start doing. Hesitantly at first, he put his own hands around her things and began to stroke the material of her briefs. He was pleased to find it already damp.
"And vice versa," he said to her, amazed at her reaction -- closed eyes, intake of breath, white teeth gently biting onto the bottom lip -- to this simple, delicate touch. Greedy for more he took hold of her spun her round, leaning back on the arm of the sofa for his own support, and letting her rest on top of him. While his right hand continued to caress the warm dampness, his left hand slipped under the bra and onto a bullet hard nipple. He pinched it between two fingers, tickled it gently, impressed again at how so little a movement could cause, in his mind, so great a reaction of pleasure.
"You know," she breathed, "if you really want to feel how excited I am..." She herself took his hand and placed it under the fabric of the briefs. She was right. Jack's insides were doing a samba of delight as he felt how wet she was almost from the first touch. He teased the lips of the pussy gently with his middle finger before letting it slowly sink in, feeling her tense on top of him, hearing her catch her breath.
Jack began to circle the finger around the soft, wet mound it had discovered, feeling her hand tighten round his wrist as it did so, the other gripping onto the side of the sofa. Her breaths became stuttered cries, which soon became louder and louder.
Ashley began to grind her body onto his, moving with the rhythm of his finger which, to his slight annoyance, was already beginning to tire. Cautiously he let the forefinger join its neighbour, and almost laughed out loud with joy at the loud whimper that came from the most beautiful girl he knew, his new lover, his new girlfriend, it was all going straight to plan, and there was so much more to be patient for.
The door swung open and there was movement behind Jack's head on the couch arm. Ashley screamed and shoved herself off of Jack's body, tumbling off the couch as she did and banging her elbow on the hard wood floor. Jack scrambled upright and turned to see with horror his father, Lewis Smith, dressed in his suit, tie loosened, top button undone, wide-eyed and agog at the scene in front of him but not, like Ashley, at the lounge.
"What the hell's going on?" Lewis asked, putting down the heavy brown briefcase of paperwork he had been holding.
Ashley, blushing furiously, was scrambling on the floor for her clothes which she hastily put on and walked quickly from the scene, doing her shirt up as she did so. Both Lewis and Jack called to her to stop, both for different reasons. Their answer was the slam of the front door. Jack swore out loud.
"Less of that, thank you," said his father angrily. "What's the matter with you? Who was that girl and why the hell was your hand down her pants?"
Jack scowled at him. "Why do you think?" he asked, grabbing his own shirt but not bothering to put it on.
Lewis stood in front of him and glared. "I mean why the hell were you doing all of this in MY living room? You've got your own room, haven't you?"
Jack stood up to face his father, who he was just slightly taller than. "You've never let me have anybody up there! Even when I was small, I was never allowed to have my friends over. Why should this be any different?"
"You're right, it shouldn't," replied Lewis. "You're grounded for a month." He walked away, leaving a topless Jack fuming by the couch.
Jack was still beside himself at the punishment at dinner that evening. "It's totally unfair," he complained, slouching away from the now cold food on the plate in front of him. "We weren't even having full sex! We were just messing around!"
"That's no excuse!" Lewis snapped, a glass of water halfway to his lips. "It was still in my house, on my sofa."
"It's my house too," argued Jack.
"Do you pay the bills? Because you're more than welcome to do so if you want," replied his father.
In the middle of the long dining table, in the middle of this mini-war, Lianne Smith silently ate the last piece of chicken left on her plate. It was dry in her mouth, almost tasteless. It was pathetic to feel this way, she thought. Completely pathetic. Her ears were almost deaf to the blazing row that had started almost as soon as they had sat down, her head swimming with too many other things to pay any attention to what she regarded as a rather stupid punishment.
But then if she said anything would it have made a difference? Hardly. She knew her husband too well to know that when he was convinced of something he very rarely became un-convinced. She just sat there, wiping her mouth gently with the silk napkin, brushing aside a few strands of her exquisite long black hair which needed a shower before tomorrow. Thoughts of the next day briefly burned in her mind, making her feel all the more uncomfortable with the overwhelming sensation of envy she had for her son.
Lianne was aware of him now getting up from the table.
"Now where are you going?" she heard Lewis ask him, a little exasperated.
"I'm gonna go work out for a few hours," Jack said, walking away towards the corridor that led to their small gym, "or is that now out of bounds?"
"It will be if you keep that attitude up!" Lewis called after him.
Lianne watched the three candles resting in a tall stand in front of her as they burned brightly. A drop of melted wax trickled slowly down the side of one of them. How could she be jealous of her own son? It was a horrible feeling to have. He hadn't even come out of it well -- no relief from either girl or father. Perhaps there Lianne could sympathise but to be jealous, even a little resentful of Jack? It was not healthy.
"Lianne, are you listening?"
She shook herself and turned to her husband, who with both elbows resting in front of him on the table was looking at her half-curiously, half-amusedly. "I'm sorry, darling," she mumbled, clearing her throat and saying louder, "I was miles away."
"Thinking about the barbeque?" Lewis asked a little gentler.
Not bearing to lie out loud she nodded vigorously, perhaps a little too vigorously. Lewis sighed, got out of his chair and walked to behind her, placing his strong hands on her shoulders. He stroked her long black hair absent-mindedly, something Lianne knew he did when his mind was on other things. She let him get away with it. She knew from experience that it was better to pretend in this house then to let the truth out. She half-hoped that they both felt the same way, that this tired frustration was not hers alone.
But then he kissed her on the neck and walked away, back towards the stairs, up towards their bedroom. Lianne was left there sitting on her own, her head pounding with an approaching headache. She put her hands over her eyes and looked into the darkness she had created. It had all been so different, once upon a time, but her mother, may she rot in hell, had been right. Everything changes eventually. She just hadn't expected it to change this quickly.
Out of his suit, dressed in lose t-shirt and jogging bottoms for his evening run around West Avenue, Lewis walked across the landing. He was still struggling to accept what he had seen earlier that afternoon. If he hadn't decided to come home early and finish work at home who knew what could have been happening in his home? Lewis wasn't stupid -- he knew his son was eighteen, that he had had an interest in girls from the age of 14 -- but what he had seen had brought it into reality in a very ugly way.
Not that he didn't disapprove of his son's taste in women. The girl had been very hot indeed. She had reminded Lewis of Lianne when they had first met all those years ago, when they were at University. Theirs had been an intense, passionate relationship, six months before engagement and eight before marriage in front of a mostly disapproving congregation. Yet they had shown them all. Look where they were now, where they were living now. It was something to make him proud.
And yet nowadays there was definitely something stale beginning to creep its way into their happy home. Lewis had been sure that he would never become one of those husbands whose bored housewives looked elsewhere for pleasure. He and Lianne still made love on regular occasions, often at her request which he was more than happy to oblige. Yet after the screaming and the ecstasy, after the juices had flown, there was still something missing that had not been missing before. He knew something was troubling Lianne, but she never talked to him about things like that any more. It annoyed him slightly.
Not as much as what his son had been up to, though. His thoughts returned to that as he passed the boy's bedroom, the door ajar. A dim blue glow came from inside; he had obviously forgotten to switch off his computer.
Grumbling, Lewis walked in, stepping over the dirty clothes and strewn magazines and CDs that lay scattered on the floor. Wanda never came to tidy this room as a personal rule. She claimed it was because a boy like Jack needed his own space, his own privacy. Lewis was half-tempted to suggest that she didn't want to take up the task because it would be so mammoth.
As he bent over to turn off the flat computer screen a tiny box popped up in the middle announcing the arrival of an email.
Lewis froze. He immediately knew what he wanted to do and was a little ashamed of it. It wouldn't be right or fair to read his son's emails. They were private and it would be an incredible invasion of that privacy to not even turn around and walk away.
Yet Lewis stayed where he was. Lianne was not the only family member who didn't talk to him about things that bothered her. If he was honest with himself he had no clue whatsoever as to what was going through his son's head. It frightened him a little, but it gave him enough courage to do this one thing.
Taking a deep breath, he clicked on the flashing box. Almost immediately he wished he hadn't. A white screen appeared, then, slowly, picture after picture started to pop up on top of it. A flashing label at the top proclaimed proudly that this was the latest newsletter from PornFans.Com, and this week's edition was a special female solo letter. All the images that appeared were of young women, some very attractive, others not so, all in their various homes, playing with themselves. Some were winking at the camera; others looked like they were in mid-orgasm. Some were using dildos or vibrators; others just their fingers or, in one case, a fist.
Lewis couldn't move. He was frozen to the spot as these images emerged. There was something moving, however, and he was a little shaken that it was. He hadn't looked at porn for a long time; he didn't need to, he had a beautiful wife to look at. It was obvious that porn had changed very quickly from when he had last ogled it. The women seemed a lot younger now and the majority of their pussies were shaven completely.