Winter Mix Ch. 05: Collins

All Characters In This Story Are 18+ Years Old

Friday Evening 12/21/1962

Forty-one-year-old Judith Barnes put her just-refilled Tom Collins down on its coaster on the end table by her chair with more force than she meant. Cubes rattled and a few errant drops splashed over the edge onto the nearby December issue of Better Homes and Gardens magazine. Exasperated by her ringing telephone, she exclaimed, "Darn it! That's the second time tonight someone's called in the middle of my shows!"

Petulantly, she kicked her feet down, stood from her pimento-color velvet wing-back BarcaLounger and strode across the living room to the offending instrument on the antique cherry escritoire by the pecan library wall bookcase. Picking up on the fourth ring, she heard her neighbor's voice say, "Judith? It's Bobbie..."

"It's a bit late to call, Bobbie," Judith replied with a bit of an edge. Then, suddenly remembering her eighteen-year-old son, Barney, had gone to collect his pay for shoveling Bobbie's walks, she worried, "Has something happened? Everything okay?"

"Yes, I know it's late," answered Roberta Maxon, unperturbed. "Nothing's the matter, but I wanted to apologize for keeping Barney longer than I had expected..."

Relieved by the news and anxious to get back to Martin Milner on 'Route 66', Judith interrupted, "Well, he's a big boy. He knows where he lives and how to get home. It's not even a school night, so there's nothing to apologize for."

Roberta agreed, "Yes, he is a big boy. But I thought, with the storm and all, that you might be worried. I just wanted you to know everything is okay." She pulled the receiver from her ear and looked at Barney, who, but for his socks, stood naked by the television staring at her aghast. Flashing him a broad grin and the universal 'OK' sign, she returned quickly to Mrs. Barnes, adding, "Uh-hunh, yes, after I paid him for clearing my walks, I thought, 'Well, maybe he can fix my damper. You know, up in my chimney?..."

Not picking up the double-entendre, Judith injected, "He knows how to do that pretty good. I asked him to do mine earlier, when the blizzard warning was first on the radio."

More than doubtful that Judith had ever screwed her son as she had just done, Roberta chuckled silently while pleasantly riposting, "Oh? He did that for you, too? Well, then you know, however we may try, that's sometimes a messy job..."

"It wasn't too bad with me," Judith went on. "He just poked a tool up in there, banged away a few times and that was it. A little soot came down, but no harm done."

Roberta rolled her eyes and bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud as Judith blithely advanced her private joke. Recovering, she said, "Yes, anyway, I want to do his clothes in my Maytag. You certainly don't need any of my 'soot' in your machine!"

"Oh, well that's very kind of you," Judith answered. "Barney is bigger than Mr. Maxon and probably couldn't wear his clothes except maybe a robe, but in any case, I'm sure you must have a blanket he can wrap up in while you do the laundry. Even though we are just next door, I wouldn't want him outside in only his parka and rubber boots!" She giggled at the image her ludicrous notion created.

Roberta laughed aloud, too. "No... That's hilarious, but you're right. I can't send him home in Phil's clothes."

"Thanks, Bobbie," Judith said, growing more impatient with the conversation. "I do feel much better knowing you're taking good care of Barney. But for heaven's sake, don't feed him! He's always hungry, but he can jolly well eat at home!" Almost as if an afterthought, she concluded, "I'm going to go to bed soon, so ask him not to be noisy when he's coming inside."

Even as the line was disconnecting at the other end, Roberta replied flatly, "Yes, I'll tell him, Judith. Thank you so much. Good night, dear."

Returning to her recliner, Judith found she had lost the thread of the 'Route 66' episode. She didn't feel like 'Sing Along With Mitch', so she switched her Philco's channel knob to ABC for 'I'm Dickens, He's Fenster.' As she sat back down in her chair and picked up her cocktail, Fred Flintstone, pounding on his own front door and screaming, "Wiiilllma!", morphed into an ad for Winston cigarettes.

Judith set her highball down more carefully than before and closed her eyes. Weirdly, the cartoon scene had called to her mind how Ralph, her philandering ex-husband, similarly beat on their front door, and yelled for the whole neighborhood to hear, on June 3, 1956. It was an ignominious end to her thirty-fifth birthday.

After church that warm summer day, Ralph had driven Judith and their kids to the Ford dealer in Norwalk where he surprised her with a brand new peach-and-cream two-tone Ford Fairlane. Expecting they would all take a lovely family drive together, she happily slid behind the wheel while Rebecca and Barney piled into the sedan's back seat. Ralph, however, did not get in the car. Instead, he said through the open driver's side window, "Love to, honey, but I just have to go in to the office and work up a big report for the board meeting tomorrow. Sorry!"

When Ralph not only missed dinner and her cake, but had not returned by eleven o'clock, Judith was confident that he was, in fact, fucking his floozy-de-jour. More hurt than ever before, she had angrily resolved, "Never again!" Throwing both the front and back doors' security bolts, she locked him out of the house, then cried herself to sleep. At two a.m., when the ruckus woke her, she screamed at him through the closed door, "Go to a goddamned hotel! I'm getting a lawyer!"

The divorce had been quick, but hardly painless. Their son, Barney, at age twelve, was less impacted, particularly since Ralph promised him that he would still make it to every Little League game and root him on. Their sixteen-year-old daughter, Rebecca, was not so sanguine. She withdrew and became sullen.

By the start of Becky's junior year in high school, she was openly rebellious toward her mother and teachers alike. "It seemed a miracle that she graduated, let alone got into NYU," Judith thought, as she stretched out on her chair and rolled her head. Then, brightening, she mused, "But she really blossomed and straightened up there. Living on her own gave her new responsibility. And it was so great, last August, when Mr. Maxon hired her as his personal assistant!"

Of course, the judge put Ralph on the hook for everything: Judith got the house, a very generous alimony and both kids with support plus their college tuitions secured. She also got the new car while he was awarded their older Dodge Coronet. He bounced right back, though, with a prompt promotion and a 1957 Chrysler Saratoga as a bonus. "Yeah, and he got to fool around like a playboy," Judith said to herself. Picking up her Collins, she toasted the television set out loud, "And I'm glad he's gone. Good riddance!"

With her drink drained, Judith considered building another. She had had one before dinner and now had nursed this second one for better than an hour. She guessed she could allow herself a third, if she made it light. Walking to the kitchen for the gin, mix and ice, she thought about the very first Tom Collins she ever had. And that had not been her only first that day.

It was the Fourth of July, 1939. Judith Sneed had turned eighteen a month before and in four days she would marry nineteen-year-old Ralph Barnes. The four girlfriends who would be her bridesmaids had taken her to New Haven to see the fireworks there. Someone, somehow, somewhere had acquired a quart of Tanqueray gin, another of Canada Dry Collins Mixer, and some Dixie Cups. One of the girls said, if the gin and mix were poured over ice, the result was a cocktail her dad called a 'Tom Collins', which she had tried once.

The bridal party ran out of ice before they ran out of gin, but they drank the bottle between them anyway. When Judith got home, she was a little bit snockered. She had just taken off, then hung up, her sailor-styled cotton playsuit and was standing staring vacantly into her open closet when she heard a discreet cough behind her. Reflexively crossing her right arm over her soft wireless rayon bra and dropping her left hand to cover her private area, which was already well hidden by her satin tap pants, she whipped her head to look over her shoulder.

Judith's twenty-one-year-old brother, Hank, stood motionless in her bedroom's open doorframe. She cried, "Gaaak! Hank! What are you... How long have you... Get out of here! I'm undressing!"

The waning gibbous moon was like a spotlight on Judith through the second-floor bedroom's dormer window. In the shadows, Hank had enjoyed his sister's disrobing and was not the least embarrassed for her, or by the erection he had. Having just seen 'Only Angels Have Wings', he stepped rapidly behind her, put his hands on her upper arms and, giving his best Cary Grant impression, said softly, "Judy..."

Judith had protested, "Stop it! I mean it. You're a brat, now get out of here!" Funnily enough, even twenty-three years later, she was not sure that she had meant it then when she said it. She shivered in front of the liquor cupboard as she again felt Hank's strong hands and light touch. He had not stopped, nor did he get out.

Instead, Hank had gently argued, "C'mon, Sis. You've seen me in my underwear before. I only just came in to see how your little party went. Did you enjoy the fireworks?" While he talked, he brushed his palms, like feathers, down her bare arms to her elbows and then back to her shoulders. He also inhaled her shampoo and whiffed her alcohol aura.

Judith teetered in Hank's grip and was suddenly grateful to have a supporting structure to lean into. He grinned as she relaxed against his broad chest and let her arms hang at her sides. He also took advantage of his proximity and shamelessly gawked down her modest cleavage. He always had considered her shape to be rather stick-like, but now he appreciated her trim 33-25-33 figure in a new way.

"Hey," Hank continued. "Have you been drinking? Did Sally and them get you drunk?" Bringing his hands higher, he marched his lightly squeezing fingers along her trapeziuses to her neck, then pressed his thumbs with strategic precision against the hollow in her nape. She shuddered and rolled her shoulders while involuntarily emitting a delicate moan.

"Yes. No," Judith answered as she closed her eyes and basked. "Not drunk... Good time... Nice night." Though she did not slur, her abbreviated speech pattern betrayed her condition.

Hank edged closer and Judith relied even more on him to hold her vertical as she felt herself floating weirdly through space. Not one to miss an opportunity, he moved his hands back to her shoulder points. At the same time he carried with him her brassiere's thin straps. When he let them go, they fell over her upper arms and the bra's soft cups drooped precipitously.

Hank breathed into Judith's ear, "Well, I think I should help you finish and get you to bed." Not waiting for an answer, he released her back band's hook-and-eye, then watched gravity take the garment past her elbows and wrists to the floor. Immediately replacing the lost rayon with his own warm hands, he cuddled, then more firmly pressed, her mounds as he pulled her tightly to his body and asked, "What do you think? Shall I?"

"Mmmm, yes," Judith soughed. Barely audible, she concurred, "Yes... Want... Lay down... Help... Good... uhnnn..." her voice disappeared into a pleasured sigh as her insides liquified.

"Alright, Sis," Hank crooned, careful not to fracture the fragile moment. "Since you ask me, I'll take care of you. Don't worry about a thing." Turning her in his arms, he danced with her the few feet to her iron-framed standard bed and quietly advised, "Just lean on me a second while I turn down your covers."

Judith clutched Hank's wide back and clung to him like a baby. Her breasts squashed deliciously against his ribs. His broadcloth shirt teased her forcibly flattened stiff nipples. Small, but powerfully erotic, electric impulses shot through her entire being.

Hank's own sense of urgency grew proportionately, the more Judith autonomically squirmed against him. With his left arm tightly curled around her mid-back, he snatched the thin chenille bedspread to the bed's footrail with his free right hand, then followed it with the light wool blanket and cotton top sheet that had been below it. Pivoting a quarter turn, he lifted his sister up and laid her easily on her back, crosswise on the mattress. Oscar, her loved-to-death stuffed rabbit and constant roommate for fifteen years, kept watch from her scarred oak bureau.

Suddenly thinking about the three most important people in her young world, Judith mumbled, "Mom... Dad... Oscar..." Through half-lidded eyes, she looked questioningly at her brother's silver-shadowed face.

Standing between Judith's draped bent legs, as close to the mattress as possible without touching it, Hank opened his belt buckle and unbuttoned his cream flannel trousers while he soothed, "Mom and Dad went to sleep awhile ago. They'll see us at breakfast." Continuing to undress, he calmly cooed, "Everything's okay. Oscar's here and he won't tattle."

When Hank's unzipped slacks pooled around his saddle shoes, he scuffed his stockinged feet free and began unbuttoning his white shirt. He frowned at its underarm sweat rings as he tossed it aside. Bending at the waist, he slid his hands slowly and firmly up Judith's legs from her knees to her tap pants' loose leg hems. She mewled as wonderful warm wavelets rose from her thighs to her tummy to her chest.

Seemingly satisfied by her brother's reply, Judith closed her eyes completely and sighed, "Good... Don't tell..." Hank continued driving his hands under the satin and high up inside until his long middle digits struck oil. He smiled smugly to himself as he deftly manipulated her labial folds against each other and increased her lubricant production.

While Judith lay luxuriating in her hitherto unknown sexuality, Hank withdrew his hands to his boxer's waistband and pushed them down to his heels. With a dancing jerk, he flipped the shorts to join his cast off dress shirt, while he hastily inverted his ribbed cotton tank over his head and off. Now nude, except for his polka-dot brown silk socks, he looked down at his cement-hard erection and then up to the single silver-pearl impediment to his target. Bending forward once more, he scooped his hands under his sister's slick bottom and whisked away her virtue's last shield.

Scanty though the cover was, its absence was noticeable. Judith felt the room's cooler air caress her bared cunny and struggled to rise up on propped elbows. Peering past the proudly puffed pips on her mounded hills, she squinted at her nakedness and said, "Nightgown... Dresser... Third..." The effort was too much. She fell back to the mattress and lolled her bobbed ash-blonde head.

Hank had no intention to dress his sister, yet. Putting her off, he answered, "Yes, in a bit. But I see goosebumps, let me warm you up first." Grabbing her legs, he dragged her body closer to the mattress edge while he dropped to his knees to get nearer his work. As if he was a Boy Scout, trying to start a fire with only two sticks, he lightly, but vigorously, rubbed her calves. She moaned her gratitude as he massaged incrementally higher and higher until his hands were once again at heaven's gate.

Hank dipped his shoulders, ducked under Judith's dangling legs and surfaced with his face an inch from her pussy. Dewy beads glistened on its short curly butterscotch-brown hairs. Pushing his hands beneath her soft ass, he served her up and tasted her seeping juices. With a groan she involuntarily lunged up and bumped her pubic bone on his nose.

Writhing slowly in Hank's grip, Judith gasped, "Uhhn... What?... OH!... Uhhn... Gosh!" She had no idea why her stomach was churning, her throat burning, or her heart yearning, but she did not want any of it to go away for a long time.

Hank slid his tongue up against her blocked entrance and teased her hymen's pin-hole iris. Then, racing north, he tickled her swollen clitoris with a flurry of barely-there flicks. Judith yelped and clapped her hands onto his ears. Pulling him downward, she pushed her needy greedy little man hard against his teeth.

In her head, Judith screeched triumphantly as her first ever orgasm crashed. In her bedroom, her mouth gaped and she tossed her head, but no sound at all came from her contorted throat. Flexing her fingers, she tore into her brother's temples with her nails, trying to insert his entire head within her. He held her inescapably sealed to his mouth until, at last, her crisis passed.

In recovery, Judith's breasts rose and fell like whitecaps in a wind as she returned from hyperventilation to normal breathing. Hank rose to a squat and then crawled onto the bed beside her. Nudging his nose, still damp with her sticky fluids, into the pocket behind her right ear, he whispered, "Still cold, Sis? Want your nighty?"

Judith turned her face to her brother and instinctively kissed him with a passion any decent person would condemn among siblings. She tasted herself on his glossed lips and hungrily sucked his tongue into her mouth. Breaking the deep osculation, she panted, "No... Hot... More... Want more..."

Hank could not help a little laugh. "I thought you might after that warm-up," he said, sotto voce. Covering her left titty with his right hand, he drew its hard little soldier up and then let go. Judith squeaked and smiled. "Oh," he said, "You like that, do you?" Plucking up her whole halo this time, he thumbed the plump nipple like it was a tiny punching bag before releasing it again.

Judith's breaths gave her away as she sniffed short little air shots while she stammered, "Y-yes! Uhhn, Y-yesss! L-like it!" She craned her neck and begged to be kissed again.

Hank rolled to his right and crouched over his agonized supine sister. Lowering his head as he hunched, he declared, "Then you're going to love this." Swiftly he closed his mouth around her aching right areola and nursed her while he continued to twist her left pip. She arched her back and moaned deep in her corded throat as she felt her frazzled nerves return to full alert.

Judith was torn between her desires to be sucked in three different places at the same time. Finally, unable to withstand the building pressure, she insistently pushed Hank's shoulders downward and cried unmistakably, "Lower! Please! Lower again!"

Hank, too, was overwrought from his foreplay's success. He scarcely trusted himself not to ejaculate prematurely, but he was so thrilled by his sister's active joyous response that he felt compelled to oblige her again. To buy time, if only precious seconds, to allow his raging hormones to settle, he straightened up and spun Judith counter-clockwise on the mattress from three o'clock to noon. Then, tucking a pillow under her butt, he once again hunkered over her wet delta and deeply inhaled her redolent sex-scent.

As quickly as Judith was losing her alcoholic torpor, she was also losing her libidinous patience. Kicking her heels in the air, she spread her thighs wide by her own volition and urged, "Hurry Hank! I need a 'warm-up'. Now!" As soon as he latched solidly onto her button she came abundantly, yelping, "Yes! Oh, Gosh! Yes!"

Hank was more than ready for the main event and judged that Judith was, too. Rearing up, he knee-walked forward and nudged his neglected stiff cock's velvet nose against her quivering pink-and-gold quim. With his right hand, he quickly aligned his ready crowbar to her locked portal while his adamantine left hand steadied her rioting hips. Thoroughly and delightfully distracted by her raw novel emotions, she was unaware a new actor was in the wings.