That's My Girl

Her mouth worshipping my cock, taking me down her throat, licking slyly, till I explode like skyrockets at a midsummer festival.

Then, rolling apart, and gasping, licking each other's face as we cool off; and I recharge, and we rejoin.

We move together, her long lithe legs wrapping around me and pulling me deeper into her core, faster and furious-er, till she screams and screams, and I bellow, and our voices fade to whimpers and whispers.

Her legs still enmeshing me, we roll on our sides together, faces together, our hands moving over each other's torso and butt and head and arms, murmuring, merging, loving.

***** We lay in her bed, and watched the blurry night, and listened to fat foghorns.

"Hey gorgeous! What kind of restaurants have you managed before, and where?"

I idly circled her lovely puffy left nipple with my lip edges, just dry-brushing around the areola, no moisture, a wonderful tease. I had evil plans. I gently brushed her other nipple with my first finger.

"Oooh, quit that now, I can't think." She sat up, leaned against the headboard, and crossed her long tan arms under her firm full breasts.

"I ran tourist traps in the French Quarter of New Orleans, and BBQ houses in St Louis, and a lobster shack in Bangor Maine, and others.

"But my favorite was a club in Malibu. It's off the highway, an out-of-the-way place where stars came to cut loose. It was fun, and the money flowed in.

"It got hairy there sometimes. The bar itself was like an energy locus. Dylan rode his motorcycle through the front door and up on top of the bar. Madonna did a real dirty strip tease on the same bar. One of Zappa's kids was born on the bar.

"Some nights, the house band would be Fleetwood, and McCartney, and van Halen, with Bruce Willis trying to sing. Actually, no matter who showed up, Fleetwood would drum. Mick was such a whore -- he'd play with anybody, no matter how bad they were. He just about lived there. He certainly embalmed himself there.

"Then this chain offered me obscene money to run some of their shops. I did their steakhouses in Omaha and Dallas; then they brought me here. I love it here. I'll stay forever if I can."

She stuck her foot out, brushed along my leg.

"But it would be nice if I had a good friend."

Cue the action: Crawl between her thighs, eat her to a few orgasms, fuck her to a few more, drink deeply of her divine juices, soak up her radiant energy, envelop myself in her bio-aura, howl like a monster, et fucking cetera.

And joking, talking silly, provoking giggles and laughs.

Hey guys, I have a secret for you: Make her laugh. Once she starts laughing with you, she will be happy to fuck you. Just try it and see. But I digress.

Yes, we quickly became extremely good friends.

I had to ask: "Why me?"

Jenna nestled in my arms and nuzzled my chin. She spoke softly.

"Vibes, maybe? No, more than that. I could tell by your singing and playing and moving, you're strong. I can tell by your words and actions, you're kind. And it doesn't hurt that you're good to look at, big guy!

"In some ways, you feel like you're already family, like I already know you, have lived with you. Maybe it *is* vibes. Maybe it's chemistry. Whatever, y'know?

"I've been alone, except for work. I've been self-contained. I've made lousy choices. I've felt unfinished, undone. I've done badly. I've missed strength, kindness, sturdiness, and even familiarity all together. You just feel like you complete me." She kissed my ear.

Damn.

***** CLICK!

That is the sound of two souls coming together.

We clicked. Loudly. Firmly. Quickly.

I was exhilarated and nearly scared shitless.

We were falling fast. We could hardly stand to be separated.

No, we certainly could not be together 24/7. Jenna's job entailed too many 12-hour days. At least she had an easy commute -- except she also monitored business at the chain's other Bay Area eateries. But we spent all her free time together.

I methodically disengaged from my other personal entanglements. None were quite at the are-we-serious stage. Some might remain as platonic friendships. Maybe. But none had really been close friendships. We mostly were booty calls.

And I usually kept those booty calls a little distant -- your place, not mine.

That was about to change.

I was driving Jenna's Prius over Russian Hill towards the waterfront. Her mouth was working on my cock. She 'suggested' that maybe we should stop at my place; she had not yet seen it. She 'suggested' that further mouthwork might be delayed otherwise.

Jenna's eyebrows rose when I rolled into the garage under the condo-conversion Victorian townhouse.

They rose further when we took the mini-lift to the top floor, the penthouse.

She hummed when she saw the view from my back deck -- as good as from her flat.

She gasped when she saw the glass cabinets lining my condo's walls. Many books, yes. But also many Indian pots and baskets and carvings, softly illuminated.

"Holy shit Randy, what have you got here? Adam and Santana? Some of the Tafoyas? Tse'Pe, and Dora? Corn Moquino, Ron Suazo, Frog Woman, Lucy Lewis? Vintage Santa Ana pots? Real, original Nampeyos? Maria Martinez -- is that big black-on-black olla by Maria and Julian? Fuck me, that must have cost tens of thousands!

"Are these real Mimbres and Mesa Verde pots? And those look like thousand-year-old Moundbuilder ware from Cahokia. What are these, Miwok and Pomo baskets? Those feathered baskets -- isn't there a federal ban on selling them now? And these are some of the goddam finest Hopi kachinas and Zuni fetishes I have ever seen!"

She was nearly hyperventilating when she turned to me.

"This is a better fucking collection than we saw at the fucking DeYoung Museum!"

She calmed down and looked at me appraisingly, top to bottom.

"Somehow I get the impression you're not just a funky starving bluesman who barely makes a living on the street."

"Oh, it was nothing. I lived around Santa Fe a while back and I got lucky at some auctions. Even minor shops on Canyon Road have better stuff than what's here."

"Don't bullshit me, Randy. You spent a few hundred grand on all this!"

She looked into my music room, the walls hung with dozens of guitars, banjos, lutes, o'uds, tars and sitars, zithers, bagpipes and squeeze-boxes from various cultures, ethnic and modern saxophones, and more. Percussion kits and string harps were scattered about. She shook her head.

"And I suppose you got all these instruments at Goodwill and yard sales, right?"

Good thing (for me) that she had not yet seen the original Frederic Remington sculptures. Plural.

"We need to talk." Uh oh.

Jenna shoved me into the cream leather loveseat and plopped next to me.

"I need a confession, Ran. Who are you, and what are you up to? Do you rob banks or pull identity theft? Did you patent a vibrator? Did you get all this honestly?" Jenna grabbed my cock through the thin fabric of my trousers. "Talk, buddy!"

I sighed and stroked her face. Her eyes locked on mine.

"When I left the Army, I used my GI Bill to go to Blacksburg, then Berkeley. I learned computer programming. I wrote some software that sold well, nothing you've ever heard of because it's embedded in systems, but it's everywhere.

"That made me some seed money, and it still pays. I made some good investments. Now, I'm comfortable, physically anyway. I own this condo. I have some nice stuff. And I have a great friend. That's the story. S'truth."

A dozen indecipherable expressions crossed her face. She finally settled on one.

"OK, I believe you. You're honestly rich, or comfortable, or whatever. But why do you play the blues for tips on a street corner?"

"Because if I didn't have the guitar case open for tips, nobody would listen to me. Stuff in America is only important if you have to pay for it. That money all goes straight to a shelter for abused women and children.

"You see me out there with my beat-up bike and cheap guitar and denims. Those are for show on the street. I have better. But good stuff wouldn't attract too many contributions.

"And I sing and play a couple days a week because I love it, and I already told you about my other reasons. But that's just one part of my life. I have other activities too. Besides making love with you."

I kissed her. She kissed back. I think I passed the exam.

Whew.

***** CLICK!

We got even closer. We said the LOVE word to each other. Meaningfully.

We were deep into each other. So deep that we made a big decision.

Jenna threw away her birth control pills.

Three weeks later, the home pregnancy test showed positive.

We shouted with joy. We laughed, cried, and loved each other even more, if that is possible.

And six months later, a guest arrived.

Jenna and I were lying abed in her flat on a lazy off-day. She had moved into my condo but her job schedule sometimes had us staying over in the Square. Last night was late and laborious; we took the easy option and stayed close. As her pregnancy advanced, she planned to take leave from her job (and the flat) and make the move permanent.

We heard a sharp rapping at the front door. Chet had been relieved of breakfast delivery duty; we were not expecting anyone. Jenna threw on a robe over her cute just-showing bulge and barefooted to the door. I robed also and followed her out of the bedroom.

Jenna peered through the spy lens into the access hallway. She screamed and flung the door open. A tall thin-but-curvy young redhead wearing a black jumpsuit nearly fell over when Jenna grabbed her. They hugged and squeaked and kissed. Jenna dragged her and her rucksack inside.

"Ran, Ran, look who's here! It's my little sister Tasha!"

Tasha's jade-green eyes bored into me.

"So you're famous Randy. Hi there." She stuck out a strong hand. I shook it.

"And you're the infamous Tash. Made any waterfall saves lately?"

Tasha blushed. Jenna had told me the story:

Tasha and her then-boyfriend Max were hiking high in the Bitterroot Range just south of Canada. Through the thick conifer forest, they followed a stream draining into a rocky double pool that fed a high waterfall, a hundred-foot drop.

They stripped and lay naked on the pool's margin to soak up some sunshine. And to drink some tequila and fool around a little, of course.

Max decided to hop in the upper pool to rinse and cool off. He lost his footing and slipped into the deep lower pool. The current dragged him inexorably towards its outlet and the waterfall. He saw his doom approaching. He froze up, terrified.

Tasha jumped out of the shallow upper pool, stripped the web-belt from her jeans, and ran around to the lower pool's outlet. She yelled at Max and threw the end of the belt to him. He managed to catch it.

She pulled. He hung on. She got him to the pool's edge, and he was able to crawl out. He shivered, and survived.

"Yeah, that's what happened," Tasha said. "And Max shit himself before I rescued him. Yeah, the current washed him clean. Yeah, I was happy I saved his life."

Tasha snorted. "But I wasn't happy he was such a clumsy oaf, and a coward, and a moron. And he's a Sagittarius. I dumped the putz."

Their return to civilization marked the end of their relationship. Bye bye, Max.

"Forget that, it's over. I'm here now." Tasha smiled at me. "You okay with that?"

I must have looked a little confused. Jenna laughed.

"I'll confess to a conspiracy. Momma thought I could use some family support for a while before and after the Sprout arrives." (Ultrasound showed we would soon have a darling daughter.) "We plotted a little. So my baby sis is here to help out. You'll be no trouble here, will you?"

Tasha gave me a menacing look. "If Randy is no trouble, then I'm no trouble. If Randy is trouble, that trouble will be redoubled, count on it," she snarked.

Oho, a feisty one, as well as plucky! I could get to like this girl.

This girl -- was already my sister-in-law. Jenna and I'd had a quiet civil ceremony at City Hall just after the pregnancy test. Yes, we were Mr and Mrs Randall Ronk now. No, our daughter would not be a little bastard. Gotta maintain *some* standards.

Jenna had insisted on the civil ceremony. I was amused, and curious.

"Don't you want a fancy wedding with all your family and friends at hand?"

"I can't wait that long," she had told me. "I want you now, and forever."

So we planned for an all-inclusive celebration sometime after the Sprout was born.

***** Tasha showered-off her travel grime while Jenna and I entertainingly dressed each other. We somehow all ended up in jeans and tees of various colors and messages.

Our kitchen-table conference was pleasantly powered by fine Guatemalan coffee, fresh pan dulces (sweet pastries), and slices of queso seco (dry white cheese) and crisp ambrosia apples. I inspected our guest.

Tasha was slightly taller than Jenna, close to six feet, with long blazing red hair, gem-quality green eyes, sharp features, wide mouth, freckles down to forever, slim hourglass figure, and a spry athletic posture. She moved like a dancer. She had a fiery sun tattoo on her left wrist and a row of little gold studs up her right ear.

My overall impression of Tasha was: A striking Celtic beauty! Not better or worse than Jenna's glorious Levantine pulchritude, just distinctly different.

Tasha looked to be in her early twenties. Judging from Jenna's stories, she was probably somewhat older. But they did not tell, and I did not ask. She can be any age she wants to be. That is every woman's right.

"So tell me babe, does your little conspiracy happen to include sleeping and living arrangements?" I gave Jenna my tell-me-the-truth face.

"Sure, we worked on that. I'll have to give up this flat when I take leave in my ninth month. There's only one bedroom here so the three of us won't fit all at the same time. We're setting up the guest room in the condo for the Sprout, so that's out. But we can easily rearrange the music room for Tasha to stay in, yes?"

Then she stage-whispered, "Say yes, sugar."

"Uh huh." I knew when to surrender. "Yeah, I can shuffle stuff around in there. Won't need the string bass right away." I visualized the new layout. Only a small bother. Nothing pleasant sex wouldn't cure.

Another question came to me. "What'll you do with your non-helping-us time, Tash? Got a job? Hobbies? Obsessions? Incantations? Evil plans?"

Tasha reached back to her bag for her compact Thinkpad.

"I do network design for a Boston consulting shop. I can work almost anywhere that's quiet enough. And I have other things to keep me busy too."

She reached back for a small camera bag and showed me her little Pentax digital SLR and a set of fine Limited-series lenses.

"With this stuff, and a bike, a gym, and the right food, I'm happy enough. I see you have some exercise gear here. Looks like it works." She eyed my lean form.

So Tasha moved in. And my life became even easier and fuller.

***** Tasha seemed a little stand-offish at first but soon became comfortable enough to prance around our quarters in trainer shorts and a sports bra, maybe with a loose pullover. She was easy on my eyes but no threat to my love for Jenna.

Jenna still worked, and I still sang and played, and pursued my other interests. Tasha tended the condo, spent time on her paid work, and often disappeared with her camera and roller blades.

Jenna and I had a pair of BikeE semi-recumbent bikes a.k.a. 'bents. Tasha often borrowed Jenna's 'bent during workdays. We pedaled our asses all over town, and down the San Mateo coast, and up across the Golden Gate Bridge into Marin County.

On one across-the-Bridge run, we rode up the old railroad grade from Mill Valley and stopped at the snack bar (an old cottage) halfway up Mount Tamalpais for fresh lemonade and a rest. We sat on the wooden porch and gazed down at the Golden Gate and the Pacific.

"You haven't told me your story yet, Tash. All I know about you is, you and your siblings were all adopted, and grew up in Idaho. Start from the beginning."

Tasha stared at the clouds over the ocean and spoke softly.

"My biological parents didn't want me, just abandoned me to the welfare system when I was about two. I know my birthday and that's about all. I'm not ready yet to find out about them. My records were offered to me when I turned twenty-one. Now it's almost ten years later, and I still don't know if I want to chase them down. They just left me behind, like I wasn't worth their effort. Fuck'em!"

She is thirty-one now? Damn, the same age as my lost daughter. I felt strange.

Her voice was louder. Her eyes were wet, and fixed on the horizon, or maybe lower. She visibly gathered herself together, and looked at me. My expression tightened as my heart thudded along. She saw my change of face.

"I know you have a story too. Let me finish mine first." She took a breath.

"Yeah, I was raised in the north woods by a big family, none of us related by blood, just by intention. A dozen or more brothers and sisters, I lost count. Some of them a couple decades older than me. I was next to the youngest.

"It was real booney-tunes, back in gnarly mountains thick with Sitka spruce and Doug fir. We had a truck garden, poultry yard, and grazing goats. We hunted deer, elk, and geese, and watched for wolves. I can clean and cook just about anything.

"Jen told you about the fucking redneck skinhead neoNazi asshole compound down the road from us. Some of my siblings are black and Mexican and Hmong and mixes. The assholes tried to give us shit, but we were raised to be strong. Fuck'em."

She finished her lemonade and leaned against me. My arm went around her shoulders.

"We all grew up strong, and a bit wild, but well-mannered, and not afraid to work. But I was real glad to get away for college, all the way to Tucson. Wow, that was a prest-o-change-o! The Catalina Mountains are nothing like the Bitterroots! I learned to love Mexican food, and Indian arts, and desert trekking.

"I learned networks. And I'm real good there. So now I get paid well to do work I love almost anywhere I want. I've worked all over the country, in Silicon Valley of course, and Albuquerque most recently.

"Jen tells me you've done software too. Want to tell me about it?" She stretched upward, then leaned back against a roofpost and watched me.

"I'm gonna cop-out on that right now. You'll get my story later. C'mon, let's head for the top. The view from the East Peak is just astounding!"

I stood, re-mounted my 'bent, happy to move on. We rolled away like we were riding weird lightweight choppers with us as the motors. Lemme tell ya, these BikeE 'bents with their wide seats and backs are just the best things on two wheels!

***** Jenna took maternity leave in her thirty-sixth week. The next manager got her flat. Jen was pretty bulbous by then, and pretty tired, and pretty grumpy, and prettier than ever, s'truth. She glowed like a lava lamp and was just as moody.

Jenna and I still merrily sucked and fucked, within limits. We had a pillowed setup for comfortable doggy-style pounding, and a nice split-leg recliner for pussy-eating, and other sensual conveniences. We stayed as happy as possible.

Tasha and I had partnered for Jen's Lamaze sessions, both as backups, and because it was fun for all of us, a real growing-together. We were getting pretty excited.

At the end of a warm February, we sat in the open-air Music Concourse in Golden Gate Park listening to the first brass band concert of the Spring. Jeez Louise, am I getting old? When I was a kid, brass bands did not play In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida, and Walk Like An Egyptian, and I Kissed A Girl, not even here in San Francisco.