The Making of a Gigolo Boxed Set, Volume Three

The Making of a Gigolo - Volume Three

Foreword

This is the third set of four stories in The Making of a Gigolo series boxed set. These stories continue the experiences and exploits of Bobby Dalton during his transformation from a normal teenage boy, into a man sought after by many women. The stories must be read in order from one through sixteen to make any sense, so if you have not read volumes one of this boxed set (stories 1-4) and volume two (stories 5-8) then read those volumes first, before reading this one. This volume contains books nine through twelve of the sixteen story series.

Thanks for reading.

Bob

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Table of Contents

Book Nine - Amanda Griggs

Book Ten – Elizabeth Sinderson

Book Eleven – Renee Zimmerman

Book Twelve – Janet Griggs

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The Making of a Gigolo, Book Nine - Amanda Griggs

Chapter One

1972 - Fall

Florence Dalton felt both silly and excited. The excitement was easy to understand. She had her hand tucked into Ted Brandywine's arm, as they approached the school gym. She was on what she thought of as her first real date. That she was nineteen, and had been on many 'dates' before didn't meet her definition. She'd been out with boys before, but that had been years ago and only to see what the boy was like. This was the first time she'd been out with one she already liked ... one who made her feel tingles in her erogenous zones.

She knew what Ted was like. She'd known him for more than a year, while he'd been her mother's lover. Somehow, surprising both of them, an attraction had developed between them. Neither had sought that. Ted loved her mother, and loved being in bed with her. Florence was getting all the sexual attention she needed from Bobby, her almost twenty-four year old brother. Neither had wanted to hurt Mirriam, Flo's mother.

But this attraction, strange and scary to both of them, had affected their day-to-day lives, and it eventually came out. Both were surprised when Mirriam, instead of being jealous or angry, encouraged them to find out if it was a deep attraction, or just a crush. That was only partially an altruistic surge of love and concern for Florence, who she was worried about, because Flo didn't date. Mirriam was unaware that, while Ted was thrusting his strangely bent penis into Mirriam, and making her happy enough not to look for another man, Bobby was thrusting his long, thick prick into Flo and making her happy enough not to look for one either. The greater reason for Mirriam's generosity was because she was afraid that, if Ted kept lavishing his physical love on her, she'd get pregnant again. She had just given birth a few months before, and it had been an agonizing pregnancy.

So, while Mirriam loved the attention she got from Ted, it was dangerous attention, even though she was on the pill now. She didn't exactly come to the conclusion that if Flo got pregnant, it would be much more suitable, but if someone would have suggested that to her, she would have nodded in agreement.

When the dust from the disclosure of their interest in each other settled, Ted asked Florence on a date. In his mid-thirties, Ted had no idea how to plan a date for a nineteen-year-old woman. He understood Mirriam, and knew what she might appreciate, but taking her daughter out was different. So, taking the easy route, he invited her to the Halloween party at the school, where he taught third grade. Everybody liked a party ... right?

That, in fact, was why Florence felt silly. She was in costume, and she felt about the age she was supposed to look. Ted was in costume too. Her mother had made both costumes on the sewing machine at the farm that had made so many of Florence's clothes before. They looked professionally made, because of Mirriam's expertise, except for the hair, which was a mop head, dyed flaming red, and draped over Florence's natural hair, which was light, and pulled back into a pony tail under the 'wig.'

Her dress was red gingham, and the fabric was thin enough that, through the white checks, her darker skin could be seen in a gauzy kind of way. There was lace around the hem of the bottom, which was good, because she would have been afraid to bend over in the dress otherwise. The lace fell to the middle of her thighs. A white apron concealed what would have been a generous view of the insides of her breasts, because the pattern Mirriam had found in her piles of patterns made the neck scoop so low that Florence didn't have the right kind of bra to wear with such a thing. When she had complained to her mother about that, Mirriam's response had been pragmatic.

"We don't have time to go shopping for that. Just go without a bra. The apron will cover everything."

Now, as she and Ted walked toward the doors to the gym, she felt her breasts jiggling and bouncing in her loose cotton dress, and the cool October air teasing her thighs, all the way up to the new, pink, and extremely feminine panties her mother had put with the outfit. Where in the world Mamma had found red and white striped knee socks, Flo had no idea. All she knew, after looking in the mirror before Ted picked her up, was that Raggedy Ann had never looked quite this old ... and young at the same time.

Ted was dressed as Raggedy Andy, of course, with his sailor hat, red gingham shirt, made of the same cloth her dress was, and dark blue, almost ludicrously loose pants, that went to just below his knees. Mirriam had found the same red and white striped socks for him. Finishing out his costume was a wide white collar on his shirt, and a huge, floppy black bow tie.

"I feel so silly," she breathed, feeling her loose breast press into Ted's arm.

"You don't look silly," he said softly. "You look good. In fact, you look so good that I'm in big trouble, here."

"Thank you," she said, giggling. "Why are you in trouble?"

"Your mother said I could take you out, not lust after you," he said.

She squeezed his arm, pressing her warm breast harder against him.

"Then don't lust after me," she said.

He looked over at her. She had round, red spots of lipstick on her cheeks, like he did, and Mirriam had done something with other cosmetics to make Flo's eyes and lips look large and cartoonish.

"Like that's ever going to happen," he sighed.

"This is so strange," she said. "Being here, with you, I mean. Mamma has been so sweet about all this. I still feel guilty."

"We're just on a date," he said, uncomfortably.

"Yes," she said, looking up at him. "But you're lusting after me ... and I don't mind that."

"Oh wow," he moaned. "You can't say things like that to me, Flo."

"Why not?" she giggled. "You said you were lusting after me."

"Yes, but you're not wearing thin pants," he sighed. "If you keep saying things like that, they won't let me in the gym!"

She giggled again and leaned forward, shamelessly, to look at the front of his pants.

"It's not so bad," she said. "If it doesn't get any worse," she added.

************

For being at a party that involved kids who were so young, Flo was having a great time. There were lots of adults there too, of course ... teachers, and some volunteer parents, who were running the games. She joined in the juvenile fun, dropping a string, tied to the end of a branch, over a sheet, and then pulling it up to find what her safety pin had "caught". In this case, it was a pair of big red lips, made of wax, that could be gripped between the teeth, or just chewed, until the flavor was gone, and all that was left was a pale pink wad of soft wax. She put them in an apron pocket for later.

She got into a competition with Ted at the dart game, where six darts were given the player. The more balloons you popped with your darts, the better the prize. She just wanted to pop more balloons than he did, though. They played three times, Ted paying a quarter for each of them all three times. When Ted had one more dart left, they were tied, over all, with fourteen balloons each. She tried to distract him by clutching his arm, and rubbing her breast against it, and by talking to him, with her mouth close to his ear.

"Leave me alone, woman!" he said, in a playful snarl. "This is important business here!"

"It's just balloons," she cooed, digging her forefinger into his side. "I should win. I'm the poor defenseless girl."

"Ohhh no you don't," he said, pushing her away from him. "Women's lib is here to stay. This competition is important for me to win!"

"Why?" she asked, her voice coy.

"Because to the victor go the spoils ... that's why," he said, grinning. He casually tossed his dart, and suddenly, the score was fifteen to fourteen.

"Play again!" she pouted.

"No way," he said. "I'm quitting while I'm ahead."

The amused parent in the booth handed Ted a Teddy Bear, made up to look like Frankenstein.

"That's your spoils?" laughed Flo.

"Nope," he said airily. "That's just my prize. I'll claim my spoils later."

"Ooooo," she said, feigning little girl fear. "I'm so scared!"

"You should be," he announced gravely.

She laughed and ran a few steps to the next booth, which was a ring-toss game. Looking over her shoulder she bent forward just a little, and wiggled her butt at Ted.

"Please," said the woman running the ring-toss. "My little girl is right over there!"

"Sorry," said Flo, standing back up. She blushed.

"Get a room or something," said the plump, plain woman in the booth, her voice disgusted. Part of her disgust was because she'd never looked like this Raggedy Ann girl, and knew she never would.

************

Florence behaved herself, feeling properly chastened. At least until they got to the dance floor. Whoever was selecting the records to play either had a sense of humor, or remembered what it was like to be in Middle School, with hormones beginning to flow through barely teenaged bodies. That was obvious because every fourth song was a slow song, where the kids could experiment with that delicious new pressing of male to female bodies.

The younger kids danced mechanically, going in square patterns, as they'd been taught, carefully thinking about where the next step was supposed to go, so that no toes got stepped on. The twelve and thirteen-year-olds, though, were less conscious of their feet, and more conscious of the fronts of their bodies, as they pushed, rubbed and explored.

Florence may as well have been thirteen or fourteen, as she danced with Ted. It was all new to her, and deliciously exciting. Her soft, round breasts, beneath the thin cotton, and not much thicker apron, squashed against Ted, and his hand stroked her lower back in a one inch circle. Their other hands were properly out, away from their bodies, and she kept her head off his chest, her eyes looking into his.

He steered her toward the corner of the dance area, where it wasn't so well lit and, during a turn, she felt him press his loins against her.

"We have to keep dancing," he whispered. "Even when the song is over."

"Why?" she asked.

"Because I can't let anybody see the front of my pants," he whispered.

She pushed against him gently, and felt the "problem".

"We can't keep dancing," she said, grinning. "We'd look silly."

She giggled as the music stopped, and Ted turned, apparently examining the wall. She stood, her back to him, as if she was watching the kids gyrate as a rock and roll song came on.

Two songs later he turned around.

"Okay," he said. "I'm good for a while, I hope."

She resisted looking, but smiled. "You make me feel good," she said.

"You make me feel horny," he replied.

"Ted!" she chided. "This is only our first date!"

"I am in so much trouble, here," he moaned.

The thrill she felt, at his so obvious excitement, made her feel pretty and feminine, even in her silly outfit. She had an errant thought that she'd need Bobby badly, tonight, when she got back home. She might even need him twice.

************

The rest of the party seemed to fly by, and soon Flo was sitting next to Ted, holding his arm, as he drove toward the farm. She couldn't believe what a good time she'd had. She couldn't wait for a good night kiss from Ted either. She hoped Bobby was home, and not off somewhere, like he had a tendency to do lately. The last two Friday nights, his bed had been empty when she'd gone to see him. He wasn't at breakfast on the following Saturdays either, but had shown up later, as if nothing was odd.

He pulled into the drive to the house and, when he got to the yard, turned his lights off, before circling to park the car. It was late, and, while the yard light was on, there were no lights on in the house.

"I had such fun tonight," she sighed, laying her head on his shoulder. "It's too soon for it to be over," she pouted.

"We could do some stargazing," he suggested.

"Ohhh I'd like that," she said. "It's chilly, though."

"I have like three or four blankets in the trunk," he said.

He got out, opened the trunk, and came out with an armful of blankets.

She looked up, her arms holding herself because of the chill.

"We need to get away from the yard light," she said. "Come on."

She took him behind the barn, where the inky blackness was almost complete. Slowly, their eyes adjusted, though, and soon they could select a place to put the blanket. Flo kicked at an old bale of hay, left there because one of the wires holding it together had snapped, and it couldn't be picked up without it falling apart. Taking the remaining wire in her hands, she lifted, and the bale bent in the middle and burst. She kicked the now loose hay around, making a mattress, and Ted put a blanket down on top of that. She went to one edge of the blanket and got down to scoop and pile hay there, making what amounted to pillows at the edge of the blanket. When she stood up, she had pieces of hay all over her.

"Don't want to get that on the blanket," said Ted, stepping forward to brush the hay off her front.

His hands brushed here, and there, sliding over her breasts entirely more than was needed.

"It's sticking to the apron," he said. "Let's just take that off."

She turned her back to him and felt flutters in her belly as he untied the apron in the back, let it fall down her arms, and then tossed it to one corner of the blanket. She looked down. What had seemed like pitch black, earlier, was now something else entirely. As their eyes adjusted to the dark, the starlight was almost astonishingly bright. She could clearly see that all of the insides of her breasts were now exposed. He went past her to lie down, and patted the blanket next to him. She went down on hands and knees, and saw him look at her cleavage. She felt the butterflies dance more actively in her belly, and took longer than needed to pat the blanket into place, before lying down on his arm, which he had stretched out.

Then he couldn't get the other blankets over them, because he had only one arm free, and they had to sit up, to arrange the blankets over their feet and legs, before lying down again, his arm under her neck, and her head on his shoulder. She pulled her wig off and tossed it to one side. Her pony tail was in the way too, so she reached and pulled the rubber band from it, shaking her hair loose, before settling her head on his shoulder again.

They lay there silently for a minute or more, staring up at the bright pinpoints of impossibly old light that was making its way to their eyes after traveling billions of miles.

"This is nice," she sighed, wiggling closer to him.

"This is wonderful," he sighed back.

"How did this happen?" she asked.

"Us? This?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "I've always liked you ... but not like this."

"The first time I saw you, I saw a younger version of Mirriam," he said softly. "Then, as I spent more time around you, I learned that, while you're similar in many ways, you're very different too."

"I love my mother," she said. "I don't mind being like her at all."

"I love her too," said Ted. "That's what makes this all seem so strange."

"I know," said Flo.

"It's not the same, between us, though," he sighed. "Your mother and me, I mean."

"Why?" she asked.

"She's worried about getting pregnant again," he said.

"Oh," said Flo.

"We still love each other," he said, somehow feeling able to talk about this, even though the woman in his arms was his lover's daughter. "But it makes it tense. At least if it's during her fertile time."

"I thought she went on the pill," said Florence. Saying that made her try to remember if she'd taken her own pill that morning. She couldn't remember, as usual. She'd have to check when she went in the house.

"She did, but it's not a hundred percent effective," he said. "She still worries."

"Then just make love to her when she's not in her fertile time," suggested Flo, who, somehow, felt comfortable talking about this while she was in the arms of her mother's lover.

"I guess I could do that," he said. "I think we got spoiled while she was pregnant. We could do whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted, then."

He was quiet for a while.

"But what about you and me?" he asked.

Florence wasn't quite at the point of thinking of them as "us". She was having the time of her life on this date, but there was no "Ted and Flo" ... not at present. She took the time to think about that. There was clearly a "Bobby and me" in Flo's mind. That relationship was well defined. She got horny, and Bobby solved that problem. She loved him all the time, whether they were in bed, having sex, or doing chores together. Bobby was just ... there. Now she tried to think of what it might be like if Ted was just ... there. How would that make her feel about Bobby? The answer was clear, to her. Bobby would always be there, and she would always love him. She couldn't imagine her life without him in it, sexually or otherwise.

Was that how Ted felt? Was that how Mamma felt? Could Mamma imagine her life without Ted being in her bed, from time to time? Thinking of her mother lying, forever alone in bed, was sad.

Flo thought about how she shared Bobby with her sisters, and all those other women. That didn't bother her. He always had plenty for her. He always made her feel so special.

Could Ted do that too? Obviously he did. His other lover was Aunt Prudence. He didn't have as many women as Bobby did, but the two he had never complained.

She rolled, slightly, and her breast pressed into his chest.

"There isn't really any 'us' right now," she said. "But if there were ... I don't think I'd want Mamma to be alone all the time."

Ted's prick blossomed to life in his loose, blue, Raggedy Andy pants. Within fifteen seconds, as he thought of being able to make love to mother and daughter, his penis, with its strange banana shape, leapt into full erection.

"Do you think there ever could be an 'us'," he asked.

"If how I feel right now is any indication," she sighed, "I'm going to be very unhappy if there isn't ever an 'us'."

His heart thundered in his chest.

"Really?" he asked. "'Cause I feel the same way."

"Do you want to kiss me?" she asked.

"Desperately," he moaned.

Suddenly they were on their sides, kissing passionately. Bobby had trained Flo well, and she was used to letting her passion go, now. Gone was the fearful, timid girl who had given her virginity to her brother. Flo knew what she wanted, and knew how to communicate that to a man. Their second kiss was a long French kiss, that promised many, many more, as she wiggled an arm under him, and used her other hand to slide up and down his back.

He crushed her to him too, and his hand went from her back to her butt, where their movements had caused her dress to slide up. His hand hit her panties, and then went onto warm flesh, and she moaned into his mouth.

Her free hand slid to his hip, and then made him move back, so she could grope for his prick. She found it, and squeezed it, through the thin cotton of his pants.

Three kisses later, she pushed back, and pulled her arm out from under him, panting. She stood, reached behind her and unzipped the dress. With a shrug of her shoulders, it dropped straight down, to slide off her breasts, hang up briefly on her hips, and then fall softly to the blanket.

She stood in the cool air, her nipples already stiff and rubbery, erect from both passion and the cool air. They itched so much that she had to lift her hands and squeeze them, as he looked up, his mouth hanging open.

"You're so beautiful," he sighed.

She got down on her hands and knees again, her heavy breasts hanging, and attacked his pants. There was a ripping sound and he lifted his hips to let her slide them down. She pulled his underwear down with them, and his bent boner sprang free.

She stopped, her eyes wide. She'd never seen anything like it, of course. Bobby's was the only one she'd ever seen. This one was thinner, and without the wrinkles and bumps that Bobby's foreskin created. But the most obvious difference was the bend, a full ninety degrees, from where it sprouted from just on top of full, round balls, to the tip, which seemed to be kissing his abdomen, where his pubic hair started.

She stared at it, while he pulled at his shirt and bow tie.

Finally he was naked. She was still staring but her hand reached for the strange looking thing. He sighed as she gripped it, experimentally, trying to figure out how to stroke it, like she stroked Bobby's. It didn't work very well. She noticed how smooth it felt, by comparison to Bobby's veined and bumpy one. She smoothed her hand over Ted's balls, which had less hair on them, but looked just as big and full as Bobby's ever did.

He sat up, making her back up, and then stood up, pulling her with him. As soon as she was standing, he dropped to his knees, and his fingers went to her panties. The chill of the night air penetrated her consciousness as she felt him slide her panties down. She stepped out of them and jumped as she felt his face press against her pubic hair. His tongue was warm as it probed, sliding over her slippery pussy lips.

"It's cold," she whined, thinking about how he could do that later. She didn't know when, or where, but she knew she'd ask him to do that later.

They scrambled back into a prone position, pulling the blankets over them, and she wiggled into his arms, loving his heat first. Several kisses later, she felt hot, as his hands explored her naked body, and a finger felt to see if she was a virgin.

"Have you ever ...?" he gasped into her mouth.

"Yes," she panted back. "But only with one other man."

Both of them were too impatient for more foreplay. Later, they'd learn to spend an hour, building up to this point, but right now, he needed to feel her warm, clasping pussy around his prick, and she needed to be filled.

He crawled on top as she spread herself open for him, without a shred of shame or doubt. He reached to position himself, and then, with a groan, slid all the way into her in one, slow lunge.

It was different for both of them. To Ted, she felt excruciatingly tight, as if her pussy was trying to defend itself, and keep him out. To Flo, who was actually used to a penis that was larger in diameter, the feeling was of something smooth, warm and hard being used to touch her in ways she'd never been touched before.

Flo had a g-spot too, just like her mother. And when the up-thrusting tip of Ted's prick slid over it, she felt something she'd never felt with Bobby. Bobby went deep inside her, and punished the end of her sexual canal. Ted's prick seemed to slither inside her, more gently, in a way, but touching her pussy walls in ways that Bobby never could.

Her first orgasm was one of the hardest she'd ever had, and she squealed her joy at it, her voice loud in the quiet darkness. He kept going, and she squealed again, as her pussy rippled and her cervix dipped and opened, in anticipation of what was to come.

With Bobby, when the tip of his prick slid past her cervix, to stretch the tissue beyond it, the top of his knob caressed her cervical lips. But with Ted, when the tip of his prick got to her cervix, which was as far as it would ever go, the bend forced his slim, arrow shaped glans between those lips.

It was while the tip of his prick was peeking into Flo's womb, straining to get further, that he stopped.

"This," he gasped, "is the spoils of combat!"

He sighed, and let that penis belch her womb full, to overflowing, with his thick, rich sperm.

Ted produced prodigious amounts of semen, as either Mirriam or Prudence would have been able to testify to. Once Flo's womb was awash in the warm fluid, the pressure forced his following spurts back out, around the head of his prick, and down the ill-fitting joining of his prick with her pussy walls. A surge of spunk burst from her pussy lips, where their attempt to clasp the base of his penis was imperfect, and she felt heat on her clitty. With an agonized groan of satisfaction, Florence had another climax that made her go rigid in every muscle in her body. Her muscles stayed rigid for fifteen full seconds, before they all went limp at the same time. Her lungs pulled air into them, and then made it burst back out, to be able to refill them over and over, as her starved blood demanded more oxygen.

They cuddled and kissed for ten minutes. Ted was used to having to satisfy two women, sometimes at the same time. His recuperative powers were strong.

They spent three hours under the blankets. Neither said more than ten or fifteen words. Their bodies did all the communicating for them, as he came into her three more times.

************

They were haphazardly, mostly dressed, when they walked from behind the barn. Flo could feel the semen running down her legs, clear to the knees already. She couldn't believe how much he had squirted in her. She found it easy to believe how much she had loved it, each time he had added to what was already there.

Their good night kiss, by the car, was long enough that she finally pushed him away.

"Not again," she moaned. "It's running down my legs already!"

"I want to see you again," he panted, that being the only thing he could think of to say.

"I'm free tomorrow," she panted back. "and every day after that," she added.

"Deal," he sighed.

She made him get in the car, and stood, watching him drive away. She knew her panties were in his pocket ... had seen him steal them, while they were getting dressed. She went into the house as quietly as she could. She was in no shape to be seen by anyone, right now. She went by Bobby's door without a thought, and gave a sigh of relief when she got into her room without meeting anyone. Turning on only her reading lamp, she got undressed again. The shirt she had taken off to get into costume was lying on the bed, and she cleaned between her thighs with that, amazed at the amount of white goo that was coating her legs, and still dripping from the mouth of her sex.

She sealed her pussy lips closed with three fingers, and jumped into bed, where maybe it wouldn't leak quite so much. She yawned, feeling warm and happy. She was satisfied. She didn't compare it to what she felt like when Bobby satisfied her ... she just enjoyed the feeling of being full of Ted's warm spend, and the afterglow of all those orgasms.

She was asleep within minutes. She never looked at her pill container. She forgot that completely. She slept peacefully, a smile on her face, that might not have been there had she looked at that pill container. Instead of having empty pill pockets, all in a row, it looked more like someone had picked and chosen which pills to swallow, on a given day, taking one from here, today, and one from over there, the next.

That's not what had happened, of course. Of the thirty-one pills in the packet, she had taken seventeen over the course of a month. The last three pills sat mindlessly in their pockets, looking like little sugar pills, which was about as effective as the seventeen she had swallowed had been, taken on random days.

Those seventeen pills had confused her ovaries, a bit. Those ovaries got mixed chemical signals, and, when it was time to drop an egg into a fallopian tube, they weren't quite sure what to do.

They erred on the side of nature ... which said, "Egg awaaaaay!"

As she lay there, sleeping peacefully, that egg was being bombarded by tens of thousands of happy, eager sperm cells, all fighting to see who got to claim the spoils of combat.

By the time Flo woke, feeling refreshed and wonderful the next morning, and did think to check her pill packet, one of Ted Brandywine's most fond fantasies had come true.

He was going to be a father.

Chapter Two

While Florence was being impregnated by Ted, the brother she would no longer need that night was away from home again.

His original agreement with Chester Chumley was to provide "relaxation" to Chester's wife, Felicity, one night, every other week. Friday had been chosen by Felicity, as the night when, every other week, Bobby would sleep with her all night. The obverse Friday night was supposed to belong to Annie, who was Felicity's maid. He had gotten both of them pregnant, a little more than a month ago.

Neither woman, however, was satisfied with one opportunity to lie heaving and groaning with passion, beneath Bobby only every other week. In truth, they loved the time they just spent lying there with him after making love, just as much. Chester was firm, though. He felt like it was his fault that both women had become infatuated with Bobby, but he wasn't going to just let the man take over his whole family. He insisted that his wife sleep with him every other Friday night.

So, the women came up with a solution of their own. It was simple, really. On the night that belonged to Annie, Felicity crawled in bed with him long enough to have three or four orgasms, and get filled up with the sperm that had already impregnated her. Then she got up to go take a shower and sleep with her husband. That left Annie the rest of the night with Bobby. Of course, the next Friday night, it was reversed. Annie let Bobby ring her bell, and then left, so that Felicity could have the rest of the night with him.

Since they tended to want to start around seven or eight in the evening, both women had the time with him they craved, and both women got some attention every week.

Neither woman was far enough along with Bobby's baby to show any signs of being pregnant just yet, which meant that both women could be taken in any position, with no discomfort. Both women had learned, too, that sometimes, when Bobby was very rough with them, it was deliciously fun. Whoever got him all night was fortunate enough, in her own mind, that she got to see all the different faces of Bobby's lovemaking. Rough ... gentle ... sweet ... quick ... maddeningly teasing ... using only his mouth, or fingers ... the variety was as prolific as the orgasms they had with him.

After six Friday nights with him, both women were thoroughly addicted.

************

Another member of the Dalton family was out, with a member of the opposite sex on Halloween night too. That was Linda, who was Bobby's seventeen-year old sister. She was out with her boyfriend, Paul. They had been going together now since the last fourth of July carnival, when she more or less fell in love with him at first sight.

Paul, a verified science and math geek, had been totally unprepared for a girl like Linda to get interested in him. She was one of "those girls" to him, a girl who was not available to someone like him, or his friends. He had geek friends who were girls, but they were different.

That there had been another date, after he took her on every ride in the carnival, had been the pinnacle of his life, to that point.

She had been dragging him to higher and higher peaks ever since. He had spent four months in an almost constant state of amazed gratitude that she was still interested in him. He knew it couldn't last, but he was enjoying the hell out of it while it did.

Late in July, she had kissed him ... over and over. He had almost spurted in his pants and was horrified by his boners, which she ignored, even though each time he got one it stuck out like a sore thumb. He knew she was aware of them, but she never said or did anything about it. He was still embarrassed by them, but not nearly as much, anymore.

In August, she took him skinny dipping, at night, in the pond on her farm. She had kissed him then too ... naked ... in the water. Nothing else had happened. Nothing else needed to happen. He had found perfection. He was the perfect gentleman, both because that was just part of his value system, and because he didn't want to do anything that was "too far" or "too fast" or might risk the unbelievable joy he'd stumbled into.

In September, she got tired of him being a gentleman. She had taken his hands, and just put them on her breasts, without saying a word. Then, while he felt, and squeezed, almost insane with the ecstasy of touching a girl's breasts, while she was kissing him like she meant it ... she had touched the front of his pants ... which was sticking out like a sore thumb.

He had almost cried when he spurted, just from her touch. She knew what had happened, but she kept kissing him anyway, telling him what a compliment it was.

She wasn't a slut. He knew that. He'd have fought anyone who called her that, even though anyone in the school could probably pound him to a pulp. Sluts would have sex with anybody. And she didn't have sex with him ... not really. It was more like she was pulling him closer and closer towards that terrifying activity. At the same time he could tell that, while she wanted to go closer and closer, she didn't want to go any faster than she was making things go. He was relieved, in one sense, because, if she was willing to take charge of things like that ... he didn't have to. That was good, because he was clueless about what to do next. And even if he'd have known that, he thought ... he wouldn't know when to take the next sexual step.

Not that those things were all they ever did. Not at all. In fact, those tantalizing, excruciatingly pleasant moments of passion were rare. They spent three evenings a week together now, doing homework together, putting picture puzzles together or some other activity. She helped him, for example, with various science experiments he wanted to do. He came to realize she was much more intelligent than the goofy, somewhat ditzy front she put up for most people.

Paul wasn't stupid either. It was obvious that, while she was not a slut, she had done all these things she did with him ... before. She was too accomplished at it. But he didn't know who she had done them with. She had been completely centered on him since the night of the carnival, that had so changed his life. She didn't go out with other boys, or even flirt with them. She was friendly, and he had personally seen two jocks ask her out. She had said, "No, I have a boyfriend ... but thanks." She hadn't asked him to be her boyfriend. She hadn't told him he was her boyfriend. It was almost like she had just decided it, quite suddenly. It wasn't like it didn't really matter what he thought about it. It was more like it was simply a fact of life.

Not that he was complaining.

His parents loved her. She was a "nice girl". They knew that. They didn't have to tell him to leave his bedroom door open, when she was there, doing homework with him. She always left it open herself. She never touched him, or kissed him when they were in his bedroom. She saved that for when they were alone.

Like tonight.

They'd gone to the "Thrill and Chill" at the movie house, where three horror films in a row had been screened. It had been a riot of thrown popcorn, screams, and laughter as a theater full of teenagers had vented their emotions, while watching one good movie and two old groaners.

But now, as they drove aimlessly around in the dark, she was cuddled up to him, with her head on his shoulder. He knew what that meant, by now. It meant she wanted to make out.

He parked behind the feed mill, in the shadows, and she crawled over the seat, into the back, almost gracefully. He followed, feeling clunky. She reached for the front of his pants on the very first kiss. All he could think about was shooting off in his pants again. He didn't want to do that.

"Wait," he moaned.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I don't want ... that ... to happen again," he said.

"Oh," she said. "I didn't mind."

"Yeah," he said. "But you're not the one who has to stay in wet, sticky pants."

"Oh!" she yipped. "I'm sorry," she said, kissing him quickly. "I never thought of that."

"I like doing this," he said, weakly.

"I love doing this," she sighed. "With you," she added.

Her original touch had gotten him hard. Her words finished the job, and he felt the tip leak.

"I don't know what to do," he moaned.

She was quiet for a minute.

"Paul?" came her soft voice.

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

It hit him like a ton of bricks. He had been living a dream for four months ... a fantasy, that had gone on and on as he watched in disbelief. He had worried every day that she would tire of whatever it was she was attracted to in him, and go away, to leave him a crushed and empty shell of his former self.

"Do you love me?" she asked. Her voice sounded scared.

He couldn't speak. Her eyes were wide and white, in the dark. She expected him to say something, but he had no breath. He nodded frantically, in panic.

"Can you say it?" she asked, with something else in her voice that he couldn't recognize.

He nodded frantically again. He realized he was gasping for breath. He held up one finger, telling her to wait. He felt like he was going to pass out.

She waited, silently, and he had never been so thankful in his life that somebody had done what he asked her to. Slowly, he got control back, breathing deeply. He tried to think analytically, since that calmed him, usually.

"Just a minute more," he panted.

Still she sat, silent ... waiting.

Finally he felt like he could move forward. He had to have some answers first, though ... he needed to understand this, or it would sweep him away, and he didn't think that was wise. If there was even a single chance that she meant what she'd said, he didn't want to run any risk whatsoever of screwing this up.

"Before I answer that," he finally said. "Can I ask you a question?"

She nodded, like he had, only not frantically.

"Why?" he asked.

"Why do I love you?" she said.

He nodded, and was proud that he could do it normally. Just her words, asking if that's what he meant sounded like music to his ears.

"I'm not sure I can put it into words," she said. "I just know I do. I knew it on the Ferris Wheel."

"Clear back then?" He was astonished.

"It's much stronger now," she said, as if that were the most reasonable thing in the world to say. "You're sweet ... you care about my feelings ... you don't treat me like I'm stupid." She took a breath. "You make me laugh, and you make me want to do the naughtiest things."

His prick leaked again.

"You think I'm pretty," she went on. "I think you're handsome."

He blinked. He was the farthest thing from handsome there was, in his opinion.

"You're smart. You help me with my homework, and I actually understand it when we're done. My grades have gone up a whole grade point since last year, and I'm not falling behind in any of my classes." She seemed to stop to think. "I love the way you kiss me, but that gets back to doing naughty things. I already said that one," she said, matter-of-factly. "I don't know ... I just can't put it into words."

Paul felt the panic squeeze his body, and a maniacal laugh built in his chest. With strength from someplace he didn't recognize, he clamped down on it all.

"You did pretty well for not being able to put it into words," he said.

"I have to know if you love me too," she said, quite seriously. "It ... matters to me."

"I'm a geek," he said.

"I know that," she said. "I don't care about that."

"Jocks ask you out on dates," he said.

"I don't want to be with them. I want to be with you."

"I'm afraid," he moaned.

"Why?" she asked.

"I'm afraid you'll leave me," he sighed. There. It was out. He was a stupid geek, who didn't have any self-confidence.

"If you love me, I'll never leave you," she said, taking his face in her hands.

"What does that mean?" he whined.

"Do you love me?" she insisted.

"Yes!" he shouted.

She didn't flinch. Instead she kissed him, still holding his face. It was a sweet, gentle kiss that he'd remember for thirty years. Of course, what she said next may have had something to do with that.

"Then it means that I want you to be my boyfriend until you get up the courage to ask me to marry you. It means I won't want to wait very long after school for the wedding. It means that, some day, I want to have your babies." She kissed him again. "And it means that, when we're old and gray, I want to be able to kiss you like this, whenever I want to."

Then she kissed him with a fury that took his breath away. He actually ended up on his back, with her on top of him as her hungry lips threatened to suck the life from him, like the vampire in the second movie they'd watched that night.

She broke it. "I know a way ... so that you won't make a mess, and have to sit in wet, sticky pants," she panted.

She didn't wait, or ask if it was all right. She just attacked his belt and his pants, pulling at them. He had to help her, even though his mind was stuttering, and he couldn't think straight. He looked down as she freed his stiff penis, the first time she'd seen it, or touched it directly. He knew, deep in his heart, that it was going to make a mess on her face, if she didn't move it, and move it damn quick! He took in a breath to tell her, and, right before his eyes, she swallowed him whole.

He jerked, and a ragged shout left his lungs, carried on the air he was going to warn her with. He actually felt his balls jump, just before his cum rocketed out, into her mouth. He felt the terror of surprising her, but it was blown away by her "Mmmmmmmmm" as she took what he offered, obviously gladly. He heard her swallow, and then swallow again, the gulping noises loud in the quiet car.

She sucked him for what seemed like five more minutes, long after he was soft, and harmless again. He lay as if dead, as if she was the vampire who had sucked his life out, through his prick, rather than his veins. He had the errant thought that she had done this before too, but he just didn't care. She had done it for him this time. And, with the conviction of youth, he was quite sure she'd never do it for any other man again in her whole life.

************

On November first, around seven in the morning, Mirriam went to Florence's room. Her angst about how the date had turned out had kept her awake. She'd actually heard Flo come in, and had wanted to burst out of her room, to ask what had happened. Doubt, and not a little fear had kept her from doing that. If it had gone badly, and Flo was disappointed, she didn't want to make the girl go through admitting it. If it had gone well, she didn't want to interrupt the flow of happiness.

She was ambivalent about those words ... "good" and "bad". They were relative. What was good for Flo, might mean that Mirriam would be alone again, except for Bobby. She would always have Bobby ... she knew that ... but it wasn't quite the same. What she had with Bobby was so deep that it claimed her very bones. She loved Bobby even more than she'd loved Joe. But that had to be secret, and it was fun to be open about things, sometimes, like with Ted.

So, what was good for Flo, would be bad for Mirriam, and vice versa.

She knew the answer as soon as she entered the room, where her daughter lay sleeping. She smelled the answer. She knew that odor well ... the odor of Ted's emissions. The Raggedy Ann costume was on the floor, and she picked it up. Another shirt was nearby, and, when she picked that up, it was still damp. She brought that shirt to her nose and inhaled deeply. It was the odor of Ted.

With a sudden urge that she didn't understand ... would never understand ... she went to the bed and pulled the sheet off of her naked, sleeping daughter. Flo was lying on her back, one arm thrown up above her head. Her pubis was a mess of sperm, some of it still wet, it was so heavy.

She was putting the sheet back over her daughter, when Flo opened her eyes.

"Good morning, darling," said her mother, forcing happiness into her voice. "I take it you had a good time."

"I know why you love him," said Flo, not sounding sleepy at all. "I won't take him away from you."

"You already have," sighed Mirriam, sitting on the bed.

"No, Mamma, I haven't," said Flo, sitting up. The sheet fell from her breasts. There were two red spots on them, where Ted had sucked too hard, for too long. "He loves you, Mamma."

"Sharing him with Prudence was one thing," said Mirriam, her voice strong. "Sharing him with you is another."

"That's not how it's going to be," said Flo, taking her mother's hand.

She brought it to her lips and kissed her mother's fingertips.

"You won't be sharing him with me."

Mirriam felt anger at the stupidity of her daughter, for passing up a chance for long term happiness, and started to tell her so.

"I'll be sharing him with you," said Flo.

************

Bobby's sexual impact on the women around him didn't necessarily mean they all had sex with him. In Constance's case, he was the first man she kissed, and the first man whose penis she saw. She had fantasies about making love to him, but, after she met Tim, those fantasies played out with him, for the most part. While it is true that Constance shared some relatively minor sexual moments with Bobby, her relatively major moments were all spent with Tim.

Such a moment came in November when, while Prudence was at Mirriam's with the twins, and Tim was at Constance's house alone with her, he asked her to marry him.

Like most of the other women her age, in that day and age, Constance believed that a girl should be a virgin when she went on her honeymoon. Of course, she had the same problem all women have had, who wanted to be virgins on their wedding night. That problem was that it is normal to want to give yourself sexually to the man you love ... and you inevitably love him long before the wedding.

Constance had wanted to feel Bobby's penis inside her for years. She had resisted that temptation. Now, on a cool, crisp November evening, after hearing the words she had at one time thought she'd never hear, her suppressed desire burst from her in a way that completely overwhelmed Tim Appleton.

Tim, for his part, was just a normal, average guy, who had lusted after females ever since he started growing hair under his arms, and around his penis. He was a good guy, and he learned to care about Constance, at the same time he got to explore that mystical world of sexuality that all men want to explore. He did, in fact, love her, as amorphous and difficult as that concept is to describe, and he had no intention of hurting her, or hurting "them" by pushing her farther, sexually, than she was willing to go. He numbered himself among the world's luckiest men, in fact, because Constance let him touch her, and brought him incredible ecstasy with her mouth on his prick.

Had one of his friends said, "You know, if you ask Connie to marry you, you might get lucky and get a piece of ass," Tim would not have thought it was funny. If that friend had leered and said, "I'd ask her to marry me if it would get my dick wet," there would have been a fight.

Every young man who pops the question has a little inevitable angst about how that question will be answered, and Tim was no different. He hoped she'd be happy. He hoped she'd say yes. To that end, it is fair to say he was not entirely surprised when she showed her emotions by crying happy tears, and kissing him. It wouldn't have been unreasonable for him to hope that she'd give him a blow job too.

What Tim was not prepared, however, for them to end up naked as jaybirds on Connie's bed, as her pussy sank down on his prick.

Things moved somewhat faster than Tim was prepared for, to give him his due. That she wanted him naked, on her bed, worked in with his hope ... or expectation ... for the blow job. That she wanted to be naked too, was icing on the cake. That she kissed him before filling her mouth with his spunk, was appreciated. Then, suddenly, she was over him, his prick in her hand, and he watched in both amazement and disbelief as the tip spread her pussy lips, which then dropped like a stone.

Instantly, his prick was surrounded by hot, sucking pussy. A half second after that, his brain registered what was happening. His balls, so far away from his brain, took another three seconds to jump with joy. That jumping expelled the contents of his scrotum, which flowed through a tube into his urethra, and took the path of less resistance, going out the tip of his penis, instead of into his bladder.

In street talk, Tim blew a serious nut before he had taken a single stroke.

Now, with accomplished, and experienced lovers, premature ejaculation is a problem. It can, in fact, lead to the breakup of an otherwise fine relationship. With first-timers, though, it isn't quite so devastating, or at least unsatisfactory. Basically, first-timers don't know what they're missing. Or missed. You get the point.

In fact, it felt fantastic to Tim, who suddenly approved eagerly of the acceleration of the relationship. Constance wasn't unhappy either, because her experience tended to center on what that milky white spunk did, inside a woman. Right then, Constance wasn't looking for an orgasm ... not really. What she was doing was sealing the deal, so to speak. In many cultures, the act of copulation legitimizes, or results in "marriage". Constance Harris, once she accepted Tim as her intended mate ... mated with him.

To her, it was that simple.

What was not so simple, was her reaction, as she lay there in her lover's arms, with a belly full of his spunk.

"We can't do this anymore until we're married," she said.

"What?!" Tim's voice was agitated. I think most men in his situation would have been a little agitated.

"I said we can't do this anymore until we're married," said Constance, proving that women don't understand the nuances of inflection in the male voice.

"But it was fantastic!" he moaned.

"Yes," she sighed. "It was."

"But you're on the pill ... right?" he said, hopeful that she would see reason.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean anything," she said.

Tim was getting his first dose of female logic. At least it was the first dose he got from a girl who really mattered to him.

"I don't understand," he moaned.

"We shouldn't have done this until we were married," she said, more or less calmly. "I love you so much, and when you asked me to marry you ... I couldn't help myself this time." she explained.

"Constance, will you marry me?" asked Tim, only half kidding.

She was less than amused.

"If you think I'm just going to lie down and let you take your pleasure with me any time you feel like it, before we get married ... you have another think coming!" she said.

"But Honeeeeeey," he moaned.

"You'll have to be satisfied with what we've done before," said Constance. There was no flexibility in her voice at all. "Now, when should we get married?"

"Tomorrow?" suggested Tim, who was still trying to think with his little head, which was still somewhat dazed by its recent experience.

"Silly," she said, smiling. "That's one of the reasons I love you. I love it when you're silly like that."

She sat up.

"Now, get dressed. We have to go tell everybody!"

Chapter Three

November and December came and went, with the Dalton family holiday gatherings, which now included Prudence, Constance and the twins. Tim too, since he and Constance had become engaged.

Bev was three months pregnant, and radiant. Bill was bursting with pride. Mary was five months pregnant with her second child, and happy that this one was conceived with Fred, her husband.

Linda had Paul over for Thanksgiving dinner, and it was obvious they were completely caught up in each other. Repetitions of her oral love for him had convinced him, beyond doubt, that she was completely honest about how she felt for him. The rise in his level of self-confidence had led him, on his own, to offer to reciprocate, which she had gleefully accepted.

Ted, at various times, sat with various women. An observer would have thought he belonged to Prudence at one dinner, to Mirriam at another, and to Flo, if they'd been there when he sat with her. Her younger sisters, long used to the odd relationships that the Dalton women had with men, took everything in stride.

Suzie was sixteen and, like Flo had at that age, seemed to have no interest in boys or men whatsoever. She was very serious about her studies because, of them all, she wanted to go to college. A scholarship was the only way that would ever happen and she pursued grades that would hopefully get her a scholarship, with single-minded attention.

Suzie did show an interest in Paul, but it didn't threaten Linda in the slightest. Suzie simply saw, in Paul, the brilliance and capable mind that made him at the top of their class. They also had hundreds of things in common, in terms of interests. Suzie was fascinated with Biology, and Paul was, more and more, thinking of going into Medicine.

Negotiations, of a sort, were conducted, as Mirriam, Prudence and Flo debated Ted's future fate. Ted was even there for one such session, but his opinion was not asked for. Somehow, all of them knew that he would formalize his relationship with Flo. What shape that would take, was all that remained in question.

When Mirriam opened her Christmas present from Bobby, she thought it was going to be jewelry, because it was a tiny box. She unfolded the paper inside, to see a set of keys. She looked around, bewildered, and Bobby calmly led her to the window. Outside, parked in the yard, with a big red ribbon wrapped all the way around it was a brand new 1973 Chevrolet Impala.

"The truck will work fine for farm stuff," he said, his hands on her hips, as she stared at the beautiful car. "But with the baby and all, I thought this might be a little more comfortable."

"You can't afford that!" she gasped.

"Yes, I can," he said. "I'm doing just fine, and you deserve this."

************

By December, Flo knew she was pregnant, but hadn't told anyone. She went, by herself, to the doctor, who sat for a moment, and stared at her when she told him why she was there.

"I'm just going to open a branch clinic in your house," he sighed. "You Dalton people are going to provide for my retirement, and I just want you to know I appreciate it."

Florence giggled, and they got down to the business of confirming what she already knew.

************

"There's something I need to talk to you about," said Flo. It was New Year's Eve, and they were having a quiet celebration at the farm, except for Bobby, who was at a party at Chumley manor. They were sitting, and watching the New York City countdown on TV.

Ted turned to her, smiling. "Shoot," he said.

She pulled him up and took him into the dining room, which was, at the moment, empty. She sat, and gestured to the chair next to her. He sat too.

"It seems that I should have been more regular about taking my birth control pills," she said. She hadn't had sex with Bobby since Halloween night. She'd avoided it completely, based on her examination of her pill case, the next morning. And, she'd taken her pills ... finally ... religiously every day since.

He blinked. He'd been through this with Mirriam, before, and his hopes had been dashed. He didn't have any reason to believe that Flo had another lover. The thirty or forty times they'd made love since out behind the barn, had suggested she was dying for him ... each time.

Florence, though, was well aware that, throughout her mother's pregnancy, Ted had hoped that the baby was his. It had been obvious to them all that it was not. It had been obvious to Flo that it was Bobby's. That was another reason she had stayed away from him. Besides, he was busy with other women, she suspected, and with Linda, which she knew.

"There is no chance that this baby is anyone else's but yours," she said, her voice quiet.

The hope in his eyes made her want to drag him off to her bedroom that very instant, but she controlled herself.

"How long?" he asked.

"My due date is July thirty-first," she said.

She smiled as she saw him do the calculations in his head, counting backwards. His eyes got big.

"Star gazing with you is apparently very dangerous," she said, smiling.

Then she got more serious. "I know how you feel about getting married again - I'm not asking for that - but I just thought you'd want to know."

He stood up and paced, his hands in his back pockets. This was no new thing he was thinking about. He had thought about almost nothing else for the last month. Spending more and more time with Flo had made him re-think his casual attitude about the relationships he had with Mirriam and Prudence. The negotiations had resulted in him still being welcome in both women's beds, though with much less frequency than he'd been there in the past. Both women accepted him only when they knew they were at their lowest chance of fertility. He hadn't minded, because Florence had taken over everything else, basically.

But the tentative, if comfortable relationship he had with Mirriam and Prudence was also missing something. Basically, he had finally realized that it lacked commitment. He hadn't thought he needed that, or that he'd want to give it, either, for that matter.

Flo made him feel differently. He turned to her.

"Look," he said softly. "I know what you're going to think, when I say this, but it's not what you think, okay?"

"Okay," said Flo.

"I know how ever since I've gotten here, I've catted around, and talked about how bad marriage was and all that. But time changes all things. I've been thinking about this a lot, Flo. It isn't because of what you just told me. It's that too, but not all that. I want to know you'll be there. I want to come home to you ... sleep with you. I want you to think about giving me a chance to show that I can be a decent husband."

The women knew him better than he knew himself. That was one of the things that had bothered both Mirriam and Pru. They had seen this evolution in his attitude, and both were, at different times, afraid he'd ask them to marry him. Their attitudes about that had not evolved. So Flo wasn't as surprised as he thought she would be. She stood up, put her arms around his neck and kissed him.

"I'd be proud to be your wife," she said.

Before he could say another word, she pushed him away.

"Don't you go anywhere!" she yipped. "I'll be right back!"

She all but ran to the kitchen. Shrieks of female joy erupted. It sounded like someone's favorite football team had just scored the winning touchdown in the last ten seconds of the Super bowl.

Then there was the stampede, as Mirriam, Prudence and Florence all ran back into the room to envelop him in soft, female flesh.

************

It was about one in the afternoon, and New Year's day, that Flo opened the door to Bobby's room, and saw that he was there, still sleeping. She'd gone to bed ... with Ted ... before Bobby had gotten home. Ted had gotten up and eaten breakfast with those who were up, but needed to go check his furnace, which had been giving him trouble lately. He'd had to re-light the pilot light twice, now, and it was bitterly cold outside.

Most of the others had gone back to bed. The twins were watching a football game on TV.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked Bobby's bare chest. She had always been amazed at how warm he was, even in winter, like this, with only a sheet over half of him. He woke up, and rubbed his eyes.

"Haven't seen much of you, lately," he said, yawning.

"I was too busy getting pregnant with Ted's baby," she said, as if she had only said "I've been busy."

He blinked, and his eyes came open wide.

"You're kidding!" he said.

"Nope," she said, still tracing her fingers over his chest. "If you'd have been here, it probably would have been yours. I forgot to take my pills three days in a row."

"When did all this happen?" he asked, looking up at her.

"Halloween night," she said.

"But that was your first date!" he said.

"Uh huh."

"Wow. How's Mamma taking it?" he asked.

"She's delirious. She was afraid he was going to ask her to marry him, instead of me."

Bobby did a double take. "He asked you to marry him?" His voice was up an octave.

"See what happens when you neglect me?" she said, smiling.

"I know," he said. "This thing with the Chumley women has really been taking a lot of my time."

"I'm going to want to hear about that some day," she said.

"Maybe," he said. "So what did you tell Ted?"

"I told him I'd marry him."

Bobby grinned. "I knew you had a brain in that head somewhere."

She slapped his chest.

"It's complicated. I'm not taking him away from Mamma and Pru. They still get him sometimes, but I'm not sure he'll let us ..." She didn't finish.

"Sweetheart," he said, taking her hand and kissing her palm. "I only gave you what you needed. If you don't need that any more, I'm happy for you!"

"But I still love you," she sighed. "I'll always love you. I'll always love what we did. I'm going to miss that. He's so different from you." Her finger traced the shape of Ted's bent penis on Bobby's stomach. She wasn't aware she had done it.

"We'll see what happens," He said. "Don't worry about that. You have everything to be happy for."

"Okay," she said. "Can I at least have another kiss?"

They should have known better. The kiss turned into a grope, which turned into her shirt falling open and, since she was braless, her nipples getting sucked. In no time at all she was heaving up at him, pushing her pussy up onto his long stiff prick, that felt so completely different in her than Ted's did.

"I wish it had been me," sighed Bobby, as he gushed into her.

She didn't say it out loud, but her thought was, "Maybe someday it will be you," as she felt him spurting.

She got up and got dressed just in time. She went downstairs, as Ted was coming in the back door, complaining that his furnace had gone out again. Flo simply went back to Bobby's room and asked him if he could fix that.

"It's New Year's Day," said Bobby.

"You owe me," said Flo.

"That's not what I meant," said Bobby. "It's probably the thermocouple, and I can't buy a new one today."

"You don't have one?" she asked, expecting him to be able to do miracles.

"I've got a used one in the tool shed," he said. "It came out of a furnace that got thrown away. I can try putting that one on."

She kissed him soundly, and then stood back up.

"Well get up then. My fiancée needs you! I don't want to go to a cold house tonight, when I go home with him."

They all trooped over to Ted's house. Fifteen minutes later Bobby re-lit the pilot light.

"Now we wait," he said. "We should know in ten or fifteen minutes."

It stayed lit, and Flo just stayed there, when Bobby left.

************

There were two more "last times" for Florence, as she did very little planning for a very simple ceremony that would take place in the farmhouse where she grew up. They had no reason to wait, as far as Flo was concerned, so they set the date for the last day of January.

As scandalous as it would have been, if people had found out about it, Flo basically just moved in with Ted, during January. She stayed there at night too, which was the scandalous part. She only spent two nights of the month at the farm.

Both nights, she slept with Bobby.

"It's like I have to have sex every single day!" she moaned, as she came to him the first time. "I'm not supposed to be doing this with you!"

He shushed her and then made her wiggle with passion. They slept and he made love with her again in the morning.

The second night, she just came in, stripped and climbed on top of him. She hadn't figured out yet, with Ted, how to delay her orgasms ... how to stay at the peak of pleasure, without tumbling over the cliff. With Ted, when the tip of his prick scraped her G-spot, she just had orgasms ... for as long as he kept going.

That was the night before the wedding, when she decided she'd do at least one thing traditional about getting married. That one thing was not letting the groom see her before the ceremony.

She was the second Dalton woman to walk down the aisle, to meet her groom, with her brother's sperm in her. She was the first, though, who was walking down the aisle pregnant with a baby that actually belonged to the groom.

************

February of 1973 was a cold month, and people stayed outside in it as little as possible. Bobby stayed busy, because the cold froze pipes that had to be thawed, and broke pipes that had to be repaired. He had three customers who couldn't shovel their own snow, mostly elderly folks. He never seemed to remember to charge them, when he was finished, and moved on to another job.

His Friday nights were the same, each spent at the Chumley manor. Felicity and Annie were now about five months along, showing nicely. Naked, their gently swelling bellies were almost mesmerizing to Bobby, and he spent hours stroking those bellies, and talking to the children inside them. Both women, of course loved it when he paid homage to their ultimate femininity, and then slowly abandoned the baby, to pay homage to their other feminine parts as well.

Both learned to ride him, often doing so for an hour at a time, talking to him about all kinds of things. Both learned how to inflame him, and make him spurt, even when he didn't want to, yet.

Chester had never seemed healthier. At eighty-one, he walked more, and spent more time on the grounds of the estate, planning a garden that he intended to plant in the spring. He, too, ran his hands over his wife's swollen abdomen, as he kissed her for hours and thanked her for giving him this gift. That it was another man's baby didn't faze him at all. He knew that the child in that belly would grow up believing he was its father. Later, when he was gone, perhaps Felicity would tell the truth about it. He wasn't worried about that. He'd get his chance, however belated, to be a father ... to act like a father.

Chester also quit worrying about the relationship between Felicity and Bobby. That she loved Bobby, he knew. But when she was with her husband, she made it very clear that she loved him more. If it took an hour to make his balls give up, she spent it, sucking him until he came. She made it plain that she needed his lips on her nipples, and his fingers in her pussy, giving her pleasure.

Now, more than halfway through her pregnancy, Chester was thinking how nice it would be to have two little ones, running around, calling him Pappa.

************

On one of the Friday nights in February, when it was Felicity's turn with Bobby, she lay with him, resting her belly against him. Annie had left, looking glassy-eyed, and Felicity had just cleaned all the spunk Annie had left behind off of Bobby's prick, by the simple expedient of sucking it clean. It was only semi-hard, and she knew they would spend some time cuddling and talking, before he would fill her to the brim and make her squeal.

"I met a woman the other day," she said, between soft kisses. "I gave her your number."

"Oh you did, did you?" asked Bobby, tweaking one of her stiff pink nipples.

"She needs you very badly," she said. "Much worse than I did."

"Oh she does, does she?" he responded.

"Yes," she said, reaching to feel if he was getting hard yet.

"Did she say so?" he asked.

"Goodness no," said Felicity. "Well, in a way, I suppose. She said something that made me think of you."

"What was that?"

"She said she needed to get laid."

"You have the most interesting conversations with people," said Bobby, laughing.

"Well," said Felicity, getting ready to slide down and suck him back to life, "I met her at the fundraiser I sponsored for the kids ... you know, my little project?"

"I know," he said, stroking her cheek. She had started a small foundation that paid for transportation and lodging expenses for the parents of children with cancer, who were getting treatment. That let parents be with their children during hospitalizations. Her "little" project had raised half a million dollars in four months.

Felicity fondled his balls, while she kept talking.

"She owns a radio station in Hutchinson, or runs it or something. She offered to do some public service announcements for us. We were just talking about the rigors of doing business, and she seemed very tense. I think she got a little frustrated or something, while we talked. It just popped out. She was embarrassed by it."

"So you embarrassed her even more by giving her my number?" he laughed.

"She seemed sweet, and wasn't wearing a ring," said Felicity, taking his prick in her hand. "I've never met a woman who was that tense. Now hush. I have work of my own to do."

She closed her mouth over him again and sucked, using her tongue to push at his foreskin and twirl it around the glans. She massaged his balls ... the balls that had produced the sperm that had made her belly swell ... and which held a special place in her heart, while she felt him stiffen. She put Amanda Griggs, the woman she had been talking about, out of her mind.

************

At that moment, in a town sixty miles away, Amanda Griggs was lying in her own bed, in her father's house, which seemed very empty to her. She hadn't been sleeping well lately, and felt exhausted. It was the same, tonight. Even exhausted, she couldn't get to sleep.

Amanda had been a happy child, growing up in a normal family. Her father, Ron Griggs, was the owner and General Manager of KDEF radio station, which went from being WFY on the AM band, to KDEF on the FM band, when she was a teenager. She had, therefore, been held in high regard by most of her friends, who thought it was just too cool to have a father who played the music they loved, on the radio.

That music had been Big Band, with all the greats, like Tommy Dorsey, and Glenn Miller, as well as a ton of lesser known artists. Amanda had, of course, taken an entry level job at the station when she got out of High School, in 1963. Eight years later, when she was twenty-six, her father had a stroke.

She knew every facet of the business by then, and it just seemed obvious to her that she should be the one to take his place at the helm of the station. The rest of the employees saw it differently. She didn't have nearly enough experience to run the station, and they all knew it.

If she had called on them, some of whom had worked at the station for fifteen years or more, things might have gone better for all of them. The problem was that, by then, Amanda was convinced, as many people with a type A personality are convinced, that she knew everything. If people would just listen to her, everything would be fine.

It was ironic that her employees felt the same way. If she would just listen to them, everything would be fine.

In the end, they had to listen to her. Her father made that clear, even though he couldn't talk, because of the stroke.

In the years since, revenues had steadily fallen, listenership was down, and the station was close to being in trouble. What her father had taken thirty years to build, she managed to let decay in two. She didn't understand it.

That was because she wasn't looking at things with objectivity. She ran the station the same way her father had run it, in every detail. He had been successful for years. Why wasn't she able to continue that success?

Rodney, her program manager, gently tried to tell her that Big Band music had had its day, but had fallen from favor. He had tried to tell Ron the same thing, almost ten years earlier. Neither had listened to him. Rock and Roll were dirty words, according to them. Noise! That's all it was. Where were the clarinets ... the trombones ... the saxophones? No, from Ron's perspective, the problem was that new cuts weren't being produced in numbers large enough to bolster the play list, with new tunes. That was the problem. His employees weren't looking hard enough for new artists, new groups, and new recordings.

Ron had, in fact, been in the middle of such a rant, when the stroke hit.

He was doing better. He could get around in his wheel chair. As he had so many times in the past, he wished his wife were still alive. She'd be a great comfort to him now. He couldn't talk, and couldn't write legibly either, which meant that he couldn't tell poor Amanda about all the thinking he'd been doing, the last two years.

Ron had plenty of time to sit by the radio, moving the dial by brushing one unruly finger against the knurled knob that changed the reception. He'd listened to the three dozen stations within range of the home radio set for hours. He'd listened to his own station too. That was when it finally sank in how sadly out of date KDEF was.

The commercials were flat, and the same ones, time after time, all day long. The music was still vibrant, but he recognized now that other stations had gone on without him. He had, before the stroke, thought of himself as a preservationist, going against the grain, to make Big Band music available to people who couldn't find it anywhere else on the dial. Now he realized that all the other stations had to be right. They were all playing the same stuff, either country or rock and roll. It still grated on his ears, but that was obviously what the paying customer wanted to hear. And, they had lots of advertisers who, he knew, were paying lots of money for their ads to be broadcast on the air.

It was only worse when Amanda came home each night and assured him she wasn't going to change a thing. She did that regularly, telling him everything was fine, and that the station was exactly the same.

That, Ron thought dismally, was the problem. He wished he could tell her that.

He also wished he could tell her that, by sinking herself heart and soul into the station, she had left something else behind. As the boss's daughter, she had been a social pariah when she first started working there. She had worked hard to overcome that, but it hadn't worked. Now, as the General Manager, she was still a social pariah. She still put in long days, didn't date, and had no boyfriend.

And that meant that, as long as he was alive and trapped in this broken body, Ron would have no grandchildren, to watch, to be entertained by, and to ease his suffering by introducing joy into his life.

Though Ron Griggs didn't know it, as his daughter lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, she was thinking along the same lines. She wasn't thinking about giving her father grandchildren, but she was thinking about how, with no man in her life, and no prospects that met her rigorous standards, she felt empty. She also felt horny.

That part, she was used to ... almost. Since being a teenager she had played with the man in the boat between her legs. She had done that routinely, almost efficiently, using two fingers held stiffly, and whipping them back and forth between her spread legs. She didn't insert anything in her pussy. That wasn't what brought the tingling relief. Her clitty, almost trained, by now, yielded up an orgasm within about four minutes, usually. It was quick, it brought relief, and then she was done. No man had ever been able to satisfy her the way she could satisfy herself. She had tried, like most young girls try, to find a man who made her tingle. She had even let two boys get her naked and push their stiff adolescent pricks into her. That had felt good, she had to admit, but on both occasions, they had satisfied themselves, and not her. Her girlfriends all told her that, with time, that would change ... that older men were better at taking care of the needs of a woman.

Then, when she started working at the station, she didn't have time for men. They were disorganized, and impetuous. They took too long, playing mind games, and sexual games. They also wanted to be satisfied, which she didn't know how to do. Men were just too much trouble.

Amanda was the kind of woman who paid attention to her conscious thoughts. Logic and reason were her bywords. That was why, as she lay in her bed, that mid-February Friday night, she couldn't understand why she felt so jittery and uncomfortable. She had whipped her clit into shape, as she thought of it, and the orgasm was over. She should be able to go to sleep, but she couldn't. It was almost like she needed to do it again. That wasn't how things were done, though, so she ignored that possibility.

Her mind wandered back to the woman she'd met at that fundraiser, where she had thought she might be able to find some new advertisers. Instead, she had given away valuable time on the air for public service announcements. Felicity Chumley had been very smooth, and urbane. She had talked with surprising insight about the challenges of doing business, and the pitfalls for women doing business. She had seemed to understand Amanda's complaints about her various difficulties. Amanda had found herself sharing information with Felicity that she would never have planned to share.

Later, as she'd examined what had happened, she thought she knew the answer. With that gently swelling abdomen, the pregnant woman had been almost mesmerizing. Nobody could resist a pregnant woman, especially when she was beautiful and rich, like Felicity was. Amanda knew something about the Chumleys, and, looking at that belly, it had been clear to her that Chester Chumley was not the man responsible for it. The Guinness people would have been flocking around him if that were the case, so they could enter him into their book of world records.

Whether it had been Chester Chumley's baby or not, Felicity had been the poster woman for happy, carefree femininity. She just radiated the persona of a well-fucked (obviously) and satisfied woman. It had been that almost overwhelming persona that had caused Amanda to blurt out: "I need to get laid!"

Amanda had been so mortified that she almost fled, but then! The woman had calmly pulled out a piece of paper and written down a name and phone number. She'd smiled and handed it to Amanda, saying that the man whose name was on that paper could take care of that little problem.

Amanda had been floored. The woman had all but admitted that she'd been unfaithful to her husband ... though, come to think of it, that pregnant belly already made that clear.

Amanda sat up and threw her legs over the edge of the bed. Her purse was out in the dining room, on a table in one corner where she kept her keys and other things she needed to take with her each day. She padded out there, staying barefoot, even though the floor was cold, so that the scrape of footwear wouldn't wake her father.

She went to the pocket where she put papers like the one Felicity Chumley had handed her. That pocket was to be gone through, occasionally, and mined for valuable information. Anything not valuable was thrown away.

She discarded three notes then and there, since she was going through them. Efficiency was important. When she looked at the last piece of paper, without finding the man's name and number, she felt something akin to panic. Where was it? It should be there! That's where she put things like that.

She ended up dumping the purse, even though it wasn't scheduled to be reorganized until next Wednesday. She finally found the little wadded piece of paper in with her cosmetics, which was not where it was supposed to be! She frowned, wondering how on Earth that had happened.

Ignoring the clutter on the table, she smoothed the wrinkles out of the paper.

"Bobby Dalton", she murmured, staring at it. Bobby Dalton was the man who, at least in part, was responsible for Felicity Chumley's relaxed and happy countenance. She recognized the number prefix as being a Granger exchange. That didn't made sense. Surely, if Felicity was running around on her husband, she wouldn't do it with a town man. She would import a man for something like that, who wouldn't be known in town. Or go to him. One of the two.

She frowned, and stared at the name. Bobby. A childish name ... one that suggested a childish man. Surely he was a man, and not a boy. Could he be just a happy bumpkin? Maybe he was one of those men who had no drive, or ambition, and who could be manipulated to do whatever a woman wanted. That would be nice. She wished there were more men around like that ... men who would just do as they were told.

She suddenly recognized the ache in her loins for what it was. She was still horny. Her private ritual hadn't worked, this time.

She left the clutter on the table, including the note, and went back to her bed. Pulling up her nightgown, she lay back and brought her two stiff fingers into play. Four minutes later she shuddered and let out a hiss of air, just like always.

She covered herself, and lay, taking inventory. She felt better.

But, with a soft moan of frustration, she also knew that it hadn't worked again.

Chapter Four

The next morning Amanda had to drag herself from bed. She hadn't slept well. She hurried to get her father taken care of. He'd had insurance that covered loss of work from a thing like this, so, financially, they were fine. The insurance also covered hiring a person to check in on him, occasionally, during the day, so she knew that his other needs would be taken care of while she concentrated on making the situation at the station improve.

She had no idea how to do that, though, and that was her major frustration. This morning, added to that, was the lingering feeling of being sexually unsatisfied, though she didn't recognize it as that.

She saw the contents of her purse still scattered on the table, and chastised herself for not taking care of that the night before. The note from Felicity got another glance, and was then put where it belonged.

Kissing her father, she went to work.

She took Sunday and Monday off, generally speaking. That was because Saturday was a day when there were fewer people around the station, and she felt like she could get more done. Depending on how Saturday went was what determined if she worked Monday or not.

She knew something was wrong when she saw Rodney's car, parked halfway between the lines of two parking spots. She didn't see him when she went in, and would have gone looking for him except that there was a piece of paper on her desk, where she had told employees again and again never to leave anything.

It was a note from Julie, her ad manager, and it said that another advertiser had cancelled. It went on to say not to worry about firing her, because she was looking for another job and would keep Amanda apprised of the progress on that. Amanda's heart sank. The previous ad manager had also quit, and it had been hard enough to find Julie.

Then Rodney came in and told her that the machine they used to cover the six hour period each night, when no one was in the building, had eaten one of their irreplaceable tapes. Someone at the salt mine outside of town, who knew him, had called, waking him up, and complained about the dead air that had been going on for two hours.

The tape was helplessly snarled and somebody was going to have to take the machine apart to get the tape out, and find out why it had jammed in the first place. It would be off line for a week or more, and somebody would have to come in and work the midnight to six shift, playing either individual cuts, or albums.

She wanted to pull her hair out. The station couldn't afford to hire another person for six hours a night. Nobody listened then anyway ... except, apparently, salt miners. She thought, briefly, about just shutting the transmitter off at midnight, and powering it back up at six, but discarded that idea. That would cost almost the same amount, and was hard on the equipment.

Plus - and this was the most important thing - it would mean she had to admit defeat.

"I'll cover the night shift," she said, her voice tired.

Rodney left, and she got into her purse to get a tissue. She knew she was going to cry.

The little piece of paper that Felicity Chumley had calmly handed her stuck up out of its compartment.

She looked at it. She pulled it out.

She picked up the phone, and dialed.

************

Shortly after that Bobby dialed his phone. Annie picked up on the other end.

"Hi, sweet cheeks," he said.

"Bobby," she sighed. "You can't call me at work."

He laughed. "I need to talk to Felicity."

"Oh." She sounded pouty, but he knew she was teasing him.

When Felicity came on the line, he got right to business.

"Tell me about Amanda Griggs," he said.

"She called you?"

"Yes, and she was trying hard not to cry."

"I told you she was tense," said Felicity. "Things aren't going too well at her radio station."

"She wants to hire me as a consultant," said Bobby. "What does that mean?"

"Oh," said Felicity, laughing. "That's just a general designation that lets her pay you, but doesn't necessarily spell out what you do, exactly."

"She wants to interview me, later today."

"Well, of course she does," said Felicity. "You don't think she'd just give you a time and date and then lie back on the bed naked, waiting for you, do you?"

"Well," said Bobby, grinning, "that's kind of what you do."

He held the phone away from his ear while she spluttered and yelled at him. When he couldn't hear her any more, he put the phone back to his ear.

"You know I love you," he said, his voice deep.

"Men!" she spat into the phone. "Now I'm horny, and it's going to be a whole week!"

"Tell me everything you know about Amanda," he said, moving on.

"You just made me horny ... and you want me to tell you how to seduce another woman?" She was getting riled up again.

"I'll ask Chester if you can have an extra afternoon, or something," said Bobby, grinning again.

"Well ... that's different," said Felicity. Bobby had to cover a laugh.

That was a preview of The Making of a Gigolo Boxed Set, Volume Three. To read the rest purchase the book.

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