The Fuck It List Ch. 03

"Marla," he couldn't quite get it out. He wanted to beg her. Beg her to stop, beg her to keep it up, he didn't know which. When she threw her head back, her mouth wide open and her legs stiffened around him, Michael realized that she had no choice.

The orgasm ran through her body and made every inch of her shudder against him. Her climax made her push her pussy into his cock. It sealed them together with a hot puddle that spread over his pants. Fuck, it was her cum. She had squirted in there, all tucked away and secret and perfect, just like the first time that he never had should be.

With that, Michael screamed as his dick jolted and jerked and bathed in her creamy, teenage wetness. He came hard, he pumped his body up and into hers as jolt after jolt of pleasure rushed all the way down to his toes. He could count the spurts and Michael knew that he was emptying himself inside the sweetest little girl he'd ever met.

As the spasms died down, Marla wrapped herself around him, close and tight between her arms and thighs. The two of them pulsed and kissed each other softly, in amazement, as if neither of them had any idea that any of that could possibly happen. "Oh, god, Michael," she murmured and snuggled even closer, in that slow, soft voice, saying exactly what he'd always wanted to hear.

Fuck, Marla could have been the one, if only they had a time machine.

She kissed him once more. This was a goodbye kiss, Michael could feel it already as she nimbly dismounted from his lap. She sat close, their legs touched and her brown tumble of hair down his arm. Michael still shook from the ordeal and he closed his eyes to keep it all inside, to remember her forever. All of it, the perfume, the beer, the feel of her damp limbs and the shine of her young skin. Those eyes in the light. That's how he'd always remember his first time coming in his pants.

"That was amazing," he told her as he touched her chin and kissed her once on the tip of her nose. "Thank you for a lovely evening."

"You too," she let out a long, contented sigh. "I probably should go though. My parents said that they were going to wait up for me," Marla gave him a lopsided grin, like she was embarrassed to admit it.

As he drove back to the hotel, Michael made a mental checklist of just where Marla would go on the Fuck It list. Not really anywhere. She wasn't as simple as a checklist and a mark, mission accomplished. She'd taken him back in time, to a place that he hadn't even known that he'd missed and for that, she deserved her own special place of honor. He'd have to make a new entry just for his first time.

***

He still hadn't figured out how to say goodbye without actually saying it.

Michael had known that going to Savannah wasn't just a fond farewell to another place that he'd fallen in love with long ago. Going to Savannah meant seeing an old friend one last time and dammit, there were things that he'd like to say but not if anyone was going to get all emotional. Especially him.

He thought about it as he made his way east on the highway. The air became sweeter, the combination of pine trees and warm, salty sea air, it mixed with the sultry atmosphere like a refined cocktail. One that tasted so good, you hardly knew you were drunk until it slapped you in the face. What to say? If Michael had learned anything since the trip had begun, it was that overthinking didn't do anyone any good and he let out a long sigh as he told himself to relax; the right words would come at the right time.

As Michael entered the city, he couldn't help but feel a sense of longing, like he was coming home to family that had missed him and would regale him with tales of his childhood. Savannah had always felt tucked away, untouched, maybe frozen in time. Perhaps that was another reason why he needed to see her now; Michael had never felt so sure that time was steadily ticking on as he had since he'd been given his own expiration date.

He'd only been to the house once or twice but he had a standing invitation to drop by anytime. Michael took the turn onto their street and let out a low whistle. It was the epitome of Savannah wealth, and the nouveau riche were doing just fine. Quaint cobblestone walkways were lined with black wrought iron fences and the cavalcade of petals from magnolia trees were the only unruly thing on this street. It was a row of mansions, stately, grand old porches, strewn with patio furniture. These were places where the rich could sit in the shade and watch the rest of the world go by. This was something that they couldn't have even dreamed of back when the two of them were both poor college kids living on Ramen noodles.

He parked the Acura in the driveway as if he owned the place even though this neighborhood might be a little out of even his league. Michael pulled up and punched in the code for entry into the house on East Gaston street. It belonged to his best friend from college, George Walsch. George had begged him to come down probably a thousand times until George stopped asking because Michael was always too busy. The door clicked, he turned the handle and waltzed right in.

She had done a nice job on the place. Not like you could make the house ugly if you tried. The two story Victorian was four thousand square feet of perfect but she'd really outdone herself and made it magnificent. George's wife, the first wife Pauline, was almost an interior designer and she'd taken great care here. From the stately porch, the old wrought iron patio furniture looked as if it had been made for two old biddies to sit and fan themselves on a hot afternoon. He could almost see the glass pitcher of sweet tea on the table. Inside, the regal white columns continued and the hardwood floors gleamed. She'd gone coastal with the furniture which made it comfortable instead of something stuffy and Victorian. It already felt like home.

Of course, George's second wife, the new one, the yoga instructor, was forbidden to change a thing in the house. In fact, she was forbidden to step foot inside, which had left it basically empty for quite some time. Michael had hoped that he'd catch his friend here on his way back from a long business trip. He especially hoped that he wouldn't run into either of the two wives.

Suddenly, there was a squeal that made his heart freeze up in his chest. It was a high pitched scream that made every hair stand up straight on his arms. "Who the fuck are you? I'm so calling 911 right now," she told him in a voice that trembled a little but it sounded like she'd like to kick his ass too. A girl had crept from the back of the house and into the foyer. Her ear buds were in and even where he was standing, the music was loud. She was barefoot, dripping on the cherry floors, her wet footprints left a damp trail through the house.

She wore a gold, string bikini. Nothing else.

Who the fuck was he? She had a lot of nerve. Better question was who the fuck was she? Michael dropped his bag and shouted, "I'm Michael Fleming, I'm friends with the owner. Who are you?" he demanded. He hoped that he still sounded authoritative when he was so distracted with all of that gleaming flesh on display.

"Uncle Mike?" the girl yelled and ran to him, arms open, jiggling all the way as she closed the distance between them. She wrapped her golden arms around his neck quickly and suddenly she was pressed into his body. She only had to stand on her tiptoes in order to reach his cheek with a sticky kiss. "Dude! It's been like forever since I saw you."

The girl, the girl with the bouncing breasts that were now pressed up against his button down, the girl with the wet, slicked back, blonde hair and the sunglasses perched on her head, the girl with the unmistakable scent of pot smoke clinging to her, this girl was his goddaughter, Katie. The last time he'd seen her, calling her Katie Kit Kat was still the funniest thing ever. He didn't think that was the case anymore.

"Katie?" Michael held on to her tightly, unsure of himself suddenly. She was such a grown up, she was such a woman, Jesus Christ, she was built. It was all he could do to keep his hands safely on her waist and considering that it was her bare back, even that felt like a risky proposition. "Katie!" He exclaimed and kissed her cheek quickly in return, not trusting himself that close to her full lips, "What happened?" He literally meant that. How could she have blossomed when nothing that spectacular had happened to him in the last eighteen years?

"Um, I grew up," she laughed. She had a low, sexy laugh like she was a woman with secrets instead of his goddaughter. "Better question is what are you doing here, bruh? This is so fucking cool! I never see you anymore!"

"I know," he grimaced, "I used to work way too much, damn shame. I should have seen you more often. But," he put his hands up as if to say who knows why, "I've taken a leave of absence and here I am."

Michael had decided, among all of the other decisions that he'd made when he drew up the list, that along with no more medical care and no more consultations or questions about saving his life, that he wasn't even going to dignify cancer with an explanation. He wouldn't go out with people thinking that he was sick. Fuck that, he hadn't told anyone since he'd left Chicago and he'd be damned if he was going to start with Katie Kit Kat.

"Yay," she laughed and clapped like she used to when he told her that he'd brought her a present. "Drop your shit and come out back. It's fucking gorgeous."

"Are you swimming?" he asked although Katie had already turned back toward the patio, her wet, blonde hair hit her back and dripped down her bottom.

"Yeah, get your trunks," she called over her shoulder. "It's the best thing that Pauline did." She dripped with every step and there was something perverse about seeing his goddaughter that exposed. Something that he liked about how perverse it was.

Michael quickly found some navy blue trunks in his bag. He looked over both shoulders to make sure that no one else unexpected would walk up on him while he dropped his drawers. He was quick about it, sneaky. It felt wrong to be undressing with her just out of earshot. What would he do if Katie walked in and saw him naked?

Jesus, he couldn't think about that, Michael chided himself. She was just pouring out of that bathing suit, her ample bosom exploded out of the sides of the tiny, gold triangles. The bottom, tied high up on her hip and then dipped low, like a valley, to the bits of fabric that just covered her lips. Had that been a flash of pubic hair that he thought he glimpsed?

Stop, he told himself as he patted the elastic waist of the trunks. She's still just a girl, just your best friend's daughter, Michael thought and shook his head. What the hell was happening with him? Ever since the list had begun, it was like his baser, animalistic side, the lust that he'd always tucked away had forced his way out.

He walked toward he back of the house, through the stunning kitchen with its pearly, marble countertops that shimmered in the sunlight. He walked through the white French door, out back to the patio. It was stone and seemed to be in keeping with the period except that here in the center of it was a small pool. "It's saltwater," Katie told him before she dunked herself down. She clung to the side and shot up again adding, "it's perfect."

Michael eased his way in and the water was warm, like a bath. She was right, and the house, this patio, all of it was paradise. The patio was dotted with palm trees and tropical flowers burst from the center of planters. Pauline had definitely done a spectacular job. "Hey, did I hear you call your mother by her first name?" Michael had to know, just to be sure.

"Among other things," Katie said with a guffaw.

"So that sounds like you guys aren't getting along?" It had been a contentious divorce, it had taken four years and even though Michael had always been on George's side, it was strictly because of their friendship. Privately, he had thought that George was an idiot for screwing someone half his age and giving away more than half his money. Of course, that was the old Michael.

"Yeah, Pauline found out that I talked to Callie about anal sex," Katie rolled her eyes, "I don't know if it's a big deal because it's anal or if it's because it's the wicked stepmother, but whatever. I'm not allowed to stay with her right now because she's too angry." She shook her head as if to exclaim what was wrong with her mother.

Michael couldn't help but laugh. "Did you explain to your mother that you just figured that Callie would know more about anal since that's probably why your father married her?" He exploded into a raucous laugh and swam closer to Katie as she joined in.

"I should have told her that if she'd let Dad fuck her up the ass, they'd still be married," she swam to the other end of the pool and picked up half smoked joint from the ashtray. "You're not going to narc, right Uncle Mike?" she asked him in a flirty, singsong voice that told him that his little Katie Kit Kat knew exactly what she was doing. This blonde bombshell knew how to have a man eat out of the palm of her hand.

"No," he waved her off, "of course not. You're a," he paused and the last word was all wrong. So he could only whisper hoarsely, "grownup."

"Thanks," she mouthed the word and smoke escaped like a dragon and enveloped her in mist. She should be a mermaid. A beautiful creature of the sea, with the long blonde hair that clung to her curves and circled around her hips in the water. Katie took another deep drag and Michael contented himself with the fact that she was turned away and had no idea that her godfather was taking his sweet, lecherous time perusing her backside.

Her ass was glorious. It was two milk white mounds of flesh that trembled and jiggled with every move. The fabric of the bathing suit was wedged between her cheeks. It disappeared altogether in the center and it was just tied onto her hips. It literally hung on by a thread and every bounce of that momentous bottom threatened to bare her lower half completely. For some reason, Michael thought that Katie wouldn't be bothered by that at all. She seemed to be completely confident with her body, a trait that few women seemed to have acquired, and it was like a secret power that radiated. It said, look at me, drink me in, worship me.

Michael cleared his throat and reached under the water to adjust his hard-on. What would George think of his best friend, ogling his little girl like that, aching and ready for her like that? He had to stop, he had to get his shit together. This wasn't another girl on the list, this was his goddaughter. "So what advice did she give you?" Michael wondered and then realized that wasn't really stopping at all, it was just adding to this obsession about her ass.

Katie cracked up and swam back closer. "That's the funny thing, she didn't even make it sound good. She was like, use a lot of lube and relax." Katie rolled her eyes before putting her sunglasses back down. "She actually said that the good thing is that most guys are so excited to finally nail you in the ass that they cum really fast."

They both shook with giggles. Michael wondered if Callie, the second wife, had personal experience with George. "Well then it doesn't sound like it's all that great," Michael said when he could finally stop laughing.

"I'm not going to take her word for it," Katie put her head back and let her hair twirl about her round body. "Callie is full of shit about everything else," she let out a deep, contented sigh. Michael watched her stretch her arms and the way her whole body swayed as if she were dancing to some music that he couldn't hear. Breasts bobbing in the water, flesh everywhere on display, too much flesh, too much for him to do anything but bite his lower lip to keep everything inside.

"Are you hungry?" Katie asked as she jumped up and the water streamed down her body in rivulets. "That weed just really hit and I'm starving."

Michael only whispered it and he was pretty sure that his goddaughter wouldn't understand what he was referring to when he told her, "me too."

***

It was the rich smell of the spices that beckoned them. The scent of meat charring on a grill in the afternoon heat called to them from the street. The steam that rose up was decadent and almost seemed carnal and it didn't take a menu for Katie and Michael to know that they belonged here. They got a table on the patio so they could people watch and cook in the humidity while they ate.

After two plates of delicious tacos from the Foxy Loxy Cafe, accompanied by four shots of tequila, which Michael had to say were all for him but actually two were for Katie. All she had to do was cock her head and smile and give him a flash of those long lashes and he didn't stand a chance saying no to her. After the food, they walked slowly down Bull Street, arm in arm and Michael didn't know if it was because she was tipsy or if she just wanted to hold his hand but either way, he didn't say no. Katie's hand was warm and soft and she knit her fingers through his. They walked side by side, her hips bumped up against his and her head occasionally was on his shoulder. Like that, Michael could see down the front of the sundress that Katie had hastily thrown on over the bathing suit and a couple of times, he'd almost tripped because he wasn't watching where he was going.

They talked easily and the affection was just natural and as they took a seat on a stone bench in Forsyth Park, Michael was reminded of another girl named Marla who had seen the truth of him from a sticky, old barstool. The truth that he was starving for more than tacos, Michael longed to touch and be touched and somehow Katie seemed to need it too.

The food and the liquor and the weed weighed them down and it wasn't quite sunset when Katie asked in the softest, little girl voice, "I'm tired. Is it okay if we go home?"

All the way back to the house, their steps kept time and Katie knit her fingers between his and her thumb worked up and down slowly in the meat of his palm. Just that simple touch was mesmerizing him, hypnotizing him, calling him to bring her hand up to his mouth and kiss it. Simple, there was nothing to it. They were home already by the time Michael had convinced himself of the rightness of this but Katie twirled out of his reach as she punched in the code for the door.

She headed upstairs immediately and Michael stood at the bottom and watched. Every step, the jiggle, the free, freshly bloomed flesh under the dress danced with every move all the way to the top. Katie was out of sight at the top and Michael sighed, maybe with relief. How much longer could he really stare and think and ache and not do something that he was sure he'd regret.

He was in the guest bedroom. He had decided to sleep in boxers just to be safe. He had the crisp sheet tucked up around him with the patio door open and the fan on low when the knock came. "Come in," Michael watched Katie shuffle in. She didn't pick up her feet and she wore long, rainbow striped socks and a Talking Heads tee shirt that barely covered her ass.

"Can I sleep with you, Uncle Mike?" she asked in a drowsy, far away voice, as if she were actually dreaming.

Katie didn't wait for an answer, she just climbed over to the other side of the queen sized mattress and lay one calf over his. Her hand fit just in the crook of his elbow and her hair covered his pillow. He thought she was probably already asleep by the time he answered, "Sure, honey."

Michael lay in the dark, eyes wide open and thought, "This is not my beautiful house, this is not my beautiful wife."

***

He awoke to the clank of pots and pans that came from the kitchen and for a moment, just a split second, Michael forgot where he was. It had been forever since there had been a woman in the kitchen upon wakening and that's when he put his right hand over an inch or two and realized that Katie was gone. What wasn't gone was the erection that he got just thinking of Katie's name. Had it been his imagination? Had he dreamt it all or had Katie's thigh been draped around his body most of the night? Had her little sleep noises sounded like sounds of pleasure?