Geneva – 8

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(Continued from Geneva – 7)

As unashamedly smitten as he’d been with Geneva from the moment she wandered across his blanket it had never really occurred to him that she might actually be useful in his daily life. He winced recalling the thought, not only because of where it placed him on the evolutionary scale, but because there she was, in the bed of his pickup, guiding, then securing with straps and ratchets, the Barton’s 800-pound mantle that he was lowering from his forklift.

His first hint of her utilitarian side was when they picked up her things. Expecting-and not being disappointed by-the stylish, if small wardrobe, the thongs, the lacy things, there were also work boots, gloves and jeans torn by function rather than fashion.

She jumped into the passenger seat. “You want to check the straps?”

“They good?” he asked.

“They’re good.”

“Let’s go then”, he pulled out slowly respecting the weight in the bed. It was a short drive.

“So, these folks…”

“The Barton’s…friends for a few years.”

“Knew your wife, right?”

“Yep. They didn’t too much like her. Which made it difficult at times…but it was fine.”

“They were your friends first?”

“No”, he grinned at the inquisition. “It was a good match life-style wise, but not any other wise.”

“Life style….?”

“That’s an onion best peeled slowly”, he said, ending the conversation as they pulled off the road onto a long ribbon of black paved driveway.

Duke Barton stood in the middle of the circular driveway waving them around to the back. It was a sprawling rambler that looked more modest than it was. Driving around to the back the house seemed as deep as it was wide and the patio, where they were delivering the mantel, had a bigger footprint than Gennie’s childhood home. Duke was in his forties-slim and sandy-haired but he was moving too quickly for her to get a good read.

He disappeared into what looked to be a four-car garage and came steaming out in a compact green tractor with a bucket. Does everyone out here have construction equipment she wondered? The bucket had chains stacked inside which Duke jumped out and rigged to lift, noticing her for the first time.

“Hello there!” he said over the hum of both vehicles holding out a gloved hand. Gennie shook firmly. “Geneva”, she said quickly apparently caught up in Duke’s kinetic energy field. “Pleased”, she said then pulled on her own gloves and hopped up onto the truck bed. Duke glanced at him and he smiled with a half-shrug and pointed at her palms up in a ‘she’s got it’ gesture.

Their relationship had changed over the past week as he knew it would, one way or the other. She had become less a girl hiding out at his place and more of a partner in what he was doing-curious, helpful but not intrusive. Plus they had slept together every night since. His third-floor studio was going unused and he didn’t mind a bit. Now he smiled watching Gennie hustle, rig chains, hop up onto the side of the truck-bed to steady the mantel as Duke lifted it clear. He loved that she was showing off but wasn’t sure if it was for him or for Duke. Either way, it was a good look. A very good look.

“It’s finally here…” cried a voice coming from behind her.

She followed the men’s eyes to settle, as everyone’s did, on the formidable breasts of Bethany Barton. She was doing nothing to show them off-they just were. Supremely casual in corduroys and flannel with long dark hair she wore the ‘lady of the manor’ air with aplomb.

“Just when I said it would be…” he countered.

Bethany pulled up beside Gennie, “Who is this green-eyed wonder?”

“Geneva”, she said removing her glove and holding out her hand. Bethany took it lightly, as if catching a butterfly, and slid close.

“Geneva”, she purred. “Wonderful to meet you.”

“Gennie, is fine…”

“So, Geneva”, she asked with an appraising gaze, “Are you a good girl or a naughty girl?”

“Uhh…” Geneva said tentatively.

“Please Beth”, said her husband.

“I’m only asking dear, because that one usually falls toward the naughty girls…”

“We’re still trying to decide that”, he called over.

“Hard to tell”, Bethany said smiling. “With these eyes she can go either way.”

“She’s only just had her first spanking.”

“Really honey?” she asked with arched eyebrows, “Your first?”

Gennie shot him a look- like REALLY?

“Oh, dear. I envy you that.” Bethany gushed closing her eyes in theatrical ecstasy.

“The fear, the confusion, embarrassment, humiliation. You are never as naked as you are over a strong man’s knee, are you dear?”

“Then the pain-there is that-the first shock of it, then the spreading of the warmth-providing he was using his hand and not one of the oak paddles he’s so fond of making, the brute!” She winked at him and he could do nothing but smile and shake his head.

“Then, after the pain, the heat, then the warmth, there is the release-the mind reels at the release-never have I seen the world so clearly as upside down over a lap. Then after the release, the tenderness…how sweet and soft the hands that could be so hard and punishing.”

Finally Duke stepped in.

“Easy Bethany. You don’t want to tell this girl all of your secrets right away.”

The woman smiled at Geneva and leaned close-reaching to touch her blushing cheek. “I think she already knows, don’t you dear?”

They were there just long enough to complete the transaction and ensure the mantel was secured in storage. Duke still had work to do before placing it and he was happily moving rocks before they were out of sight. Bethany had walked them to the truck and given Gennie a little peck on the cheek.

She was quiet until they got onto the two-lane.

“Which is she?”

“Pardon?”

“Is she a good girl? Or a naughty girl.”

“Very naughty.”

Gennie smiled and watched the hills pass the window. Here and there spatters of gold were appearing.

“You ready to pack?”, he asked.

“Definitely not.”

 

(To be continued…)

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Geneva – 7

(Continued from Geneva – 6)

He awoke almost exactly at dawn surprised to be alone. Not that she had snuck off particularly, but that he hadn’t awakened. That wasn’t right-everything roused him. He pulled the sheets to his face-they smelled of her. The whole bed smelled of her and he wanted nothing so much that instant than to have her back beside him. The door was open to the hallway.

Pulling on his jeans, he walked quietly down the stairs and, hearing movement in the kitchen, made the turn and headed that way. Dawn broke back there before the rest of the house and as she knelt on the floor-shapeless in the robe he had laid out-a corona from the glowing sun rising through the window enveloped her.

“Ah, they got to you…”

“This one was digging at the door.” She scratched the tiger-striped one behind the ear as his purr rumbled.

“That’s Biff. Happ’s the other.”

“They led me right here. Sniffed at the cupboard.”

“They know the routine. They invented the routine”.

“Both guys, huh?”

“Yeah, but fixed.”

“Good thing to do with guys.” She straightened and turned to face him. “Most guys anyway.”

When she turned and slid toward him he had a vision that she radiated rather than reflected the light surrounding her. The robe, happily too large, gaped open.  He slipped his hands inside and pulled her close, allowing his fingers a long luxurious exploration of her back, down to her bottom, gently between her cheeks and back up her sides. When the robe slipped off one shoulder he pulled it off the other so it fell like a stricken sail to the floor.

He buried his head for a moment in her shoulder gulping the bed-smell as she hugged him back, flattening her breasts against him. The summer tan on her legs was fading from her shoulders and back leaving her skin creamy and thin enough to reveal the veins pulsing just below the surface. She was incredibly soft to the touch.

“So I have a question”, he asked.

“Only one?”

“Why are you on the pill if you were living with a woman?”

“Wishful thinking.” Then, “I was with her on-and-off for a year”, she said, still not answering.

“There’s nothing to say you won’t be with her again,” He said and she shivered. “If you want to be.”

“I’m on the pill for the ‘off’ times. She doesn’t know it. I’m awful.”

“Were there a lot of ‘off’ times?”

“No, actually. That was the ‘wishful thinking’ part. I kept hoping but it never…I was never able to…she was-IS-so controlling. Doesn’t seem like it but….” she sighed and seemed to try to burrow her head more deeply into his chest.

“Don’t think about it. None of my business anyway.  But you’re too young to be doing things you don’t want to for someone else-you have a whole lifetime for that.” He grinned, allowing his hand to slip again down her back.  “Tend to your needs first-if you don’t, they’ll harden inside you and turn into something nasty. We all have needs-don’t apologize for them.”

“I don’t know if it was a need…”

“You needed to be controlled. Or you needed to let her control you. Which are two different things. But whatever it is, those needs are real…Understand them.”

She didn’t want to right then-was content to allow him to hold her close and feel his hardness pushing into her. “What about your needs?”, she asked pushing into him a little.

“That’s an onion we’ll peel later.” He touched his forehead to hers. “Right now a couple of more hours of sleep…”

Mirroring his movements, she cupped his ass squeezing him closer. He looked down into her dancing green eyes. Jesus, he thought, weakened. He would have sworn she winked but probably not. “Absolutely that…THEN, sleep”, he said growing stiffer. She turned, took his hand and stepping over the robe, led him through his own house to his own bed.

(Continuing…)

Geneva – 6

Picksburgh

(Continued from Geneva – 5)

She watched him navigate the confusion of the parking lot like a kayaker running rapids. Absorbed in the task at hand he hadn’t reacted when she told him that she lived with that whole shit-show that she left back on the blanket. She really, really didn’t want to go home and face them again tonight which she hadn’t, of course, told him. But the longer he sat in silence yanking at the steering wheel and alternating punching the gas and slamming the brake the more she thought she’d be back in the shitty apartment on Logan tonight, hugging her edge of the bed trying to stay as far away from Brittany as possible.

To say he’d gotten used to being alone in the last couple of months was probably a bit of a stretch but he had accommodated his new reality fairly well. There were awkward times-running into couples in restaurants or bars who would give him the sad ‘how are you managing?’ face or like today-going to the concert alone. But, on the upside, there was no one to answer to but himself. His decisions affected only him…

He realized they were out of the parking lot and probably five miles down the state road and he still hadn’t said anything. Shit!

“That’s OK”, he said. “You can stay with me tonight.”

“Really? Where did you go there, for the last hour?”

“Wasn’t an hour. Fifteen minutes tops.”

“Felt like an hour.”

“Sorry. I’ve gotten used to the whole inner-dialogue thing. Problematic when there’s someone else here.”

“Was afraid I freaked you out…”

“Not hardly. Look, I have a lot of room.”

“You live alone, then?”

“Yes. And to get it out of the way: separated-she left, divorce papers filed, no going back, and she’s not coming back. There are five bedrooms, six if you count the futon in the office so there’s not only plenty of room, there are plenty of rooms. Goldilocks your way into one of them tonight, get some rest and tomorrow decide what and when.”

They came through the tunnel and the city flashed open through the windshield. He slid to the outer lane and navigated the almost-empty parkway with ease, leaving the lights of downtown in the rearview and coming up on the exit that would lead to University Center and her apartment. She thought about asking him to swing by so she could grab some stuff, but didn’t want to push it. Nor did she want him to know what a crappy place she lived in.

His exit was a few miles beyond where trees and hills still ruled. She knew where Haler Heights was, but never really got over to that part of town. It wasn’t her kind of neighborhood. “That’s where money goes to live”, her Mom had said. She didn’t know about that, but it wasn’t but two lefts and a right from the parkway that they were on a dark two-lane road that flowed through hills with no evidence of houses at all except for the occasional light well back in the distance.

He slowed and swung into what seemed to be a random opening in a stand of trees but was actually a crushed stone driveway. They looped around a small rise and ended at a large old house with two lights glowing on a wrap-around porch. He stopped and turned the truck off, killing the lights. She leaned forward to look at what could have been a forbidding shadow looming over them.

“You didn’t tell me you lived in a haunted house.”

“Not all Victorians are haunted”, he said stepping out. “Most. Not all.”

She stepped down timidly and felt the surrounding darkness and silence like a heavy blanket. She could see a shed and a garage in the fading glow of the porch-light but really, Nothing Else. For the first time since the parking lot at the concert she had a pause. Was this a mistake?

He stopped on the porch and turned to see her, back to him, unmoving, facing the night. He kept his mouth shut; she needed to figure this out herself. He was nervous too but didn’t know if mentioning that would help her situation. After a moment, he stepped back down the stairs and approached but no closer than the front of his truck.

“You OK?”

She turned with the little half-smile that melted him the first time he saw it.

“Fucking dark out here.”

He grinned. “Only at night. Look-you want to go back now, we can. You want to go back in an hour, we can. Whatever.”

She moved first, stepping past him but allowing her hand to trail across his arm. “Come on. Let’s see if the place has lights inside.”

He entered the code in the darkened keypad beside the door and slipped a key into the lock.  “Enter”, he said stepping aside. She walked past him hesitantly until the motion detector caught her and switched on a lamp in the foyer and two others in the sitting room.

“OK”, she said. “That’s cool.”

He passed her into the sitting room to a rough sideboard where the bottles were. “I’m making myself a drink. You want?” She hesitated, eyeing the liquor then him. “Look. Don’t start trying to figure out the right answer to every question. If you want one, tell me.”

“Sure”, she said.  “Whatever you’re having.” He picked two tumblers from the counter and filled them with ice from a small fridge below the counter, then the brown liquor from the shelf in back.

“I’m a bourbon guy”, he said handing her a glass.

“Of course you are”, she smiled feeling the unease slipping away.

He held out his glass, “To Farm Aid” he said as they tapped glasses.

“To Farm Aid”, she said taking a thick enough swallow to tell him that it wasn’t her first bourbon.

“I could really go for a shower…”, she said.

 

(Continuing…)

Geneva – 5

(Continued from Geneva – 4)

She was at the top of the hill near a beer tent still intent on watching the show as she moved sideways toward the parking area. He approached her while she was in the halo of the tent’s light.

“Hey neighbor”, he said.

It took her a short moment to register who he was.

“Oh, hey…” she said distracted but he didn’t know if it was by the music or something else.

“You OK?” He asked. “You all set?”

She shook her head and looked at her phone. “I don’t know-so much goddam drama. You saw…”

“You got a ride?”

“She’s my ride…we all came together.”

“That will be a fun ride home.”

“Right-I know.” She paused and looked toward the stage. “Do you have a cigarette?”

“No sorry…I bummed one off you earlier remember?”

She shrugged, “Right, right…”

The band on stage was winding up their set-there would be one more coming on around 10:30 then all hell would break loose in the parking lot. He’d seen enough for the day-had enjoyed the music and honestly enjoyed the company of the girls he was never with. Talk about a low pressure date!

“Hey, listen. I’m going to bolt to try to get ahead of 25,000 people in pickup trucks all jamming the same road. If you need a ride…where you going anyway-north?”

“Uh, north? East maybe? Pittsburgh.”

“That’s my direction. I gotta go through there. If you want a ride, I’ll take you where you want to go.”

He caught her look. Good-she wasn’t reckless. He had closed the space between them to be heard in the general din so he leaned away just a little to give her some space. “Honey,” he said in the first true flirt of the day, “I was sitting nose-to-cheek with your dancing booty for the last eight hours. If I was going to bite, I’d have done it way before now.”

She smiled. “I wondered about you. Hoped you were enjoying yourself.”

“The show was great”, he said. “And I liked the music too.”

She looked down the hill toward the stage and back the way they had come. Was she hoping for or dreading seeing her friends looking for her? She glanced toward the parking lots to the brake-light parade of a steady stream of early-leavers.

“Text them. Tell them you ran into a friend and he’s taking you home.”

“A friend?”

“The amount of time we spent together today is like three dates worth.”

“But we never talked!”

“Sounds more and more like my dates.”

She grinned tightly and her eyes flickered. She reached out maybe to punch his bicep or pinch him-but lost her nerve. Ended up just pushing his forearm but he felt the touch in the back of his throat.

“A friend.”

“Better than saying a strange older man picked you up…”

“True.”

She sent a group text to everyone that was on the blanket, hit ‘send’ and slid the phone into her pocket where it almost immediately rang. She sighed and answered.

“No, Chel, I’m not getting into the car with her. Enough already. Guy I knew from college. No, we’re already gone. I’ll see you when I see you and tell Brittany not to call me because I’m turning my phone off.”

“Good job. Now I’ll get you home and you won’t have to deal with them until you want to.”

“Well, here’s the thing…”

 

(Continuing…)

Geneva – 4

(Continued from Geneva – 3)

It was strange walking down the hillside of the concert amphitheater alone. He hadn’t done things like this by himself for a long time and had to resist the urge to keep looking to his left to see if she was following. Suddenly, the idea of sitting here by himself for the next eight hours-no matter who was on stage-felt a little oppressive.

About a third of the way down the bowl he saw an empty spot in front of two folks about his own age sitting in beach chairs.

“Would I be cramping your style if I spread out here?”

“Knock yourself out. As you can see, we have no style to speak of. How many are you?”

As he lay the quilt out, “I’m a group of one today.”

“Ah, a true fan…” said the fellow, turning back to his partner.

He sat and gently turned his back to them. He didn’t want to appear rude since it was going to be a long day but he didn’t want to be the solo guy who automatically feels a right to nose into every conversation around him.

He barely had time to notice the empty blanket in front of him before a woman (he would have called her a girl since she was around his daughter’s age) clomped across it and sat hard, paying him no mind at all. She was a not-quite-pretty but definitely interesting strawberry blonde with frizzed out hair tied on top in a bun that looked like a wind-ruined bird’s nest. She was wearing a tie-dyed T-shirt and cut-off jeans. Very high cut offs.

Then two other girls, dressed pretty much the same came and flopped onto the blanket. One small and round wearing a trucker hat and the other could have been a boy-tiny, slim with dark hair peeking out from below her hat. She was distinguished more than anything by her sour face that squinted even away from the sun. “Where is she?” he heard one of them say. “She was in the beer line”, said strawberry blonde.

They kept glancing eagerly behind him until their faces-even the crabby little one-lit up. He thought she would come from the right where a clear grass aisle had formed itself so he cocked his head that way anticipating with the rest of them. He felt someone step on his quilt to his left. He turned to see a tanned thigh at his shoulder and felt a light touch on the top of his head as she almost stumbled.

“Excuse me”, she said.

He allowed his eyes to slip up her thigh to the brightest pair of green eyes he’d ever seen outside of cartoons. It was a concert, so of course there was music in the background but he’d swear later that he heard harps. The smell of lilacs in the spring had to be his imagination, but he smelled them nonetheless.

“That’s fine”, he said as-steadied-she removed her hand from his head, slipped past and plopped on the blanket not three feet in front of him. Okay, he thought as he watched the green-eyed vision sway to the music, the seat could be worse.

 

(Continuing…)

Geneva – 3

Continued from Geneva – 2

She rose on her hip to spoon her naked backside into him. Reacting to the touch, his awakening cock found the thick softness between her legs and his hands, the firm weight of her breasts.

“I’m on the pill”, she said, a disembodied voice in the dark.

His laugh was no more than a quick, verbal smile but she heard it-his head cupped in the hollow between her ear and shoulders.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing”, was all he said not telling her that it had been so long since he’d made love to anyone but his wife that such concerns were new again.

She parted her legs slightly, pushing further backward grazing him lightly with her swollen opening. His hand left her taut nipple and slid slowly down across the ridges of her ribs then cupping her belly and further, to her mound where every exploration, every touch, rub and finally dip, drew a new sound.

His hand played down the front of her thigh, stroking lightly then lifting, pulling the supple roundness of her bottom into him. She reached between her legs and guided his now throbbing cock into her wet folds moaning loudly as he slipped into her. She bent her leg higher, he scuttled closer, until there was no space and they were as one. The slip became a thrust and then a song of slaps and moans as they caught the rhythm of their needs.

She pulled her top leg toward her chest opening wider as their motion became more frenzied. “I can’t…I’m going to come…” she breathed. “Relax”, he whispered. “Go with it…” He slipped his left hand down the inside of her leg busying his fingers massaging and stroking around his plunging cock. He lifted and thrust as the timbre of her moans changed then held her tightly as she shuddered in something that sounded like a whimper, then stiffened.

(Continuing….)

Geneva – 2

(Continued from Geneva – 1)

Farm Aid had been his wife’s idea. The all-day show took place out in Bumfuck at a venue he hated. It was a nightmare to get in and out of, impossible parking in rolling fields, idiot Hoofties running the show-no thanks! His only experience with the place had been 20 years ago taking his daughter and a bunch of her friends to an NSYNC or some such show. Never again, he swore that night sitting in two hours of traffic and he’d been good to his word.

He’d seen all the bands on the bill before, why subject themselves to it? But she was adamant. Bought the tickets months ago; bought merch ahead of time so she’d have the right T-shirt and hat. And even at her age, she could rock a T-Shirt and hat.

She had the date circled on the calendar and the tickets stuck to the refrigerator with a personal injury attorney’s magnet. But she had to have known when the show finally got here, she would be gone. She had to have. Or at least suspected. A clean break and disappearance to the other side of the country took some planning, right? And she was a planner.

Was the trip to Farm Aid part of her cover-proving to anyone who cared that she had made a quick, impetuous decision and not one born of months of careful consideration? Or was this something to do this weekend if her plans didn’t pan out or were delayed?

“Well, screw it”, he said aloud when the morning of the concert rolled around. He snatched the tickets off the fridge, grabbed a quilt from the bed in the spare room and headed for Bumfuck.

(Continuing…)