Telemarketing Turnabout Pt. 08

"Becca, you are the most wonderful woman I've ever met. You are warm, and loving, honest and open. You're not unfair, or demanding. The only thing you ask for is something that you should get from everyone, and that's respect. I love you. I think you're sexy as hell, and I couldn't ask for more."

"You're just saying that because you're my husband," she giggled, walking her fingers around on my chest.

"No, I'm your husband because that's the way I feel about you," I smiled. "Don't sell yourself short, baby. You are just that good."

A mischievous grin spread across her face.

"You think I'm good? How about when I'm bad?" she asked, bashfully.

"Oh, when you're bad, you're even better," I laughed. Sorry about that, Mae West. You ain't got nothin' on my Becca.

"Oooooooooo, then I'll try to be so very baaaaaad for you honey," she breathed. A kiss ensued.

Married life, with my wife. I think I'll keep her.

*****

I knew this day was coming. Ever since I met Becca, I knew she had two kids, not much younger than myself, and that we'd have to meet eventually. That meeting had been scuttled by bad weather once, and was supposed to happen before we got married.

Now, it was after the fact, and I was a little nervous. If we couldn't get along, there would be friction between Mother and children, and I would get the fallout.

It was Saturday afternoon, and I was home alone, pacing a hole in the floor. Becca wanted to pick the kids up at the airport herself, and had left almost two hours ago to meet their flights, from two separate schools. Fortunately, there was only an hour between the scheduled arrival times, so she didn't need to wait too long. I, on the other hand, was losing my mind, and my imagination was running wild.

I heard the car in the driveway, and briefly considered running to the door, but decided against looking that anxious. I retreated quickly to the back yard, planning to feign ignorance of their arrival. Soon, I heard Becca's voice.

"Bobby? Honey? We're home," she called lyrically.

"Back here, Sweetie," I replied, trying to look busy doing nothing.

Three forms appeared at the glass door. One I knew well, one looked very much like her Mother, and one was a male. I flashed back to 'the dream', and immediately noticed a difference. I expected one of the kids to be showing disapproval, but I didn't expect it to be Lizzie.

Becca looked a bit tense as she did the honours, introducing us.

"Clay, Lizzie...this is Bobby. Honey, I'd like you to meet my kids. I'm sure you know which is which." She was trying to break the tension with humour. It worked on me. The kids?... Not so much.

"Yes," I laughed, "I can figure it out. Nice to meet you, Clay," I offered, extending my hand. Clay smiled, and stepped forward.

Nice to meet you too," he replied, without the sarcasm I would have predicted. He was genuine. "I'm not calling you Dad, though!" he laughed, shaking my hand.

"That's fine...Mr. Smith will do," I jabbed back, winking at him. I turned to Lizzie.

Oh, this could be trouble.

"Jesus, Mom! He could be in my class!" she spat, glaring at me, arms crossed over her chest. I couldn't help noticing it was a nice chest. "What were you thinking?" she scowled, as she walked away.

Becca rolled her eyes, exhaling gently. She looked at me and smiled.

"Well, why should it be easy?" she giggled. "Give her some time. She'll come around."

"Do you want me to talk to her, Mom?" Clay asked, hugging her.

"Maybe later, baby," Becca smiled, kissing her son on the forehead. "Let's just leave her alone for the time being. I should start dinner. Why don't the men in my life spend some time together?"

Clay shrugged and sat down, gesturing for me to do the same. I gave Becca a peck, and a pat, then watched as she walked inside. I sat next to Clay at last, unsure of what to expect. So far, he was the polar opposite of what my subconscious was expecting.

"So...you and my Mom, huh?" he asked quietly, sitting forward.

"That's right," I smiled, leaning forward as well. "She's a wonderful woman."

"Oh, that's for certain," he replied, turning his head to face me. "I have to say...you're not what I pictured when I saw my mother remarrying, but... that's not my call to make. As long as she's happy, that's all that matters. Welcome to the family, Bobby."

"I really appreciate that, Clay," I laughed. "So...son...have you met any cute girls at school?" Yes, I was messing with him.

He burst out laughing, and sat back, relaxing.

"You're not supposed to be looking!" he smiled. "You're a married man!"

Married, yes, and to the most wonderful wife in the world, who doesn't mind sharing me a little, and joining me in fun. But, you don't need to know those details, I thought.

"What do you do for a living?" Clay asked.

This was a point of contention with the 'dream Clay'. I hoped for a better outcome in the real world. Here goes.

"I'm a self employed financial advisor. I help my clients make better money decisions, and plan for their future," I smiled.

"So, is my Mother a client of yours?" he probed.

"Yes she is, but that's not how we met," I answered, "if that's what you're asking. Your Mother is a very intelligent woman. Once she had all the information, she asked me to help her."

"How did you meet, anyway?" he asked, thankfully not challenging me about my work as 'he' had before.

"Just fate, I guess," I replied, and gave him the quick version. Phone call, asked her out, turned down, reluctantly agreed to meet, told to leave, convinced her otherwise, found common ground, fell in love. You know...just the usual way two people meet.

"Mom says you play football, too?" Clay said.

"Yup. Quarterback, in a flag football league," I laughed. "You play?"

"A little. Got a ball?"

"Of course. Back in a sec," I smiled, and walked inside.

I found Becca in the kitchen, figuring out dinner for four, rather than two.

"Well, you're not bleeding, so I assume it's going fine?" she giggled, intercepting me on the way to the fridge with a kiss.

"Yeah. So far, so good," I smiled, patting her beautiful backside, clad in her jeans, as it often was. I grabbed two Cokes from the bottom shelf, of the fridge. "My ball is in the front closet, right?"

"Yes. You're not going to hit him in the head, are you?" she asked, grinning.

"He has nothing to fear. Remember, that was the dream?" I laughed.

"Yes, I know. I also know I saw you punish someone who had unkind words for me, and that wasn't a dream," she said, giving me the serious look.

"Relax, sweetie. Clay is safe. He just wants to toss the ball around," I smiled, and headed for the front hall closet. I passed Lizzie, who was heading toward the kitchen, along the way.

No, she didn't say 'Hi', but she didn't knee me in the balls either. I retrieved my football.

Clay was still sitting patiently when I walked outside, tossing him a Coke as I approached.

"No beer?" he laughed.

"Nope, I don't drink," I replied. I took a swig from my own can, and spun the ball on my fingertips. "Ready?"

Clay took a few steps back, and turned, holding his hands up like he was a wide receiver about to catch a pass. From this range, I couldn't miss, and lobbed it perfectly into his palms. Within minutes, conversation waned as we had spread to maximum range in the yard.

He had a decent arm, but put too much air under the ball for my liking.

***

We spent about half an hour outside, before Clay's arm ran out of gas, and we took a seat by the pool again. It was a good workout. I needed another drink, so I headed inside. I made it as far as the door, then heard the voices from the kitchen.

"Mom, I just don't understand." It was Lizzie's voice. She was helping her Mother make dinner, and they had finally started talking.

"What is there to understand, honey? Can you tell me why you picked any of your boyfriends? All I know is that I love him, and he loves me. Age is just a number, and it doesn't mean anything unless you want it to." Becca's response was heartwarming. Part of me wanted to walk right in there and hug her, but they were working things out, so I stayed away. Not far enough away to miss what they were saying, mind you.

"Okay, but what are you going to do in ten years? Or twenty? Or thirty?" Lizzie asked. "I'm not saying you're old, Mom, but he's so young..."

"Oh, yes, he's so young" Becca said with her sultry voice, "and I love it! Mmmm hmmm!"

"Mom!" Lizzie gasped. "Ewwww!"

"Oh, Lizzie...grow up. You didn't exactly come about by immaculate conception. I...have...sex..." Becca said sternly, "and I like it. Why is this so difficult for you to understand? Did you not notice how old the bimbo your Father left with was? Do you give him a hard time?"

"Mom, he's a man. It's different for men," Lizzie said.

I winced. That was a mistake. Becca did not follow a double standard.

"Elizabeth Wellington! You take that back! Last time I checked, your birth certificate didn't say 1950. Hell... MY birth certificate doesn't say 1950! It is not...repeat, NOT...different for men! I'm shocked that a young woman in this day and age would even think such a thing, let alone voice it."

There was a long silence.

"Lizzie, I love you. You're my daughter, and always will be, so there's nothing you can say or do that will stop me from loving you," Becca said quietly, "but, this matter is not up for debate. Bobby is my husband now. I love him, with or without your approval. I would very much like the two of you to get along, but if you can't make peace with this, feel free to keep your opinions to yourself. End of discussion. Please go let Bobby and your brother know that dinner is nearly ready."

I didn't want to be busted eavesdropping, so I tried to make it look like I was heading for the bathroom, as Lizzie appeared, and walked outside. She saw me, but said nothing. Apparently, she was keeping her opinion, and her manners, to herself.

Dinner was delicious, as usual, but the atmosphere was a bit strained. Clay was fine, but Lizzie was predictably tight lipped, as she ate in silence, avoiding eye contact and conversation. She was certainly her Mother's daughter, and really didn't like being told what to do, especially when she was being muzzled. She reached her limit.

"Mother," she whispered tersely, "I find myself feeling a bit ill. May I please be excused?" She didn't even try to disguise her sarcasm.

"Of course, Lizzie," Becca smiled. Lizzie quickly stood, and left the room. A few seconds later, a door slammed down the hall. Becca rolled her eyes again.

"Is it time to talk to her yet?" Clay asked.

"Actually, I think it's my turn," I laughed. "Wish me luck." I finished my last few bites, wiped my lips, and stood, bending to kiss my wife. "Here goes nothing."

"Don't turn your back on her," Clay quipped.

"I'll try to remember that," I replied. Before I knew it, I was standing outside the door to Lizzie's room. I knocked.

"Go away!" she growled.

"Lizzie... I think it's time we had a chat. May I come in, please?" I asked quietly.

"Oh sure! It's YOUR house now!" she snarled, dripping sarcasm. I opened the door slowly. "What do YOU want?"

"Just to talk," I smiled, slipping into the room. "May I sit?" I gestured to the chair at the desk.

"Whatever!" she hissed. She was sitting up on the bed, leaning against the headboard, arms crossed over her chest again.

I sat, and waited patiently. If I could force her to speak first, I might have better luck in getting to the truth. The silence was deafening, as she glared at me. And glared at me. And glared at me. Finally, she cracked.

"Well? Are you just going to sit there, or do you have something to say?" she asked.

"Actually, I was hoping you had something to say. I already know what I'm thinking. It's your motivation that needs clarifying," I said evenly. "Please. Talk to me. I'd really like to know what you're thinking."

"My Mother has already made it clear that my opinion doesn't matter, and she'd prefer it if I kept it to myself," she said angrily.

"Well, that may be what she said, but you and I both know that your opinion does matter to her," I smiled. "She might not change her mind, but she'd be happier if you were on board. Tell me what you're feeling? Just between you and me."

"Look...I'm only here for the weekend, so why don't you just leave me alone until I leave, then you're free to do whatever you want with my Mother," she said.

"And when you're gone, you'll forget all about us, right?" I asked. "Lizzie, you're only hurting yourself, and your Mother. I'm giving you the chance to get it out. Go ahead. Yell at me. Curse me out. I know you're upset about this." I paused for a minute to let her think. "Or, you can just sit there for two days and stew. I can't make you talk to me. It's your choice."

I started to stand.

"You really care what I think?" she said quietly.

"A few weeks ago...the answer would be no. I don't know you, so your opinion is like an asshole...everyone's got one," I smiled. She snorted. "Now? Yes I do care, mostly because I love your Mother, and despite her words, she cares too. I'm not planning to go anywhere, so we're probably going to have to be in the same room a few times in the next forty years. Maybe we should try to make that as painless as possible."

"Thank you for being honest enough to tell me you don't...or didn't...give a shit what I thought," she smiled. It was a nice smile. She was a very pretty girl, a younger version of her Mother, in nearly every way. Too pretty to be the scowling bitch she had been since her arrival. "You seem to be getting along with Clay."

"Yes. Does that surprise you?"

"No, not really. My brother doesn't care how things look to the rest of the world." I shook my head, disappointed.

"Really? That's your concern...how this looks to everyone else?" I asked incredulously. "Did you care about appearances when your Father cheated on your Mother, and ran off with a girl not much older than you?"

"First of all...okay, my Father's an asshole. What he did was wrong. I haven't spoken to him since then, and I'll never forgive him for what her did to our family," she snarled, an angry glare in her eyes. "But that doesn't make this right. As they say, two wrongs..." she said, letting me finish the cliché.

"... Don't make a right. Tell me. Who is your Mother cheating on? The divorce is long since final. Is she not allowed to move on with her life?"

I noticed that her responses were coming faster. She was spending less time considering her words, which meant her true emotions were showing through. Good. Now we're getting somewhere. When she snapped back this time, her voice had an edge, and increased in volume.

"I didn't say that! Of course she's allowed to continue, and of course I want her to be happy! But..." she paused.

"... Why do I have to be so young?" I finished.

"Yes!" she gasped. "Exactly! It's ridiculous! It makes her look desperate!"

"You've met your Mother, right? Do you think she cares about how it looks?" You should have seen the bikini she wore in Vegas, I thought.

"The Mother I knew was very concerned how things looked. She would never do something that...my... Oh..." she trailed off, realizing what she was saying.

"I'm sorry. I didn't hear that. You were saying?" I prompted. It was better if she said it.

"I, um, I think I've been forgetting something," she said sheepishly. "Mom was very concerned that things were a certain way...for my Father. All she got for her trouble was heartache. I'm glad my Father's gone."

We sat in silence for a minute, while she thought things through.

"When Mom called, months ago, and told me she thought she was in love, I was happy for her. When she told me that her boyfriend...you...was younger than she was, I wasn't concerned. I thought she meant a couple of years. I didn't want to know the details of her love life. When she told me she was married? Well, that surprised me, but I still didn't know much about you, other than that she loved you. Then I saw how young you were, and I think my Father's programming just kicked in. He would not be amused, even if you were with a complete stranger my Mother's age. He was very conservative."

So I gathered, I thought. Didn't like oral sex? What kind of man doesn't like blowjobs?

"I think there's more, though," she added, now looking very guilty, "but I don't know if I should tell you. I don't want to be misunderstood."

"Don't worry about that," I laughed. "You're on a roll. Get it all out."

"Okay, but I'm a little ashamed. Please don't tell my Mother," she asked.

"Tell your Mother what?" I smiled. "I don't remember anything."

"Right, well, when I saw you, I um...I almost...I felt...jealous? You understand...I'm not saying I want you, not that you're tough to look at. If you weren't married to my Mother, I'd give you a chance." she whispered. My ego primped its feathers. "Not that I wanted you, specifically," she continued. My ego stopped crowing. "More like I was mad that she was able to find someone, and I've been years between serious boyfriends. That you're my age only made it worse."

"I'll have you know I'm, um, fifteen months older than you, young lady!" I chuckled. She laughed back. I had a feeling things were going to be just fine now.

"What made you guys rush off to Vegas so fast, anyway? Mom's not pregnant, is she?" she grinned.

"No!" I laughed. I wonder if I should tell her about 'the dream'? How in it, we ended up married after she got pregnant? How she, her Mother and I shared a bed often, and even our daughter eventually joined in? Hmmm. Probably be best to keep that information to myself. "We just knew it was right, and didn't want to wait," I smiled.

There was a knock on the door.

"Everything okay in there?" Becca asked.

"Yes, Mom. Come in, please," Lizzie called.

The door opened slowly, and Becca's face peered in.

"I heard yelling, then it got very quiet. I worried you'd killed each other," she giggled.

"No. Bobby was just helping me sort it out," Lizzie smiled.

"You would have done it yourself," I replied. "I just speeded up the process."

Lizzie stood up, and walked over to her Mother, hugging her tight.

"I'm sorry Mom. I had no right to be angry with either of you. I'm glad that you're happy together. Can you forgive me?" she asked.

"Forgive what?" Becca grinned.

"I'm glad that's settled," Lizzie smiled, "because I have to pee!" She slipped out the door.

"What...did you say to her?" Becca gasped, wide eyed.

"Nothing. I just let her vent, and she realized why she was pissed off," I laughed. "I'd like to take the credit, but she's the one who talked herself through it."

"Well, either way, you're getting an extra special treat tonight!" she winked.

***

It was, as she promised, a very special treat. Truthfully, every night with Becca was a special treat, but she was at her best that night. Once orally, once between her luscious breasts, and once from behind, she brought me to nirvana three times. Having to do so without being loud seemed to get us both wound up more than usual.

When I woke up, Becca was nestled in my arms. I was spooning her, with a left handful of her left breast. It was Saturday morning, and she often let me sleep in while she made me breakfast, but this day she was still here, yet I smelled bacon cooking. My head was fuzzy from last nights erotic trifecta, so it took me a while to figure it out.

"Mmmmm," Becca mumbled, "smells good. Must be Lizzie, trying to apologize." She wiggled her bum against me, then managed to turn in my arms. I was forced to relinquish my grip on her soft boob, but the firm rump that replaced it was nice, too. She kissed me softly. "Good morning, honey. Sleep well?"