The Book of Ruth: Doing Ruth Pt. 02

Ruth was crying. "Oh fuck. Poor Katia." Her wet Levantine eyes held mine. "You know I loved her almost as much as I love you, or Dad or Mom. Oh fuck. And you say, she might still be alive, if Jill had only..."

"If Jill had paid attention to people and not just profits. If *I* had paid attention to the slime Jill was dealing with. If, if, if..."

We held each other to keep from collapsing. We did not move for endless minutes.

Allen returned. He watched our sad embrace.

"The docs are almost ready. By close of business today, you'll have no legal connection with TBI." He looked at me closely. "Are you sure this is what want, son? Where do you go next?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Thank you, sir. What's next? Other than keeping Ruth happy and healthy?" I squeezed my new wife. "We haven't talked yet."

"I know what *I* want, and it's YOU. You're first on my list. But next, I have an interview next week at LACMA. I want onto the curator staff, and they seem to want me, too."

LACMA, the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, was only a few blocks from the Shapiro house, and right next to La Brea Tar Pits -- a prestige institution. And so close.

I idly thought of dumping Jill into the tar pits. She could hang out with sabre-tooth cats and dire wolves and other prehistoric predators -- her kind of beasts. Only a fantasy...

"Okay, if the interview pans out, we should look for a condo or something nearby. Might as well have an easy commute," I said.

"Why don't you kids stay here for now? Think about a home later. It's not like there isn't room." Allen gestured at the mini-mansion.

Ruth and I looked at each other, mentally conferred, and nodded. "Thank you, sir. We'll see what happens, play it by ear from here," I answered.

"Yes, thanks, Dad. It'll be good to be nearby." Ruth kissed his cheek.

We heard a BEEP. Allen walked out of the room. He returned, studying the sheaf of paper in his hand, muttering to himself.

"This all looks right. Yes, yes..." He looked up. "Okay son, here are your emancipation papers. Sign, and you're free. Totally free from TBI and Jill. Free to be Ruth's slave, anyway."

"Yessir." I signed.

Ruth tugged my hand and led me to the guest rooms, our "honeymoon suite".

"Dad's right, Ran. You DO look like leftover shit. You need a serious rest."

"Yeah. Lemmee shower and sleep and maybe I'll be human again."

Ruth poured me something strong and alcoholic while I stripped. I sloshed it down and straggled into the ensuite shower. Ruth followed me in, also naked. I did NOT feel sexy but I appreciated her scrubbing and shampooing me, deep-rubbing my scalp.

Ruth dried me, and led me to bed, and watched me fall into nightmares.

=====

Ruth's LACMA interview went well.

Allen's heart did not.

And I was still dizzy.

Ruth was giddy. She felt quite comfortable with the curators' committee. She knew she impressed them. They told her, informally, to expect a formal job offer in a few days, and they wanted her right away. Ruth was ecstatic.

"Oh Ran, I've wanted this for years! They'll start me with the neo-modern section, that was my special-studies focus, but I'll get to work in other areas too. There's just so much! It's like a giant playground!"

"And you'll know way ahead of time of any special exhibits and other good stuff that comes in, right?" I kissed her breast as we lay in bed.

"Only the best, lover! LACMA is about the most dynamic big gallery in the country now, and we'll get all the hot shows, and I'll be in on them, one way or another. And of course we'll get sneak previews. You'll love this too, Ran. It's great!"

"So you can walk me in and let me watch the setups?" I slurped her other nipple. She jiggled and giggled.

"Well, it'll help if you're a patron. One little donation can buy a lot of access. Then I'm not just sneaking in my cute husband, I'm impressing a donor. Management likes that sort of thing."

Ruth snuggled closer. "And I'd like to impress this specific donor some more. Maybe talk him into boosting his donations. How about a donation, mister? Y'know, the gift that keeps on giving?" She stroked my stiffening cock.

Oh damn, the sex was good! Ruth's career excitement translated into personal excitement and rampant horniness. She just about raped me that day, and that night, and the next day, and...

Ruth was on cloud nine for two days. Until the calls came from New Orleans.

Allen was in the Big Easy for usual show-business negotiations and litigation. He suffered a heart attack. Geez, the guy was only around fifty years old. That's too young for acute myocardial infarctions, right? Well, until too recently, Allen had been a food hound and smoker.

He was treated at Ochsner Medical Center, New Orleans' best. They called his condition stable.

Allen's heart infarcted again the next day. He was in much more serious shape this time. His doctors were very concerned.

So were we. Ruth freaked-out after the second heart attack. We booked an executive jet to speed us east. We arrived in time to learn of yet a third infarction. Ferdie met us at the general aviation terminal.

"Hi Ran, hi Ruth. Look girl, calm down. Your sister's with your dad, and the best docs in the state are working on him, and your fretting won't do him any good. C'mon, I'll take you two to the hospital, then we'll go home and figure things out."

We settled into his limo. The Haitian chauffeur was fast, efficient, silent.

Rachel hugged me and her sister when we reached the ICU waiting room. Ferdie walked down the corridor, conducting business by phone. Bankers never rest, right?

"Damn, I'm glad you guys are here, but there's not much we can do. They won't allow visitors. Got nothing to see anyway, just Dad all plugged with tubes and wires and shit. You want to see him? Check that video monitor." Rachel pointed to a screen on the wall.

We saw a bed-ridden human form swathed in technology and attended by robed, masked figures. No, nothing exciting here, or even personal. Staying and fretting would not help.

Ferdie's limo whisked us from the medical enter to their Greek Revival mansion in the Garden District. Ferdie claimed exhaustion and went to bed. Ruth was also totally wiped, physically and emotionally. She gave me a tired but thorough kiss, told me to behave myself, and headed for our guest room.

Rachel sat with me. No, that's not quite right. Rachel settled next to me on the leather couch, adjusted her gauzy vanilla dress, leaned against me, took my hand, snuggled into me, and kissed me lightly.

"You guys were only married a few weeks ago. And you have all this fucking drama and tragedy to deal with. This can't be how you expected married life to begin?" She kissed my face again.

I returned her Lady Grey kisses. "It's been a strange trip. I hardly know what I'm doing yet, or where. I think I almost have the 'why' figured out, though. Only, I'm not sure of the 'what next' or whatever else."

"Well, the first 'what next' is, we're gonna fuck, yeah. Or have you gone monogamous with my little sister?" She squeezed my cock in inquiry.

"Don't know yet, but I could be persuaded..."

Rachel took me to a private nook with a queen bed. Her oblivious husband was presumably thoroughly unconscious upstairs. My tempestuous new wife snored in a nearby room. Rachel and I had the night to ourselves.

We knew each other's bodies quite well by now. We knew how to rise to fever pitch. My mouth and fingers had Rachel dripping. Her mouth and fingers made my cock as hard as steel pipe. She spread her legs. I moved into place.

She gripped my hard-on and pulled me into her core with no further delays. I slid balls-deep inside her not-too-tight tunnel in one smooth thrust. She moaned appreciatively and pushed her hips up against mine.

"Oh damn, Ran, fuck me," she breathed.

Her legs looped around mine. I moved faster, more insistently, pounding her. My chest crushed her ever-glorious grapefruit globes. My voice moaned, "Oh yeah, so good..." My lips locked to hers -- lips tasting like flowers and herbs. Our tongues danced their mating ritual.

Rachel shifted, with her legs locked around my waist, limiting our motions. We tilted into a tighter, shorter, faster, rougher rhythm. I hammered into her. Our pubes slammed together. I felt my orgasm approach, and hers.

"Oh, Randy," she moaned. Her arms pinned my upper body. Her fingernails raked my back. "Oh fuck, oh yeah, oh oh oh..."

We spasmed together. I felt every cubic centimeter of her vagina massaging and mangling my blood-filled bayonet as she tried to milk each and every last drop of semen from me. She nearly succeeded. I roared, and flooded her, filling her womb with my living seed.

She squeezed; I shot; we convulsed.

Rachel did not quite wail. That was good; soundproofing was not great in this old house. But her muted moan sounded quite satisfactory.

"You had enough?" I asked.

I did not await a reply. I slipped down between her thighs and nuzzled her vulva. I am not shy about tasting my own cum mixed with a woman's juices.

I licked around her puffy labia and lapped into her carnal chasm, but concentrated on circumnavigating her clitoris. Around, and across, and she gasped! Then across, and around, and across again, and she groaned!

My arms were under her thighs and around her sides, reaching to her breasts. My lips and tongue attacked her clit while my fingers abused her nipples. She quivered and shook and moaned, "Oh, oh, oh..." I felt her reach for a pillow to smother her voice.

And she gurgled. Then gasped, and threw the pillow aside, and grabbed my hair, and pulled my head closer to her. Then pushed me away.

"Enough, enough, oh shit Ran, stop now, please stop, please... I mean it! Oh, oh... Oh crap, stop now!" Her voice was a raspy whisper.

When she pushed hard enough, I stopped.

I slid up next to her. She snuggled into me. We lay quietly, embracing lightly, murmuring softly. Our twenty-nine-year-old-bodies fit well.

"That was great, Ran."

"You're always great, babe."

"Of course I am! But it's late. We needed to be bright and functional tomorrow." She kissed me. "We won't be doing this a lot more, will we?"

"Probably not," I admitted. "Let's go get clean now."

We showered. We lathered each other carefully and fully. And that's all we did. No fucking in the shower. We had to save something for our spouses.

I eased into bed with Ruth, both naked. She snored. I likely did too.

I woke after dawn with my cock deep in Ruth's mouth -- slow and gentle, a really nice wake-me-up. I hummed happily as she stiffened me nicely.

I made I'm-awake sounds. "Shhh," Ruth whispered, "it's my turn."

Ruth pushed the light blanket aside. She straddled my hips and pushed down onto me. My cock slid nicely into her. We both moaned. She lowered herself further, totally impaled. I reached to hold her lovely breasts. She looked into my eyes.

"You and my sister fucked again, didn't you, Ran?"

I nodded. "You know we did." I leaned up to kiss a nipple.

She slid up and down my shaft, rolled and rocked, then up and down again.

"That's got to stop, Ran. It's just us now. Just us."

She moved faster. And faster. Her hips blurred. Her body tightened. She stopped, every muscle minutely tensed. She dropped onto me. And screamed.

Not a quiet, muffled scream. A full-tilt-boogie scream, suitable for waking dead alligators from their fetid swampy graveyards.

I heard laughter through the thin walls, then moans and groans, not at all stifled. It sounded like we were not the only ones connecting that morning.

=====

The hospital allowed Allen visitors the next day. We four 'kids' gathered around his bed. We all talked about Allen's prognosis and prospects.

"Look, kids. The doctors here aren't going to let me go anywhere anytime soon. Once they kick me out of Intensive, I'll be in a cardiac clinic for who knows how long. We've got to set things up to handle this right.

"Rachel, it's best if you and Ferdie are my legal guardians, just in case. I'll stay here in New Orleans for the time being. I need a change of pace from L.A. anyway. I can still run my practice from here; I've got well-trained slaves at my office." He grinned weakly.

"And we'll be your slaves here, right, dad?" Rachel smiled. "Don't worry, we can handle your medical care and housing and hookers and whatever."

Allen grunted. "Might not be hookers for a while, y'know."

He looked away. I knew he was thinking of his former fiancé Nancy dropping him. He looked back at us.

"Ruth, you and Randy should have the Fairfax house. It's so close to LACMA, and it's paid for. I'll have your names added to the title as co-owners. It's still my house, as long as I'm alive. But you might as well have it. Just don't burn it down, okay?"

We promised to be careful. And Allen managed to slip a post-nup into the paperwork. More on that later.

Our good-byes were not too tearful. But our next greetings were wet-eyed: Allen lasted only six months before another heart attack killed him. We took his body home for burial. Nancy skipped the funeral.

-- 1989 -- Thanksgiving Weekend

I renewed the old holiday ritual, hanging with my cousin Doug at his same Venice West apartment block, beside the heated pool adorned by scantily-clad women. Doug and I once again reclined on loungers. We discussed yesterday's family turkey feast briefly, then moved on. The womenfolk were out shopping on this Black Friday as usual. Doug and I surveyed the scenery.

Doug was sipping some alco-pop concoction. I politely declined in favor of Anchor Steam beer. Doug strained the sickly-sweet mutant brew through his thick blond moustache. He grinned at my shudder of distaste.

"Hey kid, you've had a pretty weird year, lotsa crap since last holiday season. You got karma catching up with you, or something?"

"Yeah, it's been nuts, and negative, way too much. I tell you, a year ago, hell, six months ago, I never would have thought I'd be where I am now. I can't work this as a gain-versus-loss or cost-benefit analysis. Life isn't like that. I've lost so much. I've gained... some. I've moved over, into a different life, much more stable, but... well, maybe more static stability than dynamic stability." I sipped my dark brew.

"Huh? Static and dynamic stability? You lost me there, cuz."

"A rock is statically stable. It sits in one place unless it's shoved away. A gyroscope is dynamically stable. Give it a shove, it tries to return to where it was. With TBI, I was always on the move, but I always returned. Now, I'm much more into staying in one place. Takes a lot less energy."

"Hmmph. Okay. I'm guessing it's home life that ties you down here."

"Yeah, that's Ruth, my anchor now." I gave a lopsided grin. "She's really thrown herself into her new curating job. LACMA seems to make her glow. She's mostly active in the Modernism section. That doesn't much interest me. I prefer ethnic crafts and graphics. You've seen my stuff. But she already has expertise and professional respect. I know I'll be proud of her work."

"Okay, so she's got a job she loves. Does that cut into your home life?"

"Oh, you mean, like, bedroom time? No problem!" My grin was self-satisfied. "And I'm sticking with Ruth now. Damn, she's hot! I've pretty much swapped variety or quantity for quality."

"What, you've gone monogamous? And after doing her sister, and her mother, and what seems like about one-tenth the female population of these United States? You feel okay now, kid?"

I pondered a moment. "I feel like maybe I'm growing up. I'm on a new level of responsibility. Put away the toys -- well, I guess women were my toys -- but move on to work... no, that's not right, either. It's still all play, it's just not a game any more, it's serious... and not as funny as before."

"You're getting heavy there, cuz. So what are you doing with your life?

"Well, Ruth doesn't NEED to work. Neither do I. Selling-out from TBI left us with enough to live comfortably. But I grew up with obsessive work habits -- they're embedded within me. I can't NOT work. So I consult."

"Huh! I read that consultants get paid a whole bunch to tell clients what they already know. Is that your schtick now?" He drank more of his swill.

"I have nothing to do with Jill or the business and I don't compete. But I do have expertise in the materials biz, and enough non-competing enterprises need what I know. So I advise, and dicker, and analyze, and report, and pocket the fees. It's enough to support a personal assistant. And no, she's not a sexy young thing, just bleak and efficient."

"I wondered about that. Ruth lets you near other women?"

"Ah, 'Look but don't touch', that's her rule. I'd like to change that to 'Don't do behind my back what you wouldn't do in front of me,' but I don't know if we'll get there." I finished my Anchor Steam and popped another.

"Anyway, we have enough money. What do we do with it? We invest carefully -- I want to never NEED to work again. We buy some art and a little land. We get away when we can. We don't buy useless bling and toys. No Ferraris, only a couple Beemers. No yachts, no vast estates, no megabuck parties. No piles of jewelry -- got enough already, through TBI. We're both financially pretty conservative, pretty frugal. Those are old habits we won't break. Blowing money is dumb."

"How about kids? Got any coming? You'll get to blow LOTS of money on kids!"

"We're working on that. Practicing a lot, of course." We both laughed. "Ruth wants to time things to fit with her LACMA schedule. I can't fault her for that. She really wants this career. Makes her feel like she's contributing to the world."

"Well, kids would be a fun contribution. And hey, do her on your desk, and you can say, 'I gave at the office,' heh heh."

Our conversation skidded downhill from there. Use your imagination.

No, I did NOT tell Doug I already had kids. Kids I could not acknowledge. Kids by Katia's stepmother Juanita, and by Ruth and Rachel's mother Deborah. Kids their husbands thought to be their own. [See the previous episode, DOING RUTH #1, for details.] Some secrets should not be told.

My and Deb's twins would be known as my in-laws, Lev and Leah. To little Lola, my and Juanita's daughter, I could only be "Uncle Ran". I was not yet 'Daddy' anywhere. Was I ready for a change? I thought so.

-- 1990 -- spring in the Southland

My consulting business did well. Ruth's career took off. But both our working lives demanded time and space, alas. I might have kept my ass in Los Angeles, but I did not; clients lured me around the hemisphere. Ruth's work called for her to travel to assess and negotiate collections and displays.

We were apart too much. Wait, have you heard this before? It gets worse.

Ruth was a fucking wonder when we were together.

Not that we did everything sexual. Neither of us were into anal, and she said 'no' to threesomes or moresomes. But neither of us minded strolling on clothing- or morality-optional beaches, through masses of exposed skin and fleshy bits, as long as we observed the "look but don't touch" rule.

We looked, and were watched. We masturbated in front of others, and fucked in front of others, and watched while they masturbated and slurped and fucked. But we did not touch them. And we did not bring them home.

Well, *some* outside touching continued. I hooked up with Rachel a few more times, the latest not too long ago. And I spent a lot of time with my mom Nina at the Santa Monica house. We wore only skin in the house and yard and pool, and hugged and kissed lovingly -- our long tradition. We were discreet when her Bobby or anyone else was around. Sex was private.

Nina and I sunned ourselves by the backyard pool one weekday afternoon. We'd had fun 69ing -- my mother's light tight body on mine; my tongue intriguing her pussy, the portal from whence I had entered this world; her sweet mouth polishing me to perfection.