The Story of Charlotte McPherson

Author's note: The following story is a work of fiction. Some scenes include nonconsensual sex that may be disturbing to some readers. If you are one of those readers, please select a different story. As always, happy to receive constructive criticism, both positive and negative, and to hear creative ideas for future stories.

Imperfection and perfection go so hand in hand, and our dark and our light are so intertwined, that by trying to push the darkness or the so-called negative aspects of our life to the side... we are preventing ourselves from the fullness of life.

Jeff Bridges

This is a story about Charlotte McPherson. In case you haven't guessed, that is not her real name. I hope she would be fine with me telling her story; Charlotte herself is unaware of some important parts of her own story. So I suppose it's possible she wouldn't be fine with my telling the story. But since she doesn't know that I'm telling the story, the point is moot anyhow. It's been a long time now and the story needs to be told. Besides, a precondition of my telling the story, my precondition, is that no one should be able to easily identify her. Too many identifiers could cause problems for people. And when I say "people," I mean me.

The main part of the story is about what happened way back in the late summer of 1991 when Charlotte was visiting. Well Charlotte and her sister. They both visited. But this is more a story about Charlotte than her sister, so it's not necessary for me to tell you her sister's name. I'd have to use another fake name even though she is real too, just like Charlotte.

Well, let's go ahead and call Charlotte's sister, Amelia, just in case.

But going back to times before 1991, I had met Charlotte at a series of extended family events in southern California. Events like parties. Or weddings. Or graduations. Or funerals. Since it's been a long time now, the exact number of family events and the purpose of each event has become fuzzy. But of course I easily remember Charlotte. Like it was yesterday, or maybe like the back of my hand, or like some other metaphor about something you know or remember.

Charlotte was cute and energetic and made a nice impression. At least that's what I thought at the time. At least I was impressed. So I assume everyone else must have been impressed along with me. My wife, Kathy, and I had to travel a long way for these events since they were invariably close to where my wife grew up in California, and that's a long way from where we lived -- where we still live. Hence the travel part. And it was far enough away that we usually flew. Although we did drive sometimes but that was a pain in the ass. Literally. We had to sit in the car for two days to get there. And then the same thing when it was over. Two days while we drove back.

My wife's name really is Kathy, short for Kathleen. Might as well keep one of the names unchanged.

Kathy is a good wife. She's into all kinds of self-improvement and tries to include me in the improvement. Lately she's on this kick to expand her vocabulary -- and mine too (as if I had a choice). Uxorious. I guess I can be sometimes. And there are times when I have to be.

My wife's name was more common back in 1991 than it is now. Although there are still enough people around who are named Kathy -- that's why I'm comfortable using her real name. But not many people name their daughters Kathy nowadays. My wife's name is becoming Anachronistic.

Anyway, the family events were fun (except maybe if we were attending a funeral). Or most of each visit was fun. At least the part that wasn't boring. Kathy's relatives, the McPherson's, are nice people. They have always been good hosts. No matter the event, even if it might have been a funeral, Charlotte was never boring.

One time when we were visiting we went to see Charlotte perform in a concert. She played violin in a string quartet and then in violin section as part of a symphony. She's pretty good at violin apparently. She was right up front there with the people who are supposed to be good. The quartet was nice. Pretty lively. Rimsky-Korsakov, a Russian guy. But the other song, or whatever it's called, by some French guy, a symphony with something about a fawn wandering around in the afternoon was so slow and boring. I fell asleep, even though Kathy kept nudging me to stay awake.

I remember when Charlotte came to visit in 1991 I hadn't seen her in almost three years. She seemed the same. Well, I mean her personality hadn't changed. Although when she visited us in 1991 she had just turned 18. A three-year difference around that age can change some people. But Charlotte seemed like herself -- the same as earlier times when she had impressed me. She was still affectionate, and extraverted, and enthusiastic.

One thing I should say is that I found myself surprised. I was suddenly strongly attracted to Charlotte when she arrived for her visit. I suppose you might have guessed that's what I'd be telling you already. But it needed to be said, otherwise a lot of this story wouldn't make much sense. The main reason for my attraction to her was due to her personality. Yes, the fact that she was lithe and cute, had thick red hair, a lightly freckled nose, mischievous blue eyes (Cerulean), and a way of teasing that seemed somewhere between innocent and flirtatious didn't hurt. She was friendly and enthusiastic and had a kind of zest. She was, she still is, someone who instantaneously lights up a room.

The reason for Charlotte's visit in 1991 is important. Charlotte had a serious boyfriend from the time she was sixteen. That's what my wife told me back then. It was a typical case of teenage romance where the young people are very serious and where their parents wish they weren't. The guy, someone I never had the chance to meet, and who's name I can't now remember, had started sneaking over to be with Charlotte in the middle of the night. So Charlotte was sent to visit us.

"It would be nice for you and your sister to get away for a while. Have a look at another part of the country," was the reason her parents gave Charlotte. But that reason didn't hold water. I'm sure Charlotte knew it was a transparent ruse.

The hope was that "we could talk some sense into her," my wife was told over the phone by Charlotte's parents.

"She would try," my wife said. But I know my wife thought it unlikely that she could hold that kind of sway over Charlotte. She wasn't even sure it was worth trying.

"I do understand it's their house and that they don't want to have her boyfriend -- whatever his name was -- sneaking over in the middle of the night. And that since it's their house they get to make the house rules," Kathy told me after she got off the phone. "But Charlotte's eighteen. She's old enough to make her own decisions.

"And besides, Charlotte is going off to college soon. In about a month. What are they going to do? Hire an armed guard to stand outside her dorm room?"

My wife had a point.

I should have mentioned it before, but Charlotte is Kathy's sister. Or half-sister actually. That's also important. My wife is ten years older than Charlotte. My wife's parents divorced when she was seven. Then my father-in-law remarried and had two more daughters, Charlotte being one of them. My mother-in-law also remarried; that's not important for the story but I thought you might be curious.

Anyway, that's why Charlotte was sent to visit us. Because my wife is Charlotte's older half-sister. And because Charlotte's parents thought Kathy might be a good influence on Charlotte. And because they wanted to get her away from her boyfriend in the hope that she might gain "proper perspective" -- or really, in the unrealistic hope that Charlotte would suddenly start agreeing with them, her parents I mean, and forget about her boyfriend.

---

The morning after Charlotte and her slightly older sister, Amelia, arrived, I came down from the bedroom to get my usual coffee and cigarette and get started on my day. Charlotte was lying on the couch in the living room. She was lying in prone (or supine?) position. She was lying on her stomach, propped up on her elbows reading a book. The lower parts of her legs, and her feet were crossed and pointed toward the ceiling.

"Hey there, Charlotte. What are you reading?"

"It's a new book that just came out called Outlander. It's very romantic. It's about a woman who travels through time and meets someone who becomes her lover. You can borrow it when I'm done if you want." She winked and smiled her mischievous smile at me.

"That sounds interesting. Maybe I will. "

I said that even though I knew there was no way I would be reading that book. I do always read the newspaper in the morning though. Back then, I'd always read the actual newspaper whereas now I read on a tablet. Really, I still prefer to read an old-fashioned physical newspaper. I'm not sure why. Possibly I like the tactile sensation of the paper.

And when I do read books, which isn't all that frequently, I like books with a lot of action. Also it was the weekend, and the exhibition season was just starting so I knew I wasn't going to be reading anything later -- I'd be watching football. Or maybe golf if I couldn't find a game worth watching.

I brought my cup of coffee, along with the paper, out from the kitchen to the living room. It seemed the sociable thing to do. But I decided to hold off on the cigarette -- Charlotte had told me she thought it was a "gross habit" and she wished that I would quit. I was addicted back then. I did eventually quit a few years later but it wasn't easy.

"Do you mind if I read out here with you Charlotte?" I asked as I walked over to her.

"Of course not! It's your house Burl. Anyway, I like your company." Charlotte smiled over at me. "Thanks for letting me stay with you this week."

So, just so you know, my real name isn't Burl. Same deal as what I said about Charlotte at the beginning.

I sat in the armchair with my paper and coffee. Back then the armchair and couch were along the same wall, facing out toward the window, separated by an end table with a lamp on it. So I set my coffee on the end table -- on a coaster or my wife would get upset. And I pretended to read the newspaper.

When I had come down the stairs earlier I had noticed that Charlotte was wearing a pink T-shirt and thin cream-colored leggings. It had been hard for me not to stare at her, even though she might not have noticed since she was distracted by her book.

Anyway, I knew that if I sat in the armchair, and if she stayed reading where she was, I could look at her as much as I'd like since she was lying facing away from me.

Of course I looked at the obvious first. I'll tell you about that in a minute, but it makes sense to give you a better idea of everything -- so that you have the whole picture.

Bowdlerize? Don't worry, I would never do that to you.

Charlotte's shoulders and back curved down, just as you might imagine they would; after all, she was propped up on her elbows. She must have brushed out her dark red straight hair a short time earlier as it came down to its full length so that it was even with her shoulder blades. Her slim lower back also dipped down before reascending to her curved rounded butt. The roundness of her butt was accentuated by both her back and also by the bending of her legs at the knees and the upward position of her lower legs, which caused her butt to rise a little. The back of Charlotte's thighs, well really the entirety of her legs -- really all of her body -- looked very fit. This made sense since she I had heard she had been a middle-distance runner on the track team. And back then she also liked to swim. I'm not sure if she still does like to swim but it wouldn't surprise me if she did.

Yes, I admit that the first thing that I looked at, when I pretended that I was reading the paper, was the split of her ass and the area between her legs. As I already said, the leggings were thin -- the kind where you can see the exact outline and location of the details underneath. Even so, what I saw surprised me. I'm pretty sure she wasn't wearing anything under the leggings, and they were light color. So I had the chance, the luxury really, of slowly committing the view to memory.

I still remember the way she looked as I sat there. The memory is vivid. Although the other day I was reading in the newspaper that our memories aren't always reliable. That we tend to fill in the blanks and make assumptions based on only partial observations. And that when we think about individual memories, as we repeatedly replay a memory in our minds, we make new connections in our brain, and that some of these connections might obfuscate (yes that's the word they used in the article -- it's also on the vocabulary list) our original memory. That's why eyewitness testimony in court is sometimes incorrect, even though the witness is sure they remember correctly.

Regardless of that, I know what I know. And I know I accurately remember the way the shallow groove at the upper part of Charlotte's butt crack, which perfectly Bifurcated her rounded ass, gradually widened and deepened as it descended, in just the way that it's supposed to. And I remember the way the two halves of her ass were smooth slopes that curved and dove down toward the middle in a way that made a person wonder what it would feel like to run their hand along those curves. Another thing, the details of her pussy were surprisingly easy to see. The lips on either side of her slit were pleasantly raised, a bit meaty and more substantial than those of my wife. I'd like to say that I could make out the small bump of her clit but now I'm not positive. Okay, maybe they were right about memory being imperfect; it's possible that I'm filling in the blanks based on the times when I was able to see that part of Charlotte.

So I drank my coffee and stared at Charlotte for about ten minutes, until she rolled over and rested her head on one of the pillows leaning against the arm of the couch. She smiled at me again and continued reading. I'm sure she had no idea that I had been studying her. And now since she was facing me I had to be careful not to stare. She had crossed her legs in any case, so it was less tempting to stare. Although I did sneak a couple glances at her breasts, and I could tell she wasn't wearing a bra since I could see her nipples gently tenting the front of her T-shirt.

---

The rest of the day I kept thinking about Charlotte. About how perfect she seemed. And about how attractive she was. I knew I was lucky to have had the chance to look at her for such a long time, at parts of her that she would normally keep private. Although by the time Kathy and Amelia woke up she had changed into some jeans. And even though she was wearing the same T-shirt, she had put on a bra.

Usually, when a person sees something they're not supposed to see the view is pretty brief. Like sometimes when you're sitting on a bus across from an attractive woman wearing a skirt or dress. They're usually careful but sometimes you can catch a quick glance, and sometimes you're able to catch a longer glance of something you're not supposed to see. But in Charlotte's case it was far longer, and what I had been able to see was a lot more.

I had never thought of Charlotte like that before. Yes, I knew then that I shouldn't have been thinking of her in the way that I was. And it did bother me that I was thinking about her like that. My wife certainly wouldn't have liked it, and society in general would also disapprove. But if you think of all the people in the world there's going to be all kinds. Multifarious -- all the different ways people can be. But I'm human-- you feel what you feel even if it's not always convenient or right.

---

"Hey Burl, what are you watching." Charlotte was asking a question with an obvious answer since football is pretty unambiguous.

"Oh just a football game. It's not all that exciting though. It's just exhibition. My team is just trying out a bunch of new players and rookies. Whether they win or not is secondary. Where are your sisters?"

"They went to the mall to do some shopping this evening. I didn't feel like going, and we have a lot of plans and will be going out a lot this week, so I decided to stay here."

"Kathy says you're heading off to college soon."

"Yes, in just over a month. Stanford is such an outstanding opportunity for me. I was so fortunate to be accepted there."

"What are you interested in?"

"At the moment, my goal is to pursue a double major in chemistry and music, but I want to stay flexible. If, through my studies, I develop a passion for something else I'd like the flexibility of being open to that kind of alternative." Charlotte looked at me with her trademark enchanting heart-shaped face, her amused smile and mischievous blue eyes.

"Well that's cool. I'm sure you'll do well." My wife had told me numerous times about how smart Charlotte was. I had no reason to disbelieve her.

"Did you ever go to college Burl?"

"Yeah. It wasn't for me though. It was okay but wasn't interesting enough to make me want to stay. I was sick of studying before I even started."

That was one of the better decisions I ever made. Dropping out of college. I learned to weld after I dropped out. It was easy to find a job and I had enough moxie to eventually start my own business and hire other people. But I can still jump in for the difficult jobs. Like when we have to work with carbon steel rather than stainless. But back in 1991 I was still working for my old company.

"Oh, that's too bad. I'm sorry you missed out."

"It's okay. Guess I didn't' find my passion, as you just put it. It was expensive too. I had to work to pay for tuition and it just seemed like too much."

"Between National Merit and getting a 35 on my ACT, Stanford is giving me a full scholarship."

"Wow. That's great. I assume 35 is a good score. It doesn't mean 35 out of 100?"

Charlotte laughed at that. She had such a natural easy going way about her. "Yes, 35 is good. It's not perfect, but almost perfect.

"Hey, I'm going to go take a shower and send an email to my boyfriend. Sorry that I interrupted your game." Back then, cell phones were just starting to take off. The ones that were around weren't smart like they are now. And, I don't remember for sure, Charlotte probably didn't' even have one of those old phones. But I knew email was in vogue.

"No, I like talking to you Charlotte. Is your boyfriend one of your classmates? Or what?

"Yes, he's a classmate. Or he was. We were in a lot of the advanced and gifted classes together. But he's going to another university this fall. Back east.

"I know my parents sent me here in hopes that I'll end the relationship. But they don't know how serious we are. It will be difficult to be so far away from each other, but we're determined to make it long term."

"I'm sure your parents are just trying to look out for you."

"I know. They are usually pretty understanding. But in some areas they're very old-fashioned. Victorian I'd even say. Oh well."

The entire time Charlotte and I had been talking, and while I had been looking at Charlotte's pretty face, I couldn't help it -- I kept thinking about her body, what she had unintentionally displayed to me earlier that day. Now I had a funny feeling in my gut.

"Let me make sure there are fresh towels for you."

"I think Kathy put some out already."

"Oh, okay, well, I'll check just to make sure."

When I went into the downstairs bathroom I looked out into the darkness of the backyard and quietly lowered the blinds, leaving about a half inch gap at the bottom.

Epiphany. About myself I mean. It was back when I was in college for that short time. Something I've never told anyone about. Not even Kathy.