The Magazine Girl Ch. 03

Gwen had slept in, which was fine. There were some things I wanted to get done on her behalf. I took my coffee into the study and read my email.

I had done my due diligence on Lexisnexis and the Secretary of State website earlier in the week and had gotten the information on Gwen’s errant employer and had forwarded that along with my statement to Ga. Wage and Hour. This bore fruit. My bank notified me of a wire to my non interest bearing account for three weeks wages, along with recompense for lost articles as detailed in my demand letter, per Gwen’s recollections.

The county notified me I was up in the rotation for indigent defense the following week. Also, a store wide sale, at an upscale department store in the next county. I printed that.

Cat tried to lay on the keyboard, reeking of Fancy Feast, demanding. attention. Almost missed, in my personal email, a note and pic from Marie on a schooner bound for Greece. Big sunglasses in her pic with two prominently displayed youngmen in the background. The note I won’t discuss.

I got a second cup, looked in on the Lilliputian Wonder.

“I know you’re looking at me.” A yawn.

“I’m not in here.” I murmured.

“Coffee gives you away. Gimme some. Where’s Cat? She was sleeping on my head.”

I gave her a sip. “Cat wake you up?”

“Not until she started making biscuits on my cheek and purring in my ear.” She slurped. “Mmm, that’s good. What time is it?”

“It’s going for five PM.” Quiet mirth.

“Is not. You’re in your bathrobe.. Me and my mouse need to do lady things. Gimme kiss and go somewhere, sir.”

I made Belgian waffles and locally sourced sausage with fresh squeezed juice and set up on the screened porch when I heard the shower turn off. She appeared in scuffies, robe and her hair wrapped in a towel. “This is my morning after look. Where can I rent a wheelchair?”

“I tried to...”

“Stop it. I know. You’re bigger than I thought once you were inside. My cervix is reporting a hit and run. Several of them actually.” She took a bite. “Mmmm. You got lots of work today?”

“Some. But this morning is for you. I’ve got good news and good news. Which first?”

“I can’t think and chew this early. You pick.” Her eyes steadfast on her plate. The appetites of youth.

“You’ve been paid. For everything. I can get you cash, start an account, whichever. On the other hand there is a sale today, here’s the print out. Thought you might want to go. I have a store card, so I’ll catch this.” I grinned at her as I forked another waffle over. “Also, the lawn guys will be here in a little while. We need to be elsewhere, believe me.”

She stared at the store sale sheet. Finally, “You’re a good man. Why are you doing all this?” Voice quavering, “Is this part of that family thing you talked about last night?”

I nodded.

“You must love me. Do you?”

“We’re a pretty tight bunch up here Gwen. A lot of people are going to come to love you, if you wish.”

Her chair fell over and she rushed into my arms, hugging me fiercely, tears streaming. “Don’t make me talk. Just hold me...”

I couldn’t confess. I hadn’t confessed to myself.

After the bank visit, where Gwen elected to open an account, we made for the store. The shopping went well, no doubt due to the lack of size 3 grown up girls in the world. I dressed her for business, business casual and selected the right footwear for the outfits. She got a makeover at the Clinique counter, which was not on sale. She picked out some more comfy clothes, jeans and some sweaters to replace what she’d lost. She had some other things that she bought herself, after shooing me away.

The Caddy was on cruise as Lake Lanier slid by, the mountains looming further out. It felt good to sit. The older I get, the more I dislike hard concrete floors. The day was bright and akin to the day I met Gwendolyn. The sky was a deep blue and all the trees were now showing well, with a mix of oranges, yellows and reds. A flock of geese Veed by to the right. I sighed contentedly.

“I don’t know why you did all this.” She took my hand off the armrest. “But you did. Thank you Ted.”

I patted her hand, grinned. “I think you’re going to have a bright future. But you ought to learn fly fishing, just to round you out.”

“I’m not interested in fishing from an airplane. It’s just wrong.”

“No, No, It’s not that way, it’s...”

Peals of laughter. “I owed you one for being a smarty this morning. My brother’s been taking me trout fishing since I could be quiet.”

“Yep, you got me.” I paused, smiling, “Rusty might have something for you tomorrow if you want to go over there with me.”

This all happened on Friday. We got home, brought all of her new treasures in. She got busy with those and I retired to the study. Life isn’t all play. I needed to shovel out some work.

Gone Fishin.

Saturday arrived gloriously. The dew sparkled on the fresh cut lawn along the driveway as we headed out. The back seat and floor was packed with gear and rods and my waders. Across the county, we left the blacktop and rode a gravel road, stones bouncing off the wheel wells. We were in the jeep. The Eldo was not big on Forest Service cuts. We rounded the curve to a scene out of the Daniel Boone series. Rusty and Mattie’s cabin was in the foreground, the Chattahoochee River, still just a stream here gurgled just beyond. It was a tidy affair, with a good acre plowed and producing off to the left, hardwoods to the right, then beyond the stream a deer path, woods and hills.

Mattie waved from the porch, apron on, big smile, grabbing firewood from a stack.

“It’s beautiful.” Gwen breathed. “I had no idea regular people lived like this anywhere.”

I nodded. “It takes some finding and a lot of determination to do what they’ve done. Few folks get to live their dream life.” I paused, “Mattie will hug on you, be prepared. You’re gonna have a good day.”

We got out to welcoming hollers and howdies and the smell of bacon hung in the air. A dog barked out by the corn crib about the time a pair of doves shot up into the sky. We could hear the water tumbling over the smooth worn rocks as Rusty greeted us, ushering us in. He couldn’t help but give Gwen an admiring glance, she in jeans, emerald sweater and soft new doeskin boots. Seeing someone else admire the Miss only confirmed my good taste.

We entered the kitchen, where Mattie was feeding a log into the Franklin. She turned around, exclaiming her hellos and as predicted gathered Gwen up in her matronly arms. Gwen hugged back, winking at me.

Turning back to the ancient stove, Mattie said, “I like my breakfast from a wood stove. Rest of the time, I use regular,” pointing at the Kitchenaid in the corner. “I hear you cook? Yes? Well bacon’s just better every time, isn’t it, plus it gets hot enough for the biscuits. Now where you from honey?”

I was embarrassed. I’d never asked, exactly. I hung back from Rusty as we were going back to the porch to hear.

“I’m from Adairsville, then Calhoun after Mama got her job up there.’

Mattie, “Oh, I know Calhoun and Dalton, all of that. Daddy was from Varnell, my mama was from Tunnel Hill.”

Gwen, “Where in Varnell? I know folks there...”

Bonding beginning. I caught up with Rusty outside. He had an old box in his hands. “These were Cece’s in junior high school. I think they ought to fit Ms. Gwen.” He opened the box showing me a set of waders in good overall shape. We’d conspired and I had measured one of Gwen’s shoes earlier that week. Cece was now an oncologist in Gainesville, Florida and had a thriving practice.

I went to the car, got up the tackle and the goofy hat that I always wear.

Breakfast, with sifted flour fall apart in your mouth biscuits, bacon, red eye gravy, mountains of eggs, stone ground local grits all from Mattie’s wood stove makes for a rousing start to any day. Mattie kept reloading Gwen’s plate and Gwen kept right on eating. We were all amazed. Mattie said I must be starving the poor girl. Gwen, her mouth full, nodded energetically to the charge, winking at me slyly.

I helped Mattie afterwards in the kitchen. Rusty had taken Gwen to the porch to show her the waders and some hand tied flies he’d made.

Mattie at the sink, “Ted, I dunno, she’s a sweet girl, but goodness! Mmm! Rusty told me what you said and all, about getting her ready for life, but honey, I KNOW you. It’ll hurt. It’ll hurt just like before. You don’t want that now, do you?” Brow furrowed in concern.

What can you say? Real friends, real care. I nodded. “It’s not forever, I know. It can’t be that way. But it’s a salve for now, a fresh wind in a stale day. I’m at the last chance Texaco and I’m going to loiter for a while, maybe longer.”

She came over and hugged me, patting my back. “I know, we’re here for you hon... we’re here.”

We were all in the stream. Cece’s waders fit Gwen pretty good and she made for some overhanging rocks, looking for lunkers in the cool spots, whipping and casting, dropping her tied fly just so.

We all worked our sections quietly, barely moving, watching the clear cold stream. There is no more peaceful existence, no better daydreaming than trout fishing on a perfect day in crystalline waters. A big doe watched us from the shadows as Gwen hooked the first one, a good sized specimen. Rusty was close and netted for her. We came out with six that we didn’t release.

Later, we all propped our feet up on the rail, rocked back on the porch, swapping lies and laughing at Rusty. Mattie laid in some cut up home fries while Rusty and I cleaned and filleted our catch. We had another beer, watching the shadows climb down the hills while the breeze shivered the maples and mountain laurels.

After a home grown and stream caught dinner, Gwen sang a song in Gailic as the fireplace dispersed the gathering coolness. The dog stretched out in the corner, sighing and settling in. It was quiet when she finished. Mattie’s eyes were sparkling in the firelight and Rusty rubbed his nose, clearing his throat. Poplar crackled, sparks up the chimney, wind soughing in the pines. The Chattahoochee shone in the rising moonlight happily tumbling, as it did for the Cherokee, bidding us farewell as we departed an enchanting day for the homeward journey.

Sunday Night and the Fourth Room.

Gwen had borrowed the Jeep and my Amex card to go grocery shopping and to get ‘girl stuff’. The rest of the weekend had passed uneventfully. We’d played checkers. I lost six games in a row. I’d winterized Mitzi’s pool and got the cover on, no mean trick, especially the last side. Those of you who have done this understand. I split some wood, laid it in while I got the gardening show from WSB, radio propped in the window. I checked the email on the way to the shower. Friday afternoon late, the Superior Court clerk had sent an excuse notice, letting me off the hook. Apparently, no indigents were needing defense the coming week. Cat wandered in, piled up on my old sweater on the couch. Nap resumed.

The house was too quiet. The frisky redhead was always humming, singing and clattering around. She would tease me while looking so innocent, then rush off, another task impatiently awaiting, giggling the whole time. The house seemed to sag without her in it. I seemed to sag right along with it.

I was in the shower, knocking off the sweat, lathering my thinning hair. I heard the door thump open against the doorstop.

“Are you in here?” No evidence to the contrary, perhaps the question was a formality.

“No.” I kept rinsing. “I’m in the kitchen.”

“OK then, I’m going to take a shower since the water’s hot.”

The door opened and an alabaster mouse wearing a shower cap slipped in. “Hi.”

I leaned over gave her a kiss and hug. “Are you in here? Who are you and where’s your hair?”

“I’m somebody else right now. Like the bag? Lemme get my other side wet...” She turned around, face to the water, butt against my thighs. “Wash me?”

I soaped up my hands, pulled her back from the water a little, then lathered her belly down to her ‘mouse’ then up, gathering her upturned soft beauties, gently cleaning, gently teasing her tips, hardening her nipples. The softness of her swell, the firmness when gently squeezed, the youthful bounce when released, the pucker of her aureole, sending little sex messages to the shower capped head. Her ass involuntarily swayed against my thighs, my own thickness hardening on the curve of her back. My arousal was sudden, strong and overwhelming. She stepped forward, rinsed, turned to face me. “I’ve got some clean little titties, uh-HUH.” She looked down. “Am I under attack sir?” Innocence personified, never mind her flush, or nostrils flaring with each breath she took.

I couldn’t be catchy just then. Holding her as I had, caressing such perfect breasts put me in urgent need. I needed to mate with her. My look said so. She took me in hand, bent at the waist to suck me into her mouth, as much as she could take. She jacked as she sucked, gently slapping my balls with her other hand. From my vantage I could see the flare of her hips below her dimples, so soft, so entrancing. I held her shoulders, then tighter as I felt my furies mounting. All this in just moments, my cock betraying me so rapidly, delivering my rapture. I uttered my warning. Gwendolyn stood, handing me, watching my release spurt out of me, onto her belly and the shower floor.

She released me as I stood gasping, hanging onto the shower door frame with one hand, other on her shoulder. “There. All better? I wanted to watch. Mouse is still kinda sore inside, was this Ok?”

I looked at her, still recuperating from my explosion.

“I can ask more questions if you like.” Said brightly, then giggling.

I started to laugh, she went from giggle to laugh. The water, as usual went cold.

We had a light dinner inside, too cool on the porch. Gwen fixed it while I replaced the upstairs thermostat. Afterwards, I went up there to check the heat and make sure the guest room registers were open. I went into the other room, the one without its own bath. The register was closed. I was standing on my old student desk chair opening it when a girl without a bag on her head wandered in wearing her terrycloth robe. Seeing me on the chair, “Hey. Need help?”

“No, I’m just getting these rooms ready for colder weather. If you decide to sleep up here you won’t be cold now.”

“I like sleeping on top of you too much. But yeah, just in case...Who’s Bunkie?” She was staring at an old picture of me winding up on the mound. “Oh. That’s you. You’re Bunkie. But everyone calls you Ted.”

The fourth room is my memory room. The framed picture that she was perusing was taken by a scout from the Mets organization when I was a sophomore in college. The scout, a friend of my uncle’s, had signed the bottom, ‘Good luck Bunkie, see ya soon’. My best catcher signed with the Braves, farmed up to the Greenville club. He still calls. We were in the same fraternity which was another picture on the wall, listing all the young eagles present, including me in the back, being the tallest, Theodore W. Bunkcombe. The bed was a single that my uncle had brought to my dorm. It’s very high, extra long mattress with a double stack of drawers under it. It was waist high to the waif inspecting it, along with a faded 5x7 on the nightstand.

I’d taken that picture in the shopping district in Amsterdam. There were people in the background clutching shopping bags, a rack of mostly black bicycles at the side of a narrow cobblestone street. In the middle of the shot was a tall girl striding towards me, smiling radiantly, a deep chested beauty who had wanted her own fishing trawler in this life. Gwen looked at me questioningly.

“I took that picture in Amsterdam, when I was sixteen. I was there for summer school.” I then showed her some other odds and ends, curios of my life led so far. The college calendar blotter on my desk still showed 1977, with game dates penciled in, the goggles from swim team in a cubbyhole, my weight lifting gloves in another. a picture of my uncle and Gil and some of the boys with their arms around me when I graduated law school, Mom holding my J.D. sheepskin with both hands, smiling. On the wall by the door, my Dad, T-38 in the background on the flight line, the same one he died in. He was smiling my future smile, Ray-bans on, 50 missions cap jauntily cocked.

She climbed up onto the bed, interrupting my reverie. She looked at me seriously. “Can I ask you something?”

I nodded, gazing at her.

“Have you ever fallen out of this bed? I mean, it would have to hurt!”

My relief was palpable. I walked over to where she sat. “No, I never fell out. One thing this bed is good for is massages, because it’s so high.”

“I don’t know. I’d have to jump up and down to reach you. I’d look like a frog.”

“True, but it’s just the right height to reach you.” I thought. “In fact, I have all the stuff to give you a relaxing rub.”

“Wouldn’t you rather play some more checkers? I’ll spot you a king...” Mischievous eyes dancing.

I went and got down a sheet and some towels. From downstairs I got some essential oils, (Are there non-essential oils?) and some other items, including my old transistor radio.

I flitted the sheet over the bed clothes and got down some pillows, placing them just so on the bed. “Now, to do this salon style, I’ll go outside, you disrobe and lay on your stomach. The pillows are spaced so allow room for your breasts and your comfort. Place one of the towels over your behind and call when you’re ready.

“OK, Mr. Masseuse.” twinkly eyes, nose scrunched up to keep from giggling at my sober mien.

I went out, closing the door. Charades was a parlor game amongst nobility centuries ago. I was making a note to self to update when her muffled voice called out.

She laid on the table as instructed, her derriere hidden, the arch of her back graceful from stem to her pinned up hair. I tuned to public radio. Piano music, not jazz tonight. As a waltz drifted across the room, I lit a lavender scented candle, placing it on the shelf over the bed.

Outside, the shadows gathered in a bid for darkness inevitably obtained. The leaves now brittle, rustled in a trailing breeze, the crickets silent, the still waxing moon luminous in its fullness, edging its ascent to dominate the purpling skies.

Our single candle bore witness to my ministrations, the piano now a minuet as I rubbed her feet with slick hands, massaging the intricate muscles and tendons to her toes. Always the feet first. So much of the body relaxes and loosens if you first pay obeisance there. The tender calves awaited, so smooth, so young and relaxed. Her thighs, more muscled than I first imagined until our last coupling, splayed now, as appreciative sounds rose from the Mouse’s mouth.

I took more warmed oil form the cup on the candle heater, drizzling between her shoulder blades and rubbing in loose ovals, pushing away the tense, bringing Prana, all life is a circle, acceptance, the higher order...her arms, working them out to the shoulders, tenseness fleeing.

Down now, to the small of her back, dimples rising, kneading, kneading, the rise of her buttocks just concealed as my oiled hands slide under, the magnificent glutes rolling firmly, the softness only skin deep. The towel rolled down, no protest from my patient as I gently pummeled her from thigh to neck, the chops rhythmic and even.

I stood back regarding the candle lit vision reposed on my bed. She moved not a muscle, breathing deep, unhurried. I turned her over, removing all but a pillow for her head, covering her feminine areas with towels.

It was almost a mutual trance between giver and given, as sparkling piano notes glissanded off the walls of my past, the pictures and photos bearing mute witness as my worshipful endeavors recommenced.

Her eyes were peacefully closed. The tiny muscles in her collarbones, the tissues just beneath received their just due as my oiled palms ranged lower...taking up her breasts under the towel, handling them with no special import, gliding to her belly, impossibly flat as she lay, caressing, drawing my fingers back and forth, all the way to her now exposed young titties with their taut tips, gleaming in slickness.