The Family Frizz Ch. 01

While Sam Houston is buried in the city of Huntsville, Texas and his name graces the State University there as well as the National Forest between Huntsville and Lake Livingston, to the best of my knowledge and research no town or public high school in the State of Texas is named for Rene-Robert Cavalier the Sieur de LaSalle who traveled the length of the Trinity River in his exploration of North America. That is truly a shame, so I rectified it.

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This is a work of fiction and all of the fictional sexual activity described occurs between fictional characters who are at least eighteen fictional years of age.

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I like commas. The Oakhurst dairy in Maine wishes they had used more, the lack of an Oxford comma in a contract cost them five million dollars. (USA Today 2/8/18)

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SATURDAY NIGHT

Dinner had been fine, I guess. I told dad it was great and that was not a lie, I have had his pot roast with its accompanying carrots, new potatoes and onions many times. Its always good. My mind just wasn't on dinner. It was on Steve and how his absences from the commitments that he makes to me has become a troubling pattern. If it's important to Steve, he seems to find a way to be there. When it's important to me, for instance him being here for the christening of dad's new boat dock on the lake, well, sadly not a surprise, no Steve.

So, after Peter, my little brother and I finished desert and helping dad with the dishes we went out to the brand-new floating dock dad had built on the lake.

He poured us each a plastic cup of bubbly and we stood on the brand-new wood deck looking out at the cove on beautiful Lake Livingston and the lush piney woods surrounding it admiring nature and his handiwork. It was magnificent, I just wished mom was with us today.

"Is Pete old enough to have Champaign?" I teased.

"Old enough to vote, old enough to drink," he answered.

"Sounds a good example of cause and effect," our dad a high school science teacher opined.

"May I?" I asked.

"Please do Michelle," said dad.

"To the dock and our father David, its builder."

"Here, here."

"Thanks for coming guys."

We lit a little fire using some wood scraps in the half oil can embedded in a pit of dirt, cinders and rocks and made smores like we did when we were kids before the sun's departure and nightfall caused us to retreat to the house. There we watched some old family photos that dad recently had put onto VHS so we could view them on the big Magnavox TV set with the 'clicker' remote.

It was fun watching a more innocent time when we were all together. But seeing mom in so many of those pictures heightened my feelings of confusion. Thinking about mom not being here and the relationship my parents have with us and each other really made we think about Steve and our potential future together. More accurately our seeming lack of a potential future together. Mom and dad were married for twelve years and had two children together. They shared a profession and so many interests. They never fought, they never disagreed. Even today it's like they are best friends, but no longer married to each other, or to anyone else for that matter.

My many questions were eating me up, but the boys were having fun reliving the past, I didn't want to ruin their evening with my doubt and my self-pity. After a polite interval I said that I was tired, and said my goodnights kissing dad goodnight and mussing Peter's hair affectionately before I walked up the stairs to my old room. My home before I half-way moved into Steve's apartment three blocks from Sam Houston State University where we went to school.

An amicable divorce, what a bizarre concept. I mean I guess it is better than a bitter divorce, but really if both of you are sober, responsible adults sharing interests and children why not remain married. It's 1980 for God's sake, not the dark ages. Steve and I have less in common than mom and dad did, still do. We, Steve and Michelle, are doomed. Both David and Raylene, our mother, had been invited and neither saw fit to attend. They were in Huntsville twenty-five minutes west of here, a short drive through the rolling hills and piney woods of the Sam Houston National Forest, in their separate apartments near campus.

I couldn't sleep so I took a walk, I was going to ask Pete to come with me, but he was having fun watching himself and me and dad and mom in bygone years, so I did not disturb him. I walked through the woods with my trusty old corrugated aluminum Ray-O-Vac flashlight and then along the moon-lit shore of the lake. As I approached the boat-house I saw lights burning inside, but what concerned me were the strange sounds coming from within.

In retrospect what I did was not smart, sneaking stealthily into that building alone. What if I had surprised a burglar or a Yeti. But what I discovered inside the boat-house was even stranger than I could ever have imagined, and the event that I witnessed there that night changed the entire trajectory of my life.

I did not see my father, but I saw her. She was a very pale complexioned lady like a porcelain doll with short red hair and lots of freckles, and she was naked and dancing. Well, almost naked, she was wearing a pair of fire engine red pumps. The sound that I had heard was her garbled muffled screaming. It was impossible for me to discern the fact that it was a woman screaming because she had a large gag in her mouth. A big hollow cylinder probably a piece of plastic pipe secured very tightly. Painfully tight I thought, by a black leather strap running through it and holding it to her head.

She had an oversized rectangular black leather mask on covering her eyes and blindfolding her, and a very tall thick black leather collar with rings and studs on her on her neck that matched the two cuffs buckled to her wrists. She was dancing a dance of pain, screaming intermittently as jolts of electricity ran through her body. Probably from one of the two large metal clips attached to her outer cunt lips through her genitals and out the other clip. They had large wires attached to them that ran to a box that someone just outside of my field of vision was holding.

Or the electricity was possibly making a complete circuit connecting both of those biting clamps on her cunt lips and the two huge adjustable clamps attached to her nipples which were attached to a rope and perhaps a wire connected to an overhead hook. The rope doing double duty, its lack of length severely limiting her ability to move. She would start dancing around and then tense up and bend her knees and elbows and scream into the gag and semi-relax and then begin the process all over again. I couldn't believe what I was witnessing.

Then her tormentor stepped forward enough for me to identify him. OH MY GOD! It was my father. I slowly backed down the hallway to the open door behind me and I ran back to the house as fast as I did to set a school record in the 440 for Robert Cavalier High School three years ago.

I burst into the den ranting like a mad-woman.

"Pete, Pete, Peter you have to come with me," I breathlessly exclaimed, "Now!"

"Huh?" He said turning from the television where a younger me was standing on a podium beaming a gap tooth smile with a first-place gymnastics ribbon on my neck.

"Right now. Dad is torturing a woman in the boat house."

"OK, sure, what's the gag, Micky?"

"No, no really, please, please come."

Pete got up and we walked through the moon-lit backyard to the boathouse, entering through the door propped open on this warm night. Both of us quietly entering the dark hallway and creeping to the open door of the storage room. The room that had one wall of clamps, hoods, paddles, and gags hanging on hooks, and an adjoining wall with shackles and rings attached to it. The room with a large padded green table in its center.

She, the redhead that I had seen before was lying face up upon that padded green table. Her black leather cuffs with the silver rings and rivets and its matching collar still in place on her wrists and neck. The oversized black leather mask and the black leather and pipe gag were sitting on the table near her rather-full-for-her-petit-frame breasts. Each nipple of which was decorated with a pierced ring. I had not noticed that before.

Dad's face was buried in her fuzzy red-haired cunt and he was lapping away like a very happy small child with a large ice cream cone on a hot summer day. Her hands on the back of his head were trying to push him inside of her in a really, truly erotic reversal of the birthing process.

For a third time in twenty minutes I did not have any idea what in the Sam Hill was going on.

Pete grabbed my hand and half-led, half-pulled me out of the boat house. Once we were outside the sound of the gleeful squeals of dad's paramour, he burst out laughing.

"What is so gosh-darned funny," I asked

"You didn't recognize her?"

"No, should..."

"Its Mrs. Rhodes!"

"From school?"

"Yeah. Didn't you have Shelia Rhodes for Freshman English and Comp?"

"Yeah, but she dressed more conservatively for class."

"I don't know, nipple rings, leather collar and red pumps. Works for me."

I punched my little brother on the arm, "so nineteen-year-old-boys approve?"

"Forty-five-year-old one's too apparently."

"So, our old English teacher is dad's fuck-buddy. Dad's very kinky fuck-buddy. Wow."

"Shit, if I had seen this a year ago, I could have had an 'double A plus' in her class."

"Like you need to cheat?" Pete had been salutatorian last May.

"Do you ever get really gussied-up like that for David?"

"No..." I said as our conversation screeched to a sudden stop. "and I never will."

I turned and walked back to the house leaving Pete stunned, it wasn't his fault, but he had just hit a really raw nerve.

"Micky, Micky please come back, I'm sorry." He said once he gained his senses and followed me back into the house. He caught up to me as I fumbled to open the door and grabbed my hand.

"Hey, dad is single, so is Shelia, they are both grown-ups. I am sure that it comes as a shock but..."

"Its not dad," I said while throwing myself into a tight embrace with my younger but larger little brother. "Its not dad or Mrs. Rhodes, its me. I'm just sad. Steve promised that he would come. I know its not a big deal, dedicating a dock. But it was an opportunity for him to do something for me and to bond with my family. He showed me once again today something that I have been making myself blind to. The fact that he is not the one for me."

"OK Mickey, you are in luck the psychiatrist is in," he said referencing a favorite Charles Schulz Peanuts cartoon that we both loved as children, "give me a nickel and I will make it better. Free popcorn too."

We sat in the den and we talked, we talked about school and college and boyfriends and girlfriends. We talked about our dreams and our aspirations. We talked about what our parents did right what they did wrong and what we would do differently in the future. We made jiffy-pop in the fireplace and drank another bottle of Mason California Champaign. We listened to Aja, Pretzel Logic and Countdown to Ecstasy. We talked about sex, what little we knew and what we had heard of and of course what we had just witnessed.

Soon it was 3:30 in the morning and dad had not returned to the house, his house, from the boat house.

I did not want to be alone that night, I told Pete and he got a blanket from the rack by the fireplace and we shared it. Eventually I drifted off to sleep as the fire in the fireplace died, half-sitting half-lying on the sofa snuggled oh so naturally with my little brother, the one man that I knew for certain cared more about me than about himself. My dreams that night were a convoluted mess, because I was a mess, probably the most confused that I had ever been in my twenty-one years of life. I was certain that Steve and I were finished.

I was certain that we should have been finished long before, but I could not identify a specific date. Over time he had shown himself not to care enough for me to be my 'forever.' I was certain that the sex scenes that I had just witnessed with my father dominating and then satisfying his lover had just totally made my pussy wet. I had no idea why. I mean, assigned seating pissed me off and I had zero desire to direct, let alone to dominate others. I was certain that I needed to find out why. Oh, yes there was one other thing I was relatively certain of. A thing that confused me while making me gleeful for the future as it simultaneously made me tingle while scaring the bjezzus out of me.

I was relatively certain that I had just fallen in romantic love with my little brother.

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Lisa Ann