The Poet Pt. 05

The Poet (Part 5)

Kathryn M. Burke

The rest of the visit with Lorna's parents was relatively uncontroversial, although Blake did (with his girlfriend's permission) take Marcy to bed a few more times so she'd be fully ready to enjoy sex with boys when she went back to college in the fall.

When the couple came home, it was decided that Blake should visit Rowena's parents also. He and Rowena hadn't reconciled when her folks had shown up for her graduation, so he'd not had a chance to spend any time with them. In fact, as Rowena had mentioned, that whole situation was pretty stressful for her--because of the simple fact that her parents had been separated for the better part of a year.

On the trip to their home, Blake tried to tease out of Rowena some account of why her parents had fallen out, but she largely clammed up--unusually so for her, since most of the time she had forceful opinions on just about everything. When she'd told Blake that she simply "didn't know" what the problem with her parents was, Blake couldn't believe it.

"You don't know? How can you not know?"

"Hey!" Rowena had snapped angrily. "I hadn't lived at home for three years when they split up. So . . . I couldn't say."

But Blake was convinced she knew more than she was telling.

And when he got to the parental home, things got even stranger. Jane Morris had the house to herself, since she'd mentioned with a certain sardonic glee that she'd given her husband Tyler the boot, and he was living in an apartment not all that far away. Jane was also tight-lipped about her marital problems--perhaps naturally, as Blake could understand she wouldn't want to spill her guts out to a guy she hardly knew, even if that guy was sleeping with her daughter.

But there was more to it than that: Jane seemed inexplicably hostile to Rowena herself.

There could be no doubt of it. Mother and daughter were definitely on the outs, and most of the hostility seemed to be coming from Mom. Jane would glare at her daughter with almost undisguised loathing at every opportunity. Rowena, thankfully, didn't seem to pay her back in kind; in fact, she did her best to try to stay out of her mother's way, using Blake as a kind of buffer whenever she had to interact with her parent. Blake was totally confused.

He brought up the matter with Rowena during a cuddle session one night in her bedroom.

"I just don't get it," he said. "Your mom . . ."

"What about her?" Rowena said, getting stiff with anxiety.

"She--she doesn't seem to like you very much."

"I guess not," Rowena said philosophically.

"Has it always been like that? I know lots of daughters have troubles with their moms."

"No. We were okay when I was growing up. It started--recently."

Blake was too emotionally smart--he was a poet, after all--not to sense that, once again, Rowena wasn't telling him the whole story. "Why?" he asked gently but bluntly.

Rowena let out a sigh that was a little on the shaky side. "I--I don't know."

"I don't see how you couldn't know."

"Well, I don't, okay?" As with the topic of her parents' breakup, Rowena made it clear that she didn't want to talk about the subject anymore. "Maybe," she added unkindly, "she needs a good fuck!"

"Rowena!" Blake cried. "That's not very nice."

"I'm serious! Women of her age get that way sometimes. Men aren't the only ones who need sex, you know. In fact, I've heard that women in their late thirties and forties have a greater sexual urge than when they were in their twenties. And I'm sure Mom hasn't had a dick in her cunt for almost a year!"

Blake scowled ferociously. "I wish you wouldn't talk about your mom like that. It's disrespectful."

"Well, I'm sorry. I mean, I just can't imagine going that long without"--a dick in my cunt--"some action from the male organ."

"Okay, fine, but--"

"Hey," Rowena said, suddenly getting excited, "if you get the chance, why don't you oblige?"

"What?"

"Sure, why not? What's the big deal? It's not like incest or anything. You're not related to her. And with that monster thing you have, you'd give her orgasms galore! That would cheer her right up."

Blake turned around and presented her back to Rowena. "I'm not having this conversation with you. You're a rude and uncharitable girl."

"Have it your way. But if you do find yourself in a position to, um, satisfy her, don't hold back on my account!" Chortling lasciviously, Rowena curled up to go to sleep.

To everyone's surprise, the situation Rowena had sarcastically outlined came to fruition the very next day.

It was late morning. Rowena had gone out by herself to look up some old friends. She figured Blake would be bored stiff by all the talk about old times that he knew nothing about, so she urged him to stay home and (with a little wink) "get to know Mom a little better." This was a Saturday, and on weekends Jane tended to take her morning shower a little later than usual--round 11 a.m. She was just coming out of the upstairs bathroom, a towel tightly wrapped around herself, when Blake burst forth out of Rowena's bedroom looking for his notebook: he'd suddenly gotten the inspiration to write a poem.

The two of them collided in the spacious landing.

Jane staggered backward, startled by Blake's unexpected presence. In his attempt to save her from falling in a heap to the carpeted floor, Blake ended up grabbing her towel and pulling it off of her.

Jane managed to stay on her feet, but when she noticed she was naked in front of this young man she let out a yelp and did the only thing she could think of to cover herself up: she rushed toward Blake and threw her arms around his neck.

In the few seconds that he caught a glimpse of her nudity, Blake felt a wave of dizziness. Omigod, she was beautiful! His eyes had immediately focused on her firm, heavy breasts (now pressed tightly against his chest), her swelling hips, the dark triangle of fur over her delta, and a hint of the smooth, gracious curve of her bottom. And now that she was snuggled up close to him, he inhaled the fresh scent of the body wash she'd used, mingling with her even more intoxicating body-scent--a scent so similar to, but tantalizingly different from, that of her daughter.

As for Jane, her embarrassment had quickly given way to a flood of recollection of how nice it was to be held by a man--a feeling she hadn't had for a whole year. For Blake had unconsciously wrapped his arms around her waist, and she felt his entire body almost fastened to hers, its strong, muscular flesh making her realize how wonderful it was to have a man in the house.

And, as Blake slowly and almost unthinkingly slid one of his hands down to cup her bottom, she also remembered the simple but intense pleasure a man can provide a woman who was "in the mood."

She'd not been prepared to admit it to herself, but from the moment Blake had stepped into her house she'd been attracted to him--not just for his striking mix of brain and brawn, but because she couldn't help imagining what he could have done to win over her daughter, whom she knew as an experienced appreciator of male flesh. And now, as she clung to him even tighter, she wasn't in the least surprised that a specific area of Blake's body was getting even firmer than usual.

He was wearing only a T-shirt and shorts on this warm day in late June, and she pried herself reluctantly out of his grasp--but only to fall to her knees and gaze at the bulge that was getting larger by the second in front of her face.

With only a moment's delay (this is my daughter's boyfriend, after all) she whipped down those shorts to his feet, taking his underwear with them.

She let out a gasp at what she saw, and came out with the whispered words, "Oh, my goodness!"

Those words again! Blake couldn't help noticing that this was the third woman who'd blurted out them out when she'd seen his engorged organ.

In fact, Jane was staring at that cock with a grimace of disbelief, as if she didn't think it possible for a cock to be that big. It was quivering with anticipation, and so she took it in her hand--actually, between the thumb and index finger of one hand--and tugged it this way and that.

And then she engulfed as much of it into her mouth as she could.

That was only a couple of inches, since she wasn't at all good at deep throat--and was long out of practice! But the feel of a man's member in her mouth was heavenly, and she was skilled at stimulating it with lips and tongue. And she couldn't resist grabbing his bottom with one hand while tickling his balls with another. If he was like most men, that would drive him wild. She was rewarded with grunts of ecstasy from Blake--so much so that she wondered whether he might come too soon and flood her mouth with his discharge.

But there was no need to worry about that. He might have done that--in fact, had done that--when Jane's daughter had first sucked him, but he'd now had plenty of experience with Rowena, Lorna, and even young Marcy.

After a few minutes he raised Jane up from the floor and pasted a tight kiss on her mouth, taking in the odor of his own cock in the process. Then Jane led him to her own bedroom, where a king-size bed would afford them all the space they needed for snuggling.

She lay down on her back, her legs spread--and Blake could see that she was already sopping wet. Much as he yearned to plunge right into her, he felt the need to be the gentleman, and so he knelt down before Jane's pussy and began licking it avidly.

She seemed surprised at his action, but quickly got into the spirit of things. Holding his head close to her moist opening, she placed her feet on his back and stared down at the spectacle of herself being eaten out. Blake, for his part, felt a bit of awe as he gazed into the cavity in front of his eyes--the cavity where his girlfriend (or one of them) had emerged into life more than twenty years ago. There was a strange fragrance to it that was different from the three other women he'd recently sampled, and its heavy, musky aroma inspired him. Holding her bottom with both hands, he licked and sucked and nuzzled the whole area tenderly but diligently, until in a surprisingly short period of time Jane began drumming the heels of her feet on Blake's back as the first aching moments of her orgasm came upon her.

She let out something close to a scream as that climax washed all over her, pouring out more fluid from her vagina and seeming to radiate all over her body until it created an explosion in her brain. She pounded the bed with her fists as she gave way uninhibitedly to the ecstasy she was feeling, her eyes rolling in her head and her tongue lolling out of her mouth.

It was many minutes before she settled down, and even then she had trouble seeing straight, as a wave of delightful dizziness overcame her. But she did notice Blake moving slowly up her body, first paying due homage to those magnificent breasts and then slipping right into her as he covered her body with his own.

Her eyes bulged as she sensed that cock going deeper and deeper into herself. She'd never been penetrated by such an implement, and it felt like some wonderful mole tunneling its way through her body. She experienced a sense of fulfillment such as she had never had before, not even in those rapturous early days of her marriage; and she again threw her arms around Blake's neck in unabashed joy at being able to provide both him and herself with the pinnacle of physical and spiritual pleasure.

Blake looked down at her tenderly, almost reverently--and why wouldn't he? She was the mother of one of the women he loved, and she herself was a heavenly creature who'd been cruelly treated by life. He hoped he could do something about that. He kissed her face, her neck, her shoulder, even her armpit; he stroked her breasts, her back, her bottom, her thighs; and he ground his hips into her, plowing the pussy that lamentably hadn't seen any action for a year. What a waste!

And when he sent his seed into her, he knew that he had established a permanent and indissoluble bond with this amazing woman. She received his seed with gratitude but also with a certain pride in her own desirability: his huge emission was a fitting tribute to the ageless femininity she represented.

When they separated, they lay down on their backs, gazing up at the ceiling. Jane regretted that the fluid this young man had poured into her was already trickling out onto the bedsheet, while Blake's slick member was twitching in a remembrance of the delight it had just felt.

But for Blake, there was an all-important matter that had to be settled.

"Ma'am," he said tentatively, knowing he was raising a delicate and possibly upsetting issue, "why are you so mad at Rowena?"

He looked over to Jane, whose eyes were now blazing with anger. Her chest rose and fell with the emotions that were coursing through her.

"Why?" she said acidly. "Wouldn't you be if you were me and--and you saw your husband sleeping with his daughter?"

Blake felt a choking sensation so that he could hardly speak. "What?" he croaked.

"That's right," Jane said, her outrage building with each passing second. "I saw them--right in this very bed! God knows why I still sleep here: it seems polluted now."

"Ma'am, you must be mistaken. Maybe they were just--you know, actually sleeping." (But in that case, why would they be sharing a bed?)

"You think so? Then why were they naked?"

"They were naked?"

"I'm sure they were. The sheet didn't cover Rowena all the way, and I could see her bare back and shoulders. No nightgown, no nothing. And when Tyler saw me--well, there was no mistaking that he was in his birthday suit."

"Um, would you like to tell me the story?"

"You bet I'll tell you! Then maybe you'll have a better idea who your precious little bedmate is.

"Look, here's what happened. My sister had to have an operation, and so I needed to spend some time taking care of her afterwards. Tyler's pretty hopeless around the house, so I got Rowena to look after him. This was the summer after her junior year of college--she was a bright and perky twenty-one years of age. I ended up spending more than a week with my sister, and was going to come home early on a Monday, but decided to catch a flight home late on Sunday.

"Well, you can imagine my reaction when I trudged upstairs and saw--what I told you I saw. I thought I'd fall into a faint--and I'm not a woman who faints. Rowena seemed blissfully asleep, but Tyler saw me and jumped out of bed. And yes, he was naked: his semi-hard cock was flopping around as he approached me. I suppose he was going to try to come up with some lame excuse for his appalling behavior, but I was having none of it. I turned right around, headed downstairs, and spent the night in a motel. The next day, I called him up and basically said, 'You'd better get out of the house, and stay out, if you know what's good for you.'

"And that's where the matter stands right now. What do you have to say to that, my man?"

Blake was so stunned that he couldn't see straight. He could think of absolutely nothing to say. But just then both he and Jane heard the front door open, and in seconds Rowena was rushing up the stairs.

As Jane's eyes widened and she covered herself with a bedsheet, Blake leaped out of bed and made his way toward Rowena's room--but not fast enough. She saw him in the landing, his own cock wagging just the way he imagined Tyler's did after he'd bedded down with his own daughter. As Rowena chuckled at the sight of her naked boyfriend, she cast a glance into her mother's bedroom.

"Hah!" she cried triumphantly. "So you poked Mom? Good for you!" She gave Blake a few sarcastic claps of her hands.

Blake said nothing, but stalked into Rowena's bedroom, waiting for him to follow.

Rowena sensed that something wasn't quite right, but she still tried to make light of the situation. "Um, your cock's dripping," she said.

Blake looked down at himself. It was dripping--with the mingling of his emission and Jane's juices.

"Yeah, well, that's the way it is," he muttered.

By this time Rowena had closed her bedroom door and was staring at her boyfriend, who'd made no effort to put his clothes on. With a sigh she grabbed some Kleenex from a dispenser, knelt down in front of him, and began wiping down his cock.

As she was doing that, he looked down at her and said softly, "Why did you sleep with your dad?"

Rowena abruptly stopped what she was doing, then finished the job and got to her feet. She tossed the soiled Kleenex into a little dustbin next to her bed.

"She told you that, did she?" she said.

"Yeah. Why did you do it?"

"Don't you understand?" Rowena exploded, as if infuriated at some moron who couldn't grasp that two plus two equals four. "Sleeping with Dad was one of the most significant moments of my whole life!"

"It must have been," he said viciously.

"You just don't get it, Blake!" She paused, breathing heavily. "Look, I don't have to remind you how I was those first three years of my college life. Yes, I slept with pretty much any guy who came long--so many that I don't even remember how many there were. I thought it was fun, and I thought I was enjoying myself. But I really wasn't enjoying myself all that much. So when I ended up having to spend a week or more alone with Dad, well, I got to feeling like I was"--she suddenly got choked up--"his little wife."

"Rowena! You were his daughter!"

"I knew that! But it felt just like it would have if I'd had a husband. I'm not referring to the drudgery of cooking and cleaning for him; it was the closeness that I felt by being around him all the time without my mom there. That made such a huge difference. It was--a revelation. So by some sort of unspoken agreement we began sharing his bed. Sure, I felt a little funny, knowing I was lying in the very spot that Mom lay when she was sleeping here, even though this wasn't actually the bed where I was conceived. They were living somewhere else when that happened. But it was just--heavenly.

"For the first few nights, we didn't do anything but sleep. I could tell that Dad was pretty nervous and even upset: it's like I became radioactive the moment I slipped into that bed. But as the days passed he seemed to get more comfortable with my presence, and we started cuddling a bit. It felt so good to be in his big, strong arms! And it was pretty hot that summer, so even with the windows open I could only stand to wear this baby-doll nightgown that only went down to about the middle of my thighs. Sure, Dad's eyes got big when he saw me in that thing, and I could tell what he was thinking. But I figured that was just what all men think when they see a pretty girl: Gee, I wonder what it would be like to take her to bed? It's just a kind of automatic response that men have, and it's really just a fantasy that dissipates in a few seconds after the girl passes on out of sight.

"But then, that Sunday night, I felt a different sort of vibe. As we were snuggling, there was no mistaking that something was happening to him--down there.

"I don't know why I was surprised, but I was. With any other guy I'd have thought to myself, You'd better get hard, buster! I'm a real cutie-pie! But this was my dad--there was no escaping that. So I got a little unnerved myself, but I just couldn't help reaching down and passing my hand over his distorted underwear, whispering into his ear, 'What's going on, Daddy?'

"He gasped as he felt my fingers in that area, and he looked almost frightened. I suddenly felt sorry for him: I mean, here was a guy who was aching to do something with me, but all the rules of society were shouting in his ear, 'No, you can't do that! You're a horrible person for even thinking of doing that!'