The Heart Shaped Storm

"Well, that explains a lot," I said. "You and Mal are first cousins once removed and you share a half brother."

Morgan looked up and laughed, "Yeah, we're either an Arkansas family or British royalty."

I pondered for a moment, remembering some outings that I shared with Charlene and Justin: a nice kid who shared many of our interests. My son Edgar was starting to resemble him: tall, lanky, blond and blue eyed with a penetrating gaze that tried to unravel life's mysteries. "How come your brother spent so much time with Charlene? He was over more than you were growing up, and since he was the result of Dora's betrayal I don't understand why Charlene would take to him so."

"Mom was the only one of Auntie C.'s sisters who had children: Jessica couldn't have them and Lucille never wanted them. I think Auntie C. always wanted more children, but she and her husband had their falling out when Dora was small and she didn't want to go it alone. She understood why her sister Andrea wanted another child and was too wise to blame Justin. Since Mallory is his half-sister, Auntie C. thought they should grow up together as much as they could, even though she couldn't tell them about their relationship until they were teenagers. She encouraged Justin to pursue classical music more than anyone else. Auntie C. had to hide him whenever Dora was around, but that didn't happen often, and Mallory was always a willing collaborator in her grandmother's secrets."

"Tell me about it. They set me up once."

"I remember. Anyway, I've always liked the little twerp my brother and I'm happy he's pursuing his dream in Paris to become an orchestra conductor. He'll be back job hunting around Mallory's due date, so you can introduce him to his nephew and nieces if you think that they'll keep the family secret."

"It's way too soon to ask them to keep secrets, but I'll be happy to see him again and introduce him as a cousin: he's a promising young man whose youth and talent I envy a little. You don't have to worry about me with Dora, either: I'm not exactly on her A-list after bypassing her for the Pendant and the house. She's been all right with her grandchildren, but their father isn't on her radar, so I won't have to work to keep this from her."

The relationships in this family were starting to get on my nerves: if I did get Morgan pregnant my kids would be second cousins as well as half siblings. I didn't dwell on that for long: this was starting to look like the British royals.

"Great," she said, drinking in the limitless greenery starting to turn red and gold. "It's a gorgeous evening to dine alfresco,s and there's no one in sight. Have a seat; I want to fulfill a promise." I sat on a stump; she knelt, undid my pants and licked her lips. . .

************************

The next week was full: I had the conference at my old school from dawn to midnight Monday to Thursday and Morgan was gone Monday to Friday on business. I rested most of Friday and Morgan picked me up late that afternoon for another lake weekend. We fixed a simple supper there and enjoyed it on the porch overlooking the lake; it touched other memories of al fresco meals with Charlene and Mal. Morgan took the dishes inside and left me to a long contemplation of the fading light.

When I came inside to find Morgan illuminated the cabin with a galaxy of votive candles. A boombox began Mozart's Clarinet Quintet: someone had been doing her homework. A pair of soft arms draped themselves over my shoulders and began moving around my chest; soft lips nuzzled my ear. I reached around behind me to caress her apple hips and her moaning body pressed eagerly against mine. The hands strayed lower, brushing my crotch teasingly, and I felt my knees grow weak. I spun and gathered her up: she was a feather in my arms, lighter than any woman I'd held. Trembling, I placed her on the bed and kissed her, stroking her bosom as it crept eagerly into my palm. Morgan was softly gasping for breath in my ear; a welcome song I knew so well for over twenty five years. Moving my lips down the ivory tower of her neck, I picked apart her blouse buttons and parted her front opening bra. Tracing my finger from her throat to her navel and back brought shudders: at last, it seemed I was on familiar territory.

She responded to me by unbuckling my pants, nudging them over my hips and drawing my briefs down similarly. Her hands were fire on my backside, and my lips quested to find her left bud, drawing it into my mouth to swirl and nibble. A hand caressed my head; its partner quested for my radish to encourage its dampness. We paused to remove our remaining constraints: the unheated air of the cabin was crisp but its chill failed to penetrate my skin. Morgan's nectar was sweet, but held an undertaste that I fought off as I cultivated her passion.

Her moaning accelerated toward Clouds and Rain, but before she reached that plateau she pushed me away, flipped onto her hands and knees away from me, ground her backside into my crotch and demanded, "Fuck me doggie style, Charlie. I want it doggie style tonight." I moved forward on my knees and did as she wished. Her litany of "yes, yes, yes, oh, oh, oh, you fuck me so well," began, and her muscles pulled me urgently. She reached Clouds and Rain twice before my outburst; everything was different enough that my mind clanked between bliss and discomfort and my outburst was delayed. So went that weekend, bouncing between familiar and strange, as we went about our work.

**************

The next week was gloomy, with long, cold October showers, and my mood matched it. I lived far too much on coffee and tea and worked on a swashbuckling story about betrayal in outer space: the story wasn't coming together and I struggled with it. Morgan was gone on another trip.

The phone visits were rare shafts of sunlight: Mal and the kids had a wonderful time in Minnesota with their Aunt Jessica and moved on to their Aunt Lucille's in California. Edgar bubbled with delight as he told me about Disneyland and Elizabeth was asking when she would see me again. Mal was feeling like a beached whale every time she sat or laid down, but her usually taciturn aunt was loosening up with the kids around and she felt that they were connecting on a deeper level than ever before.

Three times that week, I went over to Charlene's house to putter around. It was hard to think of it as Mal's house: the living room held a huge framed picture of Charlene, laughing at the picnic table in summer wearing a blue halter top; an icon beside her degrees and awards. I reset the timers on the lights to maintain the illusion of habitation as I had the weeks before, and swam through old memories as I passed through the rooms. We'd made love on the bed, the kitchen floor, the living room couch, in the hallway. The shower was barely big enough to hold us: I'd soap my torso and we'd slide our big bodies against each other's to scrub, laughing.

The writing area held familiar clutter, the bookcases held the old books, but the post-it notes were now in Mal's handwriting. During the last visit, I pulled a chair to sit before Charlene's picture and I surveyed the wall slowly: a smaller framed picture of Mal laughing in a blue halter top at the same summer table was directly below and Mal's degree and awards were next to Charlene's. It felt right: in many ways, Mal was Charlene having drunk from the fountain of youth.

I looked at the floor; one of Elizabeth's dolls lay neglected there. I picked it up and fresher memories flooded: the playful nights Mal and I shared in these rooms, laughing and loving everywhere, our decision to have children, the joy of creating them, bringing them home, walking the floor with them, the personal sunrises of Mallory's eyes, my rediscovery of the universe through Edgar's and Elizabeth's. Charlene beamed down on all of this, laughing her benediction from the photo; she seemed so distant yet so near. I kissed the doll and returned it to the floor for my daughter to find.

Morgan got back late Friday evening exhausted and it was Saturday morning before we got to the lake. The scudding clouds that had dominated the week still hung threateningly. My interest was slow to build: I left her alone in the cabin to take several long walks alone to clear my mind and it was late afternoon before I was clear enough I could muster any carnal interest.

Impatience met me as I walked in through the door: she wasn't built for contemplation or patience, especially when she had a task at hand. Morgan was lying on the bed in a nightdress, a fire in the stove, reading a romance novel. "Well?"

"Well, I'm back."

She stared at me blankly for several moments: I knew that when Morgan barely said anything, she was extremely angry. "Do you think we can get something done now?"

"Probably."

"How romantic." Mal and I lived on sarcasm; from Morgan, it was like being savaged by a rabbit.

I looked at the ceiling and counted to ten. "You wanted to do this for a reason, and you wanted me for a reason. I don't recall romance being part of it," I said as calmly as I could.

"Romance makes things sweet. Romance makes things personal. Romance helps get the juices flowing."

"Other things can as well. Your goal is getting pregnant, not finding romance."

Her face turned toward the wall, her arms were crossed in front of her and her left index finger started tapping her right elbow. "Right. Right. Right. Well, are you ready to make me pregnant now?"

My impregnation tool hung limply. The attitude had unplugged it, and it would take something to get it going again. "I'll need some encouragement." The retort snapped back: "You always need encouragement."

"Sheesh, so do you," I said, waving my hands. "I mean, you didn't ask to be raped, and I wanted you to enjoy the experience as much as possible."

"Thanks, Charlie," she spat. "That's sweet."

"Damn it, woman, someone else's feelings just are not on your radar, are they? I've had a horrible week, my latest story isn't working, I miss my woman and my children, the weather's been shit, and now you expect my magic wand to do tricks at your command and give you a baby whenever you want to place the order."

"Tough titty; I've had a shitty week, too. Now you're trying to whine your way out of your commitment."

"No, no, no."

"You useless, lazy, old, fat fuck. You're lucky you get laid at all: first you settle for an old woman because she's an easy mark, then you latch onto a child who just happens to worship the ground you walk on, why I'll never know, and since you've got a couple of small children and a new surge of artistic success, you think you've got it made. Charlie, you haven't earned all this, you haven't earned it at all."

That was enough; I was tempted to go back to town and leave her at the cabin alone. "That's too far, Morgan. I don't deserve this kind of abuse. If you were one of my children, I'd turn you over my knee."

"Gosh, daddy, I'm scared. Nice try at testosterone, Charlie, I'm supposed to be impressed by that line. We'll, I'm not your child, so what are you going to do about it, Macho Man?"

A maniac took control of my body: I grabbed Morgan, and pulled her nightdress up over her head. We kept a portable ping-pong table and equipment at the cabin since Charlene and I were coming out: I reached into a drawer and brought out a ordinary paddle. Sitting down on the chair, I turned her over my knee and started to spank her luscious ass with it. She screamed and struggled, but I held her tight and turned her cheeks a very rosy red. Taking out my frustration on this snobbish posterior felt very good indeed.

"You bastard, you bastard, you bastard," she yelled as I finished my work; to my surprise, my staff had returned to stiffness and a damp spot on my pant leg told me that Morgan had been stimulated by the beating. I threw her on the bed, laid her on her back and used her nightdress to tie her hands up over her head and the headboard. To do this, I had to sit with my legs on her arms, which put my balls in her eyes and my cock slapped her forehead several times as I bound her.

She fumed. "Thanks for putting your greasy asshole next to my nose, motherfucker."

"Do me a favor and lick it clean," I replied.

"What are you going to do to me?" she asked in cold fury.

"I'm going to do what you wanted me to do," I yelled. "You're getting fucked right now, because you asked me to, and if you complain I'm going to smack you." Getting on the bed between her legs, I smacked her ass again, roughly grabbed a double handful of beautiful breasts, then pushed my throbbing member into the slickness between her legs up to my scrotum in one thrust.

She screamed at penetration, but settled down and bucked against me as my anger turned to passion. My thrusting pushed her back on the bed, and eventually her head hit the headboard a few times. That mattered not to Morgan: now lost in her passion, the jolts didn't affect her.

"Twist my nipples, Charlie, let me have it," she whispered softly, her eyes closed in bliss.

I smacked her left breast hard, making it wobble dramatically. "Don't tell me what to do, I'm fed up with taking your orders. You just lie there and get fucked, bitch, and I'll do anything damn thing I want to."

The bed creaked and shook spectacularly as I savaged her. She had one orgasm, then quickly built to another as I ejaculated harder than any time I could remember. Wave after wave filled her, and I kept up my efforts until I had shrunk back to normal. Morgan panted heavily, her eyes glazed over, and she started working her wrists free.

Seeing that she would get loose without my help, I redressed and went outside. The day was almost completely done, with a slight patch of light off to the West. It was raining, but I didn't care. My anger was still with me, and I had to work it out.

I picked up a dead branch and began whacking the tree trunks until it shattered in my hands. Stalking farther and farther away, I picked up other branches, pummeling the trunks like an ancient samurai in the heat of battle until those weapons also shattered. The rain fell, lightning flashed and thunder echoed in my aching heart. I challenged the lightning, bellowed back at the thunder and shattered bigger and bigger dead branches against the ancient trunks.

At last, the physical fire of my anger subsided and I sat on an huge deadfallen trunk to hold my temples as my thoughts swirled in the dark downpour. "What am I? What do you want from me? I'm not who I used to be, I'm not who I was. I'm corrupted, I'm lost. When did I lose control of my life? What kind of monster am I? Who am I? I don't know who I am. I'm not who I used to be," I sobbed as I sat and let the rain drench me.

The rain passed and the thunder faded into the distance. There was a rustling in the undergrowth. Morgan, dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans and carrying a flashlight, came up the trail and sat beside me wordlessly on the dead trunk. After several silent seconds, she said softly, "I'm sorry. It's been a long, frustrating week for me, too, and I couldn't keep control any longer. I'm not patient, you know that, and waiting for you all day, especially knowing that my fantastic body wasn't getting you steamed up, was too much for me. You're still the sweetest man I know, and I'm sorry that I was so rude to you."

"I'm sorry I lost control like that. Please, please, please forgive me losing control like that. I could have hurt you badly."

She laid her head on my shoulder. "You didn't, really. I loved it. Couldn't have planned the sex better if I wrote a script. The argument went way too far. You know I"m not good at waiting."

I chuckled. "I remember you around Christmas time as a kid: you drove everyone nuts waiting for Santa, and wanted to open your presents one minute after they were under the tree."

A damp chuckle greeted that observation. "In some ways I haven't grown up, I guess. Forgive me?"

"Of course. These misunderstandings happen. I'm not mad at you; you didn't know. I've just been trying to do what you wanted me to, without dealing with my discomfort. There are too many people missing in my life right now, three will be back soon, but one is never coming back. I'm not at peace with what came out of me and it's not your fault. I've fallen. I'm lost. The dark side is something I have to deal myself."

We sat that way for a while, then returned to the cabin to change into dry clothes and go back to town.

*******************

The kids had to spend their first night back with me, so the whole family slept in my bed like a litter of puppies: I missed those little terrors. Mal was much bigger than when she left, and I made as few half hearted jibes about her size. Most of the days were spent playing with the kids and the nights snuggled with Mal listening to great music; she let me have my silence for the time being. Morgan was gone on a three week business trip and I was glad for her absence.

It was a crisp Monday afternoon a week after their return: I was in my basement artist's niche working while the kids played in the falling leaves when Mal came to see me. She kissed me and rested on my shoulders as I wrote for a while, then kissed me again. "How's it going?"

"All right, I guess."

"Did Morgie wear you out the past three weekends?"

I gave a dry chuckle. "Of course. She must have had a long dry spell."

Mal kissed me on top of my head and I turned on my swivel chair to embrace her budding body. She stroked my head with both hands and said, "Morgan told me everything." I looked at her strangely. "You know her; when she feels safe she can't stop talking. I knew Morgie liked a little pain with her pleasure now and then. She made some huge mistakes with men over that; she could never find the right balance between Saint and Satan and wouldn't settle for less than perfection. As you know well, my cousin can be a real bitch at times." She stroked my hair and beard, with her head next to mine resting on my shoulder.

"Don't worry; you're not turning into more of a freak than you already are." She kissed me fiercely and giggled. "I'm not going to let you." Seeing the look in my eye, her humor evaporated: "You've been haunted since we returned and a shadow of yourself. There's something here you can't handle, isn't there?"

"Yes," I whispered. "When Morgan taunted me, it was like my school days. Never got over being the object of verbal abuse, and never got over being a failure at all things athletic. I never want to hurt people: every time I thought I hurt someone or had a misunderstanding with Charlene, I'd go into my shell for weeks at a time. The beast scares me: it scares me that I liked spanking Morgan: that it turned me on, that I used her so roughly. I wouldn't have done it if she hadn't egged me on, but her little habits were getting on my nerves and I was feeling so alone. Frustration drove me out of control and I can't stand being out of control. It's too late for a mid-life crisis, but I'm not sure who I am: I'm not who I used to be."

She continued to cradle and stroke my head. "Say more, sweetheart."

"In the past, being apart was never a problem; Charlene and I could come and go for long periods of time and there was never a problem, never a jolt. We didn't monopolize each other. At first, it was like you were Charlene reborn, but you're not her. I'm just now realizing how I've changed in the past seven years: you've needed me as she never did and I've become what you needed me to be. Seven years ago, Morgan reminded me of Charlene and that was enough, but now Morgan reminded me of you and that wasn't enough, I needed all of you. It's not the same rumbling around here alone anymore; I miss the clutter and bother and noise our kids make. Now you are my bright shining star and I don't want to be in the darkness again."