Sex Stories and Erotic Photos          

Walking down the streets of our middle sized town with my large family, I still get a buzz from seeing numerous males – and quite a few females too! – turning their heads after my gorgeous wife. Fran – short for Frances – is, simply put, stunning. At 24 she is slim except where women do not want to be slim – she has a killer ass and her perfect D breasts sit high and proud over a flat tummy despite the fact that she is the mother of four and all our kids have been breast fed for at least a year. Our youngest is only 4 months old, but Fran easily fits into her pre-pregnancy jeans. She is happy and confident. But it wasn’t always so.

Perhaps I should introduce myself. I’m George. I’m also 24, though a bit closer to 25 than Fran and I am an engineer. I have only lived here for about 7 years. I came here with my dad during the summer holidays between my junior and senior year of high school. Dad is a doctor and there were only the two of us, my mom having died when I was so small that I can barely remember her at all.

I grew up in New England and we moved around a lot. When Mom died, Dad had problems finding jobs that were compatible with looking after a small kid. Young doctors are supposed to work themselves to the ground and leave the rearing of children to wives. Dad frequently slammed the door on hospitals that couldn’t accommodate his ‘strange’ desire to look after his own child.

One hospital director had the nerve to exclaim “There must be 300 nurses at this hospital happy to bag a doctor. Pick one of them, knock her up and get her to look after your other brat too so you can get on with your work!”

He got a split lip and a chipped tooth for that effort – Dad having been an excellent boxer in his student days. Dad only escaped an assault charge because a brilliant lawyer and very good friend of his threatened the bastard with a massive harassment suit. It helped a lot that Dad had ‘accidentally’ switched on his Dictaphone before the conversation and the hospital board was keen not to have that tape played in public.

Despite moving so much and thus changing schools frequently, my education didn’t suffer. I suppose I am a bit of a ‘brain’ though not exactly a nerd. I am certainly not a jock either being of average height and build, but I can hold my own in athletics and for a while in late middle school and the first years of high school I was quite a good Soccer player.

That came to a crashing halt when Dad, who had specialized in nutrition and diet, accepted an offer to move to a remarkably enlightened hospital district in the mid-west eager to focus on preventative medicine. That hospital was associated with a university with a young, but up-and-coming medical school, and Dad was offered a position as professor and head of a vibrant department. It sounded too good to pass up, and in fact he has never regretted it. So we left New England for good as soon as my school year ended and spent the summer finding a place to live and getting Dad settled in at work.

I forgot to mention that both my sets of grandparents (whom I never really knew) had been exceedingly wealthy and with Mom and Dad both only children, the combined pile came to Dad. That meant we could easily afford ‘The Cedars’, a huge mansion like house in ‘The Hills’ – the decidedly up market part of town.

It wasn’t that we were snobs or needed so much space at all – indeed we left a whole wing of the house unused, but Dad was keen to get a garden and fell for the extensive grounds immediately. I on the other hand was more attracted to the huge swimming pool – and the gym and private tennis courts were also quite a buzz. And so I found myself starting Senior High in my tenth, and hopefully last, school once again knowing nobody and wondering what sort of people I would be graduating with.

A mixed bag, as it turned out. Primarily because the school district not only incorporated ‘The Hills’ but also a very poor area around the railway line, imaginatively nicknamed ‘The Tracks’ – in addition to ordinary middle class neighborhoods. It was apparent already from the first day that the social divisions in my class were sharp and, not for the first time in my life, I felt decidedly uneasy about my material wealth and had decided to do my best to keep a low profile. Well, that was the intention. But fate – and Fran – changed all that.

In fact, it started on the very first day. Being new and having spent too little time to prepare myself, I was running late and finally found the right room a minute or so after the teacher had arrived. I quietly entered and sat down on the nearest vacant chair next to a rather massive girl. “I’m George,” I whispered.

Startled she looked at me. Despite the excess weight, her face was pretty. She had a mane of wavy dark-red hair – somewhat unkempt and greasy, but nevertheless impressive and her pale skin was freckled across a cute nose, though that was partly obscured by some fairly thick glasses in an ugly frame that didn’t suit her. But what really caught me were her eyes. They were clearest blue I have ever seen. She looked apprehensive and didn’t say anything.

“… and we have a new student this year called George Monroe,” the teacher said. “I think it must be George who just sat down next to Frances”. ‘Poor him’ someone muttered and there was a general round of not very pleasant sounding sniggering.

“I am sorry sir,” I said. “I had a little trouble finding my way around.”

“Not to worry,” the teacher replied. “I am sure you
will work it out in a few days. Anyway George, by means of introduction – can you tell us a little about yourself? Your father is a doctor and a professor at the university hospital I believe?”

A few of the well-groomed kids, girls especially, looked my way with interest. This was hardly the best way to lie low – I groaned inwardly, but launched into a brief and deliberately dull version of my life to date.

“And have you settled in at ‘The Cedars’ yet?” the teacher asked.

That had even more people staring at me. ‘Someone shoot me’ I thought, but again I made a polite reply. Fran’s body language was very noticeable. She tried to shrink away from me – a difficult task since she was so large and the tables rather small – as if she was somehow intruding on my space. I flashed her a smile and got a very confused visage in return. God, this kid had confidence issues!

The teacher handed out text books and went on with a boring run-down on the immediate plans for the history class and ended up announcing some project work. “I want you to partner off two and two and work on the questions at the end of chapter one. You can work with whoever you’re sitting next to. Is that OK?”

There was a general murmur of consent. Fran looked positively scared, but I loudly exclaimed “That’s fine!”

She looked at me in disbelief. “You don’t have to work with me, you know” she started.

“Why on earth wouldn’t I?” I replied in genuine surprise.

“Oh, it’s just” she faltered. “It’s just you’re a ‘Hill boy’ and a doctor’s son and all that and I live down at ‘The Tracks’ and…” she trailed off again.

She was now looking like a whipped dog. This was pretty awful, and I debated with myself how to handle this. I choose a brisk approach. “I positively couldn’t care less. You’re my partner – so let’s get on with it!”

She sighed and we launched into the assignment. She was actually quite smart and knew a lot of history – more than I did and I’m not half bad, so we solved the set tasks pretty quickly. That gave me a chance to grill her a little. She wasn’t exactly forthcoming with information, but by and by I worked out that she was an only child living with a single parent, just like me. We also discovered we were going to have a fair number of classes together, including all the science subjects and one or two other electives, and by chance we would be together for nearly every class this first day. “Super!” I said brightly. “Then you can show me where everything is.”

I once more got a startled look which looked especially bizarre through her glasses. I giggled and she asked “What?”

“Oh nothing,” I replied. “It’s just that every time I talk to you, you look like I was the big bad wolf or something.”

That – finally – landed me a megawatt smile. She had nice and very even teeth – the evenness presumably brought on by braces which to me looked like they were soon to come off. (I knew one or two things about orthodontics having had braces for years myself and only just gotten rid of them.)

“It’s OK,” she said. “I’m just not used to talking to you kids from ‘The Hill’.”

“Count me out of ‘you kids’ please” I shot back. “I don’t select my friends on the basis of their addresses.”

“Most people around here do,” she said in a sad voice, the smile gone.

“Including you?” I inquired, mainly to tease.

That was a bad move. I noticed tears welling up in her eyes. “I don’t have any friends,” she said miserably. “Everyone can agree on putting down fat girls.”

“You are wrong on both counts,” I said as gently as I could. “You have one friend – me – if you want one. And I don’t put down people. Especially not over anything as irrelevant as their BMI.”

“BMI?” she snuffled.

“Body Mass Index,” I replied. “A measure of your weight-to-height-squared ratio. Sorry about that. My Dad’s an expert on nutrition and diet and all those kinds of things.”

“I guess my BMI is pretty bad,” she said, hell bent on putting herself down.

“No doubt it is much too high,” I replied, “but that can be changed, you know.”

“How?” she asked hopelessly. “I have tried diet after diet and they never seem to work.”

“Of course they don’t,” I said. “Fad diets never do. There is only one thing that works. Eating less and exercising more. And you must be prepared to have patience. It took time putting on those extra pounds and it will take time getting rid of them again, but it can be done.”

“You make it sound so easy,” she said, “but it isn’t really, is it?”

“It is anything but,” I agreed. “Main problem is you get so goddam hungry.”

“And how!” she giggled, her mood improving.

At that point the class ended. We handed in our joint reply to the teacher and I started to gather my things. “What’s next?” I asked.

“English and it’s in this same room,” Fran replied.

“Excellent. I’ll just leave my stuff here. Are you coming outside for fresh air?” I inquired.

“Ah, ’em, I don’t think…” she started.

“Do come. Stretch your legs and get some air or you will doze of during the next class,” I said.

“I think I may anyway. Miss Johnson is deadly boring. But I don’t want to, like, monopolize you,” she said – actually blushing.

I slanted my head slightly and looked inquisitively at her. “Are you fed up with me already?” I sighed theatrically.

“NO!” she exclaimed, blushed profusely and waffled on, “I mean, I, it’s just…”

“I liked your first answer better,” I smiled “Let’s go outside shall we?” and she finally agreed.

Chapter 2

The break was pretty short and not a success. We were standing just outside the building and before we got a chance to talk about anything a couple of the other kids came over. Two girls I instantly classified as A-list bimbos (I later found out I was spot on) were chatting me up, pointedly ignoring Fran.

A tall and massive rather arrogant type came over and started playing with one of the bimbos’ bra elastic in a possessive manner. Out of the blue he asked “So George, are you into Football?” looking over my moderate build with a condescending expression.

“Indeed I am, but not your kind,” I replied. “I was a starter for the last 4 years in Soccer. The code you play here confuses me.”

“Soccer?” he sneered. “That’s not Football!”

“To each his own,” I replied cheerfully. “Your Football requires brawn. Soccer requires brains. You sure seem suited for Football!” I added innocently.

“I do – I am quarterback on the school team” he replied self-importantly. Only Fran got the implicit insult and tried to suppress a giggle. She was only partly successful and got a withering glare from bimbo one.

It was a case of ‘saved by the bell’ and we headed back in. “You gotta be careful with Darren,” Fran warned me in a whisper. “He can be pretty mean.”

“Thanks. I’ll take note of that. But he seemed too dense to realize that the joke was on him,” I whispered back. “And neither of the bimbos got it.”

“Lorraine didn’t, but Suzy is not quite so dim. And having worked so hard to bag Darren, she is constantly on edge,” Fran added.

A moment later Miss Johnson arrived. I endured yet another round of introductions and questioning before the class began – predictably with an overview of immediate plans. Fran had certainly told no lies regarding how soporific Miss Johnson could be, but at least I managed to stay awake.

So went the morning. I stayed with Fran for all classes and ended up with her as my partner in three subjects. At lunch time she showed me the cafeteria. “The food is deadly,” she said. “Although I’m told there is supposedly a big change in the selection this year.”

“I think my dad has a finger in that,” I replied. “One of the preventative medicine projects is a radical improvement in school food, and I think our school takes part in the pilot project.”

“Oh,” she said, “- anyway I bring my own.”

I bought a quite decent salad and got myself bread and mineral water to go with it. The new healthy stuff didn’t seem overly popular – there were loud and rude outbursts against the cafeteria staff over the food selection and lack of sweet sodas.

I went looking for Fran and found her sitting alone eating some rather revolting looking and anything but healthy food. She brightened when she saw me sitting down at her table, but followed my gaze at her food and her face fell. “My Mom is a waitress. She brings home leftovers.”

I simply nodded, but her obesity was easily explained if this was a representative sample of her diet.

After lunch we had separate electives, but we met again
for the last class – double physics. The teacher – groan – did a welcome, asked me – groan – to introduce myself, and – groan – ran through the plan before he asked us to select a lab partner. I prodded Fran on her shoulder “Hello partner,” I said as she spun round with a frightened look. “Are you game?”

“Oh, I really suck at physics,” she mumbled. “Perhaps you should find someone better.”

“Nonsense!” I replied. “I am really good at physics, but nothing much in history – so that will balance things out and make it fair!”

The megawatt smile came back. “I’ll be happy to,” she said. And that was that. I will agree that she was not a natural around a lab, but she held her own and we got the prac completed and got a fair way with doing the calculations for the report.

When school ended I called a ‘See you tomorrow’ and went to get my bike. I didn’t see where Fran went, but she was not heading towards the bike sheds and that hardly surprised me.

On the way up a steep hill (the quarter is not called ‘The Hills’ for nothing!) a fairly flashy car drove slowly past me, adjusted its speed to mine and the passenger side window was rolled down. Inside were two of the ‘Hill boys’ – Jake at the wheel and, I think, Simon. “If your Dad’s so rich, how come you haven’t got a car?” Simon asked in a sneer – if Simon was indeed his name.

“Oh, but I do!” I replied in complete accordance with the truth. Dad’s celebration of the new job (that’s how he described it – I took it to be a consolation for leaving New England) was giving me a flashy little two-seater Mercedes Benz.

“Why are you sweating your butt off on a push bike then?” Jake leaned over and asked, sounding much more good-natured.

“For the exercise,” I replied, again in complete accordance with the truth. “I used to train Soccer three times a week and track and field twice. There’s no Soccer here and I haven’t joined the athletics yet, so bike-riding is my only exercise at the moment. I don’t want to get fat.”

“Speaking of fat,” said Simon in a fake-friendly way, “How did you enjoy your first day at school – apart form having ‘Fatces’ glued to you all day?”

“I beg your pardon?” I replied in a clipped New England Brahmin accent. “Just who may you be referring to?”

“Frances – the fatso from ‘The Tracks’,” Simon said, as if I was some dim-wit. “Tough for you that you came so late you had to sit next to her!” he continued.

“I detest derogatory epithets in general and those directed against my friends in particular,” I said with ice and steel mixed into the Brahmin.

“Friends?” Simon cried out in outrage. “That girl is trailer-trash or next door to. You gotta be careful who you socialize with!”

“Indeed I will. Believe me I will!” I said and upped my speed. Not that I could out-run a car uphill, but the message was clear. They drove off. The last I saw of them was Jake’s face turned towards Simon, not looking pleased.

It turns out he wasn’t. I had essentially just gotten home and downed a couple of glasses of cold water when the door bell rang. Jake was outside. Alone. “Jake?” I asked.

“Yeah, listen, I’m really sorry Simon was so offensive. He’s a little, you know, full of himself sometimes. His comments about Fran were way out of line!” Jake said. “His dad is a self-made man and his mother used to be a waitress just like Fran’s, so status
and prestige are big deals in his mind.”

“I really appreciate you saying so,” I replied being perfectly sincere. “I would have grouped the two of you together if you hadn’t.”

“Well, I wasn’t exactly too polite either – about the bike thing, I mean,” he said.

“Oh, I took that as good natured teasing,” I replied. “I mean, I do have a car. You can see it if you want to.”

“You don’t have to…” he started.

“Duh. Who is being dense now? I want to show it to you!” I said and pressed the remote control to ‘my side’ of the carport and when it had opened, I unlocked the Benz making its lights flash.

“Oh wow!” said Jake in genuine amazement. “That is one nice set of wheels.”

“Yup!” I said with proprietary pride. “Dad gave me it as a sort of compensation for coming here. Heck, I would have gone to far worse places for that!”

“I would too!” Jake exclaimed, his enthusiasm stripping away the refined veneer and showing pure boyish charm.

“Wanna take it for a spin?” I asked.

“Can I?” Jake gushed, his eyes shining bright.

I nodded and the next 15 minutes were spent well on the wrong side of the traffic code, but we had no mishaps and Jake returned us – and the car – in one piece each.

“Care for something cold to drink?” I asked.

“Can’t really,” he said. “Gotta get home and do homework. I understood nothing of that physics lab and the report is due in tomorrow already.”

“Oh, I can help you with that if you like,” I replied.

Jake gratefully accepted, got his bag from his car and we went inside. He got a cold drink and a tour of the house – it amazed him. After about an hour of serious tutoring he started to grasp the idea of the physics lab. He was just about to leave when my dad came home. “Hi Dad,” I said. “Meet my friend Jake. He lives up here too and we’ve been doing physics this afternoon.”

“How do you do Professor Monroe,” Jake said politely. “George is a natural science teacher!”

“Hello Jake. Do call me Art. I am delighted to meet George’s friends. In fact, I am even more delighted that he has made friends so quickly!” Dad said.

“I have Dad, I have,” I chipped in. “Jake and a girl named Fran that I will partner with in four subjects.”

“That sounds like you have made a conquest. Or perhaps it’s the other way around?” my dad teased. Jake coughed and excused himself.

While preparing dinner together, Dad teased me further. “So tell me about fair Fran,” he prompted.

“The short and brutal version?” I asked.

Dad looked quizzical. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well,” I said. “Her skin IS fair and freckled. She has an impressive mane of dark-red hair, a gorgeous smile that lights up a room and the bluest eyes you have ever seen.”

“Oh my!” Dad smirked while chopping vegetables “You are smitten!”

“That was just the prelude,” I said. My voice must have sounded so dead-serious that Dad looked at me sharply.

“I would put her BMI closer to 35 than 30. She has braces on her teeth, wears thick glasses in ugly frames and decidedly un-alluring clothes. She has zero self confidence, is last in the pecking order in class and was described only a few hours ago by Jake’s charming chum Simon as ‘trailer-trash or next door to’. Her mother is a waitress. So was Simon’s once, by the way. Jake told me, to explain some of the venom. Jake is ‘old money’ and an OK guy,” I rambled.

I ran out of breath and Dad whistled softly. “You have landed yourself in deep waters, it seems. Why?”

“I don’t know really,” I said, realizing I didn’t. “Except she is smart and sweet – the few times I have made her smile she swept me off my feet. And I cannot abide this ‘Hill’ versus ‘Track’ thing at all.”

“Well, the ugly glasses and boring clothes is one thing. Easily fixed with a bit of money. The BMI thing is worse. How tall and heavy is she?” Dad asked.

I smiled inwardly. I knew Dad would be interested. It�s his job after all. “I’ll put her at 5’5, give or take an inch, and close to 200 pounds,” I replied.

“Ouch!” Dad said. “That means she is between fifty and sixty pounds overweight. Still, it’s doable. With a steady 2 pounds a week she could be healthy before you graduate.”

“I know. It�s just that her diet is shot. Her mother brings home leftovers from the diner, and it is about as bad as it gets,” I said.

“But you want to help her”. It was a statement, not a question.

“Yeah,” I said. “I do.”

Chapter 3

I had fewer classes with Fran the next day owing to different electives and Phys Ed. But I saw her at the end of the lunch break and brought my salad over. “How goes?” I asked – politely overlooking her food.

“So-so,” she said. “I�m a little hung up on the physics report. I thought I understood everything yesterday, but I got stuck writing the discussion and conclusion.”

“You should have called me,” I replied. “Or have come over. I spent half the afternoon teaching Jake that stuff.”

“I don’t have your phone number,” she said, though her body language also clearly showed she wouldn’t have dared call even if she did have it.

“No, but you know where I live. And as to my number, here it is,” I said and wrote both our landline and
my mobile number on a scrap of paper. “Can I have yours?”

“I don’t have my own mobile phone and we have no landline,” she said miserably.

“But what if you mother wants to get hold of you?” I blurted.

“She doesn’t,” Fran replied, and tears started to form in her eyes.

Ouch. She really had it tough. I made a mental note-to-self that a mobile phone would be an excellent gift, provided I ever got close enough to her to make her accept it. We finished lunch in silence.

“Anyway, let’s have a look at your report and see what we can do,” I said when we had eaten.

She got it out – it was handwritten in her neat and very legible hand. She had left space where she knew things were missing. I noted that. “I hoped you were going to help me,” she blurted out.

“Why of course, but why didn’t you find me earlier?” I asked – again without thinking.

“I, uh, I…” she stammered which I knew very well by now to mean something like ‘I didn’t want to impose on a Hill Boy’ or some similar crap.

My eyes sought hers and locked in when she finally looked up. “We are friends, right? Friends help each other.”

The megawatt smile came back and in 10 minutes her report was finished, just in time for us to rush off to physics.

Next day was Friday – the school district mercifully starts the school year on Wednesdays to give students and teachers a gentler start, and again I had most classes with Fran. I had one or two new subjects and the pattern of introductions from the previous days repeated itself. During the day there were the usual date-arrangements which seem to take up so many of high school kids’ conscious hours.

There were obviously some well-established ‘steady couples’ in the class and additionally groups of friends who occasionally dated each other. The groups were clearly demarked along social borders – the ‘Hill kids’ in one, the ‘Track kids’ in another and a fairly large group of middle-class kids making up the last. I choose to simply observe, and that was rather enlightening.

On several occasions I noted Jake approaching Denise – a very pretty petite middle-class African American girl. But every time it looked like he was just about to say something to her, other kids would walk up and it never happened. In the end I saw him cornered by Lorraine, and he ended up inviting her out, but it sounded very reluctant to my ears.

I meant to invite Fran out, but aware of her sensitivity I had decided to wait until school was over. Fate intervened in that I got cornered by the biology teacher – who seemed to know all about my dad’s work – at the end of class, and Fran slipped out before I could ask her. Not having a phone number or knowing where she lived, I couldn’t do anything.

The weekend was still interesting. On Saturday Dad threw a party for his staff. True to family tradition, he, that is to say, we, cooked everything ourselves and Layla Patterson, his secretary, came over to help. She was a very good looking African American woman, somewhat younger than my dad, and there was something about her that made me think I should know her, but I couldn’t place it. Dad solved the riddle while we were preparing the dinner. “George, I believe you are in some of the same classes as Layla’s daughter.”

The penny dropped. “So you are Denise’s mother!” I exclaimed. Without thinking I continued “She sure doesn’t get her beauty
from strangers.”

I know it is often claimed that African Americans can’t blush, but Layla’s nougat complexion got distinctly redder. “You and your Dad are chips off the same block, aren’t you?” she laughed out loud. “But yes, I am Denise’s mother and it has been mentioned once or twice that we look very much alike while Denise’s little brother Bobby is the spitting image of their late Dad.”

“I’ll remind you of this next time you say I am ‘too smooth’ George,” Dad chuckled, but he didn’t seem annoyed with me.

During the next week I spent as much time with Fran as she would let me. I got nowhere with inviting her out, though. She flatly refused. I had the feeling she was mainly worried I would be embarrassed by her, and I sensed that she dreaded the idea of me seeing her home and meeting her mother.

But I had two minor breakthroughs. On Monday the physics teacher returned our assignments and after the class Fran and Jake were equally, and simultaneously, effusive in their praise of my help. Denise overheard this and when it was time for doing labs on Wednesday again, she asked me point blank if I would extend my tutoring services to her also.

“Sure,” I agreed. “You are more than welcome. But I think it would be most effective if I could help you all in one go. If Jake can drive you and Fran up to my place after school then we can work on it together.”

Jake had been hovering in the background. “I’d love to!” he exclaimed with so much sincerity that Denise looked startled. Jake turned to Fran with an inquiring look.

“Um, I, I’m not sure…” she started, but Denise interrupted her.

“Sure you’ll come. You can’t leave me alone with those two, can you?”

Fran smiled. I saw it reflected in Denise’s and Jake’s faces. When Fran smiles, no-one is unaffected.

The three of them were waiting for me when I made it home on my bike. Being an extra hot day, I was really sweaty. Jake teased me for taking a long time, but in reality they hadn’t been there all that long. Still, it was possibly good that Fran (and Denise) got to see ‘The Cedars’ for the first time without me being there, but the inevitable tour of the inside of the house nevertheless had both of them gaping and Fran looking uncomfortable. We studied in the kitchen, snacking on healthy stuff including a new kind of cookie my dad was trying out on patients. In addition to tasting good, and having next to no calories, they also contained a compound that biochemically triggers the feeling of fullness in many people.

“These would be a God-send when dieting,” Fran said.

“Indeed,” I replied. “Shall I see if I can get you some?”

“Could you?” Fran asked – hesitant as ever.

“I’m sure he could,” Denise cut in. “George’s Dad is the new Professor of Nutrition and Preventative Medicine at the university hospital, and I know they are planning pilot-projects on this stuff.”

“How do you know?” Jake asked.

“My Mom is his secretary,” Denise replied, “and I sometimes help her with packing and mass mailing and those kinds of things.”

I left it at that and the study session went well. Around five Denise had to get home. Jake, gallantly, offered to drive her home. Fran at once blurted “Perhaps I should also get home” and Jake, still gallantly but obviously put out, offered to drive her too.

“I don’t think that is very practical,” I hastened to cut in. “You two live in opposite directions.”

Fran seemed to hesitate, so I leaned over and whispered in her ear “I think we should give those two a little time alone!” and in my normal voice “I’ll take you home later.”

“OK…” Fran started and Jake and Denise were out of the house in almost indecent haste.

“Are those two seeing each other?” Fran asked, “I mean, what about Lorraine?”

“No, I don’t think they are. Yet,” I replied. “But you must have seen Jake on Friday trying to find the courage to ask Denise out and somehow just not managing to bridge the divide. I don’t think he is all that keen on Lorraine, to be honest.”

“I can’t say I noticed, but I am not surprised that he prefers Denise. I doubt his parents would be impressed, but she’s a real honey, even if she doesn’t live in ‘The Hills’,” Fran mused.

“Yes, there are plenty of very nice girls who don’t live up here” I said very pointedly. That elicited a blush. A Famous First Occasion!

I had hoped Dad would come home in time to meet Fran, but he rang to say he would be late and Fran wanted to be home before five thirty when her mother would be briefly home from the diner. “Is there any way I could persuade you to stay?” I asked. “I mean, we could phone your mom at work.”

“I don’t think so, but thanks all the same,” Fran said.

I decided not to push the issue. “I’ll take you home then,” I said and we went out to the garage. Comparing Fran’s reaction to my car to Jake’s the week before was quite interesting. Fran was completely intimidated. “Come on,” I said. “It’s just a car. A nice one, OK, but all it can do is go from point A to point B like any other car.”

We got in and I reversed the car out into the street and idled. Fran looked quizzically at me. “You have to tell me where you live and how to get there,” I said with a teasing smile.

She pulled herself together and guided me down towards ‘The Tracks’. Her street was something completely outside
my experience. Most blocks were littered with wrecked cars and garbage although Fran’s was reasonably tidy, if a far cry from an actual garden. The house looked old and unkempt with paint of an indeterminable color peeling off. “Well, this is home,” she said with a slightly bitter laugh. I couldn’t wait to find a way of getting her out of there, but didn’t quite know how to say so. Instead I got out of the car and hastened round to open her door.

A group of younger kids who had been attracted by the flashy car stared at this unbelievable display of chivalry. A girl of about 14 yelled out “Who’s your boyfriend, Fran?” as we walked towards the house. Fran turned, some retort forming on her lips, but I beat her to it.

“I’m called George,” I said. I then leaned over and kissed Fran on the cheek, before heading back towards the car with a cheerful “See you tomorrow Sweetheart.”

The ‘heckler’ and a tall skinny girl of similar age were giggling while the other kids – two boys, both quite a bit younger – were more interested in the car. “Would you boys like to go for a spin?” I asked. They both nodded eagerly. “It�s a two-seater so I can only take one at the time.” Again they nodded. I got a coin out of my pocket and asked “Heads or tails?” It came up tails. The boy who had called heads looked displeased until I flicked him the coin as a consolation prize, and I spent the next 8-10 minutes making two pre-teen boys very happy.

When I had dropped the second boy off, the tall girl – who I had learned was his sister – asked “Are you really Fran’s boyfriend?”

“No, not really,” I sighed. “She doesn’t want to go out with me.”

“She’s a twit!” exclaimed the first girl.

“Or maybe she doesn’t quite believe you’re for real,” her friend said.

“I think that is closer to the truth,” I said, starting up the car again. “But don’t worry. I’ll make her believe it.”

The other breakthrough was nutritional and came on Thursday. Despairing over the junk Fran was filling up on and feeling that Wednesday’s get-together had been a success – at least she didn’t seem frightened off by the chaste kiss, I simply bought two salads in the cafeteria and walked over to the table Fran was sitting at. She looked inquiringly at the two plates. “I thought you should try this for a change,” I said and placed one of them in front of her, gently pushing her diner leftovers to the side.

“I can’t afford to buy lunch here,” she said in a voice void of emotion.

“I know. But I can,” I replied, my voice equally neutral.

“But why…” she started.

“Listen,” I said – still trying to keep calm, “buying you a healthy lunch 5 days a week will cost me less than taking you out to dinner and the movies on Fridays.” She was about to say something, so I continued “I would love to do both. And you know I can very well afford it, but until you agree to go out with me I will just have to make do with having lunch with you – and having the satisfaction of knowing you get something nice and healthy.”

Not having a suitable reply to that, Fran, sensibly, started eating her salad. But I was worried that I might have overstepped an invisible line. Whether I had or not, I didn’t find out. She ate lunch with me on Friday too, but my attempts to get her on a date were still unsuccessful and I spent a lonely weekend mainly going for long bike rides and wondering how to break down Fran’s
defenses. There was no longer any doubt in my mind: I had fallen – in the hardest way – for ‘the fat girl’.

Chapter 4

The next week was much the same. Lunch was fine; dates were rejected. The Quartet met again after physics lab and we had a great time. Jake’s infatuation with Denise was obvious, but he still couldn’t find the courage to invite her out. When we’d finished physics we just hung out in the music room. I sat down at the baby grand and started playing. “That sounded really good,” Jake said. “What was it?”

“Oh, just some tune I’m working on,” I replied.

“You wrote that?” Denise said. “Oh wow!”

“Is there anything you can’t do?” Fran asked, sounding almost exasperated.

Now that was an opening. “Yeah, tons of things. I’m not at all good around girls. There is this gorgeous thing that I keep asking out, but she keeps shooting me down,” I dead-panned.

Denise giggled and Jake laughed out loud, but Fran didn’t take the bait. “Maybe you’re not so raging hot at being serious either,” she said, and there was an uncomfortable silence. Nothing much more happened that week, and I spent another lonely weekend on my bike.

The PLAN came out of the blue on the following Tuesday, and the unwitting and innocent agent of change was Miss Johnson – of all people – who at the end of yet another soporific English class announced that the date of the Senior Prom had been decided and that it would be on the first Saturday in April. The entire class was immediately awake and abuzz and the excited talking continued when the bell rang and Miss Johnson left the room.

“Oh no,” said Fran when she had checked her dairy. “That’s my birthday!”

Suzy and Lorraine were standing nearby batting eyelids at a delighted Darren and a stressed looking Jake and heard her. “As if that would matter,” Suzy sneered.

“Yeah. No one is likely to ask you anyway,” Lorraine added.

Endurance has its limits. Any ideas of soft approaches or keeping a low profile were blown right out of the water. I exploded. In a very loud voice I said “You’re plain wrong there Lorraine. Fran will be asked, and she will be asked before anyone else!” I then turned to Fran. “Fran, will you allow me to take you to the Prom?”

There was a brief silence where you could have heard a pin drop, and then the noise returned with lots of derisive laughter. To my consternation Fran fled the room with tears streaming down her cheeks. I was about to run after her, but Linda – another girl from ‘The Tracks’ – caught my arm to hold me back. “That was mean. She is suffering enough – why do you want to humiliate her like that?”

I stared at Linda. “What are you talking about?” I exploded. “I am serious – I do want to take her to the Prom.”

Linda’s face was a study. “But you. I mean, you’re a ‘Hill’ boy and your dad’s a doctor and all and she’s…” she trailed off with a wild look in her face.

“And she’s what?” I asked, and I’m sure that didn’t sound nice.

Linda blanched. “Ohmygod. You are serious.” She let go of my arm like she had burned herself.

The bimbos had been following this exchange with glee and their sniggering was loud and theatrical. I desperately wanted to get out of there and find Fran, but I had no idea where she might have gotten to. I rushed out the door, ran randomly up and down a few corridors – and nearly collided with Denise. “You’ll find her over behind the science block,” she calmly said. I nodded thankfully and rushed in that direction.

I found Fran huddled in a corner. The more sensitive of the girls from her street, a freshman called Elisa I later found out, was there with a skinny arm around Fran’s heaving shoulders.

“Fran?” I asked.

“GO AWAY!” she yelled hysterically.

“I will, but not before you tell me why you won’t go to the Prom with me,” I replied quietly.

“Stop teasing me!” she burst out.

“I’m not,” I said. “I really want you to go with me.”

There was a long silence. “I think he does,” Elisa said. “He likes you. He told me so!”

“But why would anyone want to take me out?” Fran asked between deep sobs.

That was an opportunity too good to miss. “Well, you are sweet and bright for starters. You have gorgeous hair, honey colored skin, a fabulous smile that lights up a room and the clearest bluest eyes I have ever seen – and that I want to drown in forever.”

A deep blush spread over her face and down her neck. “But I, I, I…” She indicated her bulk. “You wouldn’t want to go with any one that looks like this and dress the way I do!”

“I would take you to the Prom right this moment and be the happiest man on earth,” I replied. “But no-one says you will look like this in 7 or 8 months. If you will let me help you, we can work on that too.”

Elisa was looking at us starry-eyed. “Fran,” she said with intense earnestness. “This guy wants you, you know. Joy called you a twit the other day when George told us how you wouldn’t go out with him and all. I told her off, but if you still turn him down then I’ll have to apologize to her – ‘cus then I agree completely.”

I could have kissed her!

“Let’s make a deal,” I said to Fran. “You let me help you with those things that bug you. It will be tough, but it is quite handy to have my dad around.” She gave a small laugh. “In return you will agree
to go out with me occasionally. You don’t have to make up your mind about the Prom yet, but at least promise me not to accept anyone else.”

“As if…” she started, but I put a finger over her lips to stop her.

“Hush. You are gorgeous. I am running a big risk here. If you get any prettier I will have a fight on my hands to keep you for myself.”

There was a long pause. Elisa and I were both holding our breath. Finally Fran looked up at me and the megawatt smile started to disperse the tears. “Deal,” she whispered. “Deal.”

Elisa and I exhaled loudly and simultaneously. That made us all laugh. The bell for the next class had rung a while ago and Elisa extracted her arm from Fran to move on. I stopped her. “I owe you, kiddo,” I said and kissed her on the forehead. She blushed prettily and ran off.

I held out my hand to Fran. “We’d better get back to the history class.” Shyly she took my hand and we walked back to class. I don’t know about Fran, but I was walking on air.

The teacher was of course there when we got back and the lesson in full swing. “I am sorry we’re so late sir,” I apologized. “We had a rather pressing personal issue that had to be dealt with at once.”

“Apology accepted,” Mr. Harris replied. “You two write the best history assignments I have had in years, so I’m ready to cut you some slack.”

If he was noticing Fran’s red eyes or the fact we were holding hands he didn’t let on, but a murmur went through the class. Both Jake and Denise looked over at us with huge smiles on their faces. Linda looked thunderstruck.

And so began an unusual courtship. To everyone and anyone I acted as it was a forgone conclusion that Fran and I were together and would be so forever. It was of course my dearest wish this would come true, fuelling my nightly beat off sessions, and what fears and doubts I had I kept strictly to myself. Fran, on the other hand was still so devoid of self-esteem and social skills that she was unable, or unwilling, to do any play acting. She still turned me down when I invited her out – she was, to paraphrase Elisa, still not sure I was for real, and she seemed convinced that any day I would give up on her and go out with one of the ‘cool girls’.

It wasn’t for lack of offers. Several of the girls – and not just those who had taken notice when told my dad was a doctor and where we lived – hinted that they were available for dating, and more than a few were brazen enough to drop the hints and speak plainly. I didn’t mind, of course, but my answer was always “It’s sweet of you and I am flattered, but I�m with Fran.”

The nicer of the girls took that well. Some of the gold-diggers not so. Caroline was peeved and said “How come you never go anywhere with her, then?”

To which I simply replied “Fran has some issues that we’re working on,” and left it at that before the conversation got worse.

And we were working on it. The very afternoon after the fateful Prom invitation, I went into town and bought the nicest, fanciest girl’s bike I could find. It was a stunning black thing, super high-tech – made of aluminum and carbon fiber, making it sturdy, yet light. I also got a bike helmet. The Quartet met for physics at my house the next day, as usual. When we had finished and Jake was driving Denise home, I turned to Fran. “Right,” I said. “Time to get you home too. Only, there is a slight change in how we do that today.” Fran looked
puzzled as I took her hand and led her out to the little courtyard behind the garage. I pointed to the bike and said “Sweetheart, that bike’s for you.” Before she could say anything, I continued. “As of tomorrow, you’ll start riding your bike to school. I will meet you every morning, and every afternoon we will go for a long ride, except on Wednesdays when we go here first. And we’ll go on even longer rides on the weekend.” She looked stunned. I then handed her the helmet. “This is for you too. If I got the size wrong then you can swap it in the pro bike shop in town, no questions asked.”

A number of emotions passed Fran’s face. I tried to remain outwardly calm, but I confess I was nervous. Finally she said. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” I nodded. “It’s a glorious bike – it must have cost a fortune,” she continued. I nodded again – no point in lying. There was a pause. In reality it was probably short, but to me it felt like ages. “Thank you,” she said, and then with a glint in her eyes she added “This might even be fun!”

It was. It had suddenly dawned on me I didn’t even know if she could ride a bike at all, but that wasn’t a problem, even though she confessed that it had been many years since she tried last. But some things you never forget. We spent a bit of time adjusting the bike and the helmet and then we rode home to her place. I am sure she was glad that the first trip was down hill from my house to hers and not the other way around, and it went without mishaps. When we got there, she again got the attention of the small fry in the street. “I think I had better take the bike indoors,” she said, “or it might be stolen or vandalized in the night.” I gave her a kiss on the cheek and rode home.

Chapter 5

The next morning I showed up at her door 20 minutes before school started. The door bell didn’t work so I knocked. A grossly obese woman – probably only in her early or mid thirties, but it was hard to tell, opened the door. “Who are you?” she demanded, “and what do you want?”

She had only a slight resemblance to Fran, but it had to be her mother. “My name is George, Ms. McNair,” I replied civilly. “I am a class mate of Fran’s and we’re riding to school together.”

“You’re the idiot who bought her the bike?” she inquired unpleasantly, nodding in the direction of the bike that stood in the entrance room.

“That’s me!” I replied cheerfully.

“Why are you wasting your time and money on my blob of a daughter?” she asked with a sneer.

Talking about the pot calling the kettle black! But I held my tongue and answered pleasantly. “Fran and I are friends.”

“Friends, huh?” she snorted. Fran, who had been getting ready, came out to us, looking pained. “What did you do to get that bike?” her mother inquired “Suck his dick?”

Fran with tears in her eyes grabbed the bike, wheeled it out of the house and got on it without answering. She set a break-neck pace, obviously determined to get away from her mother as quickly as possible. When I caught up with her I said gently “Sweetheart, this speed is for the afternoon. No point arriving all sweaty at school.”

Fran slowed down a little, but looked at me in deep despair. “She is horrible!” she exclaimed. “And I am sure she hates my guts.”

“I can’t for the life of me understand why,” I said. “But at least I love you!”

She just looked at me, and then answered the first part of my statement. “She blames having me at 16 for the life she got. And for losing her figure, as she puts it.”

“Well, you didn’t choose to be born, did you?” I asked. “I’m mighty glad you were though.” That finally got me a weak smile. “And what’s the deal with her figure?”

“I found a picture of her in sophomore year,” Fran said. “She was quite slim and actually good looking then. She really let herself go when she got pregnant with me. Her boyfriend, my father, vanished without a trace.”

“Well, I shall never vanish,” I said. “And I’ll make damned sure that you can fit your pre-pregnancy clothes no later than three months after the birth of each of our babies!”

Fran just looked at me. I couldn’t quite figure out if that statement had increased or decreased my ‘for real’ rating, but I had obviously given her something to think about. Shortly after that we arrived at school and had no more time for talking.

After school we went out to the bikes again. “So?” Fran inquired.

“We go for a long ride,” I replied.

“I’m not sure I’m up to it,” she said with real concern in her voice.

“You are. It will feel horrible for the first little while, but you’ll get there,” I replied cheerfully. “Think about your Prom dress!” I added. That became a battle cry over the next many months.

The first ride was indeed rough on her. I let her on a long loop around the city, and without her realizing it we ended up at my place. “Come in and have something cold to drink,” I offered, and Fran – out of breath and quite red in her face – gratefully accepted.

“I am so sweaty,” she said when we sat down in the kitchen with two giant cups of cold water.

“How about a shower?” I asked innocently.

“I haven’t got anything to change into,” she replied.

I knew better. “It will be nice all the same to cool down,” I urged and reluctantly she agreed. I got her a towel and showed her to the change house near the pool. Now
there are a gazillion bathrooms in ‘The Cedars’, but I had chosen that particular one for a specific reason – the shower is separated from the change room by a heavy door. Once she had gotten undressed and I heard her get the shower going, I snuck in and removed all her clothes, replacing them with some really nice stuff I had bought in town on the Tuesday.

In addition to some cute but respectable underwear, there was a pair of designer jeans and a really pretty blouse. Like all men I was petrified that I had chosen the wrong sizes, although I had tried to sneak peeks at size labels in her clothes over the course of the last few weeks. I was pretty confident about the jeans; my main concern was her bra, but a quick look at the one I removed showed that I had been spot on.

I hastily relocated to the music room and was innocently playing the baby grand when she returned. “Something happened to my clothes,” she said, trying to sound stern, but there was lightness in her voice and a glint in her eyes that made my spirit soar. The clothes looked really good on her. “Care to offer an explanation?”

“Well, I couldn’t send you home all sweaty, could I?” I replied innocently.

She shook her head, but the megawatt smile was there. “Thank you. I love the new stuff!”

We rode a similar trip on Friday afternoon. The weekend ride was even harder. I showed up early Saturday morning with a bag containing proper bike-clothes to prevent chaffing. We were out for over 3 hours, and she was more dead than alive when we arrived at my place.

“Shower?” I asked.

“Oh yes!” she replied. “Will the clothes fairy come again?” she asked – there had been new clothes on Friday too.

“Who knows?” I replied airily and went to have my own shower.

Of course the ‘clothes fairy’ had been there. This time with a skirt and a silk shirt. She looked really really pretty in it. She washed her hair and spent some time getting it in order which turned out to be good timing – that day was the first time she met my dad. He had been out shopping and returned just after we had showered and were making a light lunch. We were busy chopping vegetables when a deep voice said “Impressive red hair…” Fran had spun around in fright. “… Pretty freckled skin. Gorgeous blue eyes. You must be Fran!”

Now who is smooth? Fran blushed profusely and looked nervous. “Oh hi Dad,” I said. “Got it in one – this is Fran.”

Dad came over and rolled out maximum charm. “I am delighted to meet you at last. I have heard so much about you, indeed I hear of little else! Did you have a nice ride?”

“Exhausting but good,” Fran said, feeling quickly at ease with my dad, as most people do. That’s a really good ability for a doctor to have.

Dad helped us finish making lunch and we sat down to eat. During the meal he talked to Fran and got on to issues of diet and weight loss as the most natural thing in the world. “The problem about dieting is the hunger,” Dad said. “We have a new breakfast cereal and some cookies that might help you. You are welcome to take some home to try.”

“I think I might have tried the cookies already,” Fran said. “We snacked on them one afternoon and I felt really full afterwards.”

“That’s the ones,” Dad said. “The breakfast cereal is similar, except it actually does provide a fair amount of nutrition. You cannot study on empty. Have a bowl every morning with skim milk,
have a salad lunch at school, snack on the cookies during the afternoon when you study and have a light dinner. Combined with George’s grueling training program, you could have a healthy BMI in spring.”

The look on Fran’s face was priceless. I think the ‘for real’ index took a giant leap upwards.

And so the training program continued. Fran’s physical condition improved rapidly – you get fit before you get slim. Over the next weeks I also replaced Fran’s wardrobe with much nicer clothes. The project was well on its way.

One Wednesday when the Quartet was studying physics, Dad came home early. He noticed that Fran seemed to be struggling with reading something and when Jake and Denise had left he asked point blank if Fran was sure her glasses had the right strength. “I’m not sure,” she replied. “It’s true I have problems seeing well. I’ve had these for ages, but I can’t afford…”

Dad gently stopped her. “I think you should go and see the optometrists in the mall on Saturday. Don’t worry about cost.” The last part of the sentence was directed at me. I gave a tiny nod.

So on Saturday we had Fran’s eyes tested and compared the result with her current glasses. True enough, they were all wrong. In fact the old ones were much too strong – something that puzzled the optometrist, but he said it could perhaps be explained with changes in puberty and being under stress when tested last. I got her to try some high-class glasses and she reluctantly chose a stylish pair of Rodenstocks. They are famous for the ultra-lightweight lenses and I couldn’t wait to see my favorite blue eyes through those.

“He’s not wrong about stress,” Fran said when we left the shop to go on our ride. “Grandma had just died and we had moved here when I got them. I don’t think they were ever right, but Mom gave me so much hell about needing them that I didn’t dare complain. I hated the frames too, but they were cheap.”

I despaired. No doubt that Fran’s mother’s life had been hard, but why she should be so hateful towards her daughter was a mystery to me.

It took just under a week before Fran’s new glasses were there. We picked them up on Friday after school. The change was incredible, both for Fran and for the rest of the world. Fran had clear vision for the first time in years. And the world? Although she was still quite overweight – it was early days, after all – here was a very pretty girl indeed. People took notice.

I decided to go for broke. I mean, we were together every day – from we met at her house in the mornings for the ride to school, for classes throughout most of the school day, for lunch, for the exercise ride in the afternoon, for relaxation and homework in my house afterwards, for the ride back to her home, for the weekend training that got longer and more demanding all the time. But still she hadn’t agreed to go out with me. Apart from physics on Wednesdays and the occasional shopping trip, she would not let me take her anywhere with people. And still we had progressed no further than holding hands and kissing on the cheek, that is to say me taking her hand and me kissing her on the cheek.

I was patient, but I was also a 17, nearly 18 year old boy, and my hormones were raging. So I started, right there in the mall, to dance around her like, well, a demented teenager in love. “Frances McNair,” I chanted. “You’re the most gorgeous being on earth and I love you.” Fran look flustered and highly embarrassed. People starred at us. “Frances McNair,” I chanted again. “Will you go out with me on a date tonight?” More and more people were noticing. I repeated my demented antics. I would hold her hips from behind and sing over one then the other of her shoulders.

�George, stop it!” she tried feebly, but I was relentless. She claims afterwards that she only said ‘yes’ to make me stop. What she hadn’t banked on was my reaction. I spun her round, grabbed her in a bear hug and kissed her on the mouth. My tongue was probing her lips and eventually she relented and opened her mouth, and our tongues met in a primordial dance. This toe-curling kiss went on and on, leaving me – predictably – with a raging erection and both of us out of breath.

An elderly gentleman finally got us to our senses. “Save some for the date tonight, boy!” he said to general amusement. Blushing profusely we fled the mall, Fran leading me by the hand. Life was good.

We skipped training that day and simply rode back to Fran’s house. I kissed her goodbye outside – a nice mutual kiss, if tame compared to the one in the mall – and rode off. “Be ready at seven!” I called over my shoulder.

“I will!” she replied and went inside.

I rushed home to get ready, but stopped at a florist on the way, getting a single red rose. I wanted this to be perfect in every way and took extra care in shaving, showering and washing my hair. When I had just gotten out of the shower, the phone rang. It was Dad. “George, something came up and, ‘eh, I, �eh I have to go out to dinner with ‘eh someone. I have no idea when I’ll be home. Is that OK with you?”

“No worries Dad. I have a date myself!” I replied, so high on the fact that I failed to reflect on this highly unusual call.

“What?!” Dad almost yelled. “Did she finally say yes?”

“Indeed she did! I might have forced her hand, making myself highly conspicuous in the mall, but yes, she finally agreed!” I gushed.

“You can tell me all about it in the morning – or at least the bits that are suitable to parental
ears,” Dad chuckled.

“Nothing of the sort,” I replied to what Dad hadn’t actually said. “This is a First Date, remember? And Fran is a Good Girl.”

“I am sure she is,” Dad said, “and there is no need to rush. Don’t frighten her off.”

“Shan’t. See you tomorrow over breakfast,” I said and we hung up.

A few minutes before seven I pulled up at Fran’s house. I was rather presentable, if I have to say so myself: Docksides, black jeans, polo and a bomber jacket which strictly speaking wasn’t mine, but I’m sure Dad wouldn’t object. And my hair as organized as I was able to. All in all not too bad. The car didn’t hurt either, of course. The younger kids of Fran’s street were there as usual. Elisa amongst them – she noted the rose. “You look like you’re going on a date!” she said with a wink.

“I am indeed!” I replied with an eat-shit grin and walked up to the house.

“She’s finally come to her senses, then?” I heard Elisa’s friend query.

“I think it is a little bit more complicated than that,” Elisa was heard to reply. Yup, just a little bit.

Fran was ready, and she looked very pretty indeed. She was wearing the skirt and silk shirt and had platted her hair in a French braid. I know I am biased, but I really felt I was taking the prettiest girl in the world out, and I told her so when I presented her with the rose. “Flatterer!” she said, but it was obvious from here eyes that she was pleased.

“Do we have a curfew?” I asked.

“Not really. Mom doesn’t know we’re going out. I kind of forgot to tell her…” she trailed off.

“‘Forgot’?” I asked – I’m sure the incredulity must have been audible.

“I didn’t want a row with her,” Fran said looking miserable. “She is usually not home before eleven on Fridays, so if we’re back before that then we’ll be OK.”

“That’s fine,” I hastened to say. “The movie starts in half an hour. We can have a bite afterwards and still be back before eleven.”

So we drove to the movie theatre. I got us popcorn (without ‘butter’), sodas (diet of course) and healthy snacks (dried fruit) – other than that, to the outside observer it was a completely ordinary Friday Night at the Movies Date. But to us – or to me at least – it was the biggest event since the universe began.

I had gotten us ‘love seats’ in the back row and my arm was around Fran throughout the movie. Every few minutes I would lean over and kiss her. She kissed me back with enthusiasm, although I do believe she was actually interested in the movie too. Not me! To this day I can’t remember which one we saw or what is what about; I was concentrating 100% on being out with Fran at last.

Remembering my good intensions, I kept the making out to kissing, although I had a raging hard-on again and the strongest urge to fondle her breasts. After the movie we went to a cafe and had a late supper. Again the choices were tempered by the long-term project, but otherwise it was Boy and Girl on Date.

I drove Fran home and had her at her doorstep a few minutes before eleven. A long kiss followed every bit as wonderful as the one in the mall, and with the same result: My dick was straining to break out of my jeans. Fran felt it, or rather felt something and unthinkingly let her hand slide over it to investigate. Then it hit her what it was and she tore her hand away in shock – a pity, ’cause it felt real
nice. She started to mutter something that sounded like an apology, but I smothered her with kisses and finally tore myself loose. “See you tomorrow for the ride,” I called. And, as an afterthought. “Thank you for going out with me. I love you, you know.” I got the megawatt smile as an answer to that. It was still in my mind’s eye when I brought myself off in record time back home.

Chapter 6

Although I had gotten Fran home before her mother returned from work, the date was still discovered. What gave us away? The rose, of course. There were dark clouds in the McNair household when I came for the Saturday ride. Fran’s face was completely blotted from crying – she looked a mess. “Is that your pimp?” her mother called disagreeably.

I didn’t think that warranted an answer. “Get your bike gear on and let�s go Sweetheart,” I said quietly.

We rode off in silence at very high speed. We were well out of town and on to a rarely used path before Fran got off the bike, sat down on the ground and started crying inconsolably. I didn’t know what to do except just sit and hold her. After a while she quieted down a bit. “She called me a whore!” she got out between the sobs. “She said I was ‘servicing you sexually’ in return for the gifts.” I was paralyzed with anger, and yet I sensed there was more – and worse – to come. There was. “When I said all we’d ever done was holding hands and kissing, she said that was because you, you,” – it was drowned out by her crying.

“Hush Sweetheart. She is mean and horrible. Don’t listen to her,” I said to her. “Remember that I love you.”

That seemed to help her get it out. “She said that you didn’t have sex with me because you couldn’t stomach it and that no-one would ever want me,” she got out in a constricted voice. That seemed to be the worst; she wept quietly.

“I guess we both know that isn’t true,” I said. “You found that out yourself last night, didn’t you? One might even say you found ‘hard evidence’, ‘eh?”

To my immense relief and joy, she could giggle between the tears at that little joke. “Yes, that’s true, I suppose.”

“Suppose?” I said in mock outrage – deciding that shock therapy was in order. “I nearly came in my pants when you touched me! It took me less than 30 seconds to bring myself off when I got home and I have never come so hard in my life!”

Fran’s face was a study. She was so shocked she forgot to blush – I think she finally was on the brink of allowing the overwhelming evidence to overrule her low self esteem. She was finally facing the fact that someone, me, wanted her in the worst way.

“Listen,” I continued. “I don’t know what your mom is on about, but she seems to stop at nothing to put you down. I just don’t get it. When I told Dad we had a date last night he yelped with joy. That’s what parents are supposed to do.”

“I think she may be concerned that I will end up pregnant and dumped just like she was,” Fran said with a loyalty towards her mother that, while praiseworthy, was complete unwarranted or at least unearned. “I said that if we ever got to having sex, we would take precautions, but she said that contraception wasn’t always effective, or I wouldn’t be here.”

She was quiet for a while. “It was after that Mom said we hadn’t had sex because you didn’t want me anyway.”

Charming mother, I don’t think. But I knew what had to be said. “Fran, love of my life. You know I want you. I dream about you. I would be lying if I said I wouldn’t leap at the opportunity to make love to you. But I will never ever hurt you. And I can wait. Considering what you’re up against, we should wait. I promise you here and now that we will not go all the way before you have my ring on your finger.”

“But you could have sex with anyone you want!” she objected.

Duh! Fran was the one I wanted. Flippancy seemed the best way forward. “Thank you,” I replied. “I am looking very much forward to that Miss McNair, very much indeed!”

She finally blushed, extracted her self from my arms reluctantly and got up. “We’d better get going. I am told that physical exercise is helpful against impure thoughts,” she teased.

“That was obviously said by someone who has never tried having to ride a bike with a massive erection,” I replied in kind.

Here eyes sought out my crotch. It is impossible to hide anything in bike attire and her eyes widened. “Poor baby. That must be so uncomfortable.”

“Kiss and make it better?” I asked hopefully.

“You wish!” she laughed out loud. “Not a chance.” And then, to my utter amazement and delight added “Well, at least not in public.”

That thought didn’t exactly make the problem less, shall we say, prominent, but after a while it subsided enough to make following Fran’s pace possible.

When we got to my house, I decided to test the waters. “I have it on good authority that the clothes fairy might come today,” I started.

“Oh goody,” Fran said with animation in her voice. “I LOVE the clothes fairy.”

I smiled broadly. “He might be late – what if he is still there when you come out of the bath?”

Fran bit her lip. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet.”

Oh well, we can’t but try. I hid my disappointment. “That’s perfectly OK Sweetheart,” I said and kissed her. “Perfectly OK. As I said, I can wait. I love you, you know.”

We made do with kissing and external groping
after we had showered and changed, but that was nice too. Very nice. I was kept in an almost permanent state of arousal as she kept running her hand over my crotch. I decided to reciprocate by fondling her breasts. Even through her bra and shirt I could feel her nipples stiffen and after the initial shock she made some very interesting noises from the stimulation. Things were progressing nicely.

“So, how was your date last night?” Dad asked later in the afternoon when I returned from taking Fran home.

“Very nice indeed!” I replied – and remembering the strange phone call Friday afternoon, I added in an innocent voice “And how was yours?”

“Oh, very good too!” Dad replied with a big smile, then spluttered, coughed, and tried to recover. “I mean, the dinner was excellent, and ‘eh the ‘eh meeting ‘eh went well. I…”

Hook, line and sinker! I just smiled and went to play the piano. If Dad was seeing someone, great! He had never done any serious dating since Mom died. Probably for my sake, but I think that was a mistake, and with me being nearly an adult and likely to leave home relatively soon, I was only happy that he might not remain single. Anyway, I was not going to pry into his affairs. He respected my personal space, and I would certainly respect his.

As it turns out, I didn’t have to pry to find out what was going on though. On Monday morning, the change in Fran’s and my relationship, not to mention the change in Fran’s appearance, became obvious to our class mates, and many of them responded in a very positive way. Well, not the snobs, jocks and bimbos of course, but almost everyone else. I had expected Denise to be amongst them but she was really gloomy. “I see someone has had a nice weekend!” she said to me during one of the breaks. The ‘someone’ was so pointed that I felt an exploratory question was warranted.

“Not including you?” I hazarded.

“Not exactly. I was going to go to the movies with a group of friends of Friday and then all of a sudden Mom rang and said she was going to this meeting and dinner and I had to stay home to look after Bobby. Like he needed a babysitter!” she said with some heat in her voice. “Jake was going to be there…” she added sadly.

That explained her exasperation. “Oh that sucks!” I said with sympathy and then suddenly realized exactly what she’d said first up. “Hey, wait a minute. Did you say that your mom all of a sudden, without warning and quite out of character, ‘had’ to dine with someone Friday night?”

“Why, yes, yes and yes – she’s never done anything like that before!” Denise replied with an inquiring look.

I laughed out loud. “Would it surprise you greatly that I experienced exactly the same?”

“What?!” Denise exclaimed. “Your Dad also ‘had to go out’ all of a sudden?”

“Yup!” I said – and couldn’t resist adding “Only, since I have no younger siblings, I could still go out on my date!”

Denise threw a book at me.

I ducked and avoided the book. “I’m not terrible surprised. Recently Dad said to Fran that I only ever talked of her. I could have countered the he only ever talks of your mom!”

“Same thing with my mom. Talking about your Dad, I mean. Do you think they are serious?” Denise asked.

I told her yes and why – including tricking my dad into admitting he’d been on a date. Denise laughed, and then her features softened. “You
know, Mom has seemed really happy recently. It would be so good for her…” she trailed off.

I knew exactly what she meant. “It would,” I agreed. “For both of them.” She nodded.

After the first date the ice was broken. We went out every Friday to numerous movies that I completely ignored because kissing and groping Fran was much more fun, but that was still all we did. We kept up the training program; Fran actually exceeded the rate of weight loss originally planned.

As the weather got colder, we decided to move the serious part of the program indoors – ‘The Cedars’ has a well equipped gym – though we kept up riding bikes to and from school for a while and only reluctantly swapped to using the car when it simply got too cold.

We also maintained the Wednesday afternoon meeting of the Quartet, even though we actually weren’t doing physics labs for a while. “We can still go through physics theory!” Jake said, obviously wanting some, any, excuse to keep meeting Denise in relative privacy, and occasionally we did run through that week’s material, but most of the Wednesday afternoons were simply spent hanging out and enjoying each other�s company.

In the process I also got closer and closer to both Denise and Jake. Without question Jake was my best male friend, and I came to rely more and more on Denise, who was very intelligent and massively competent behind her sweet, gentle and unassuming facade. No wonder Jake was smitten. If Fran hadn’t been the girl for me I could possibly have fallen in love with Denise myself. Instead I grew to love her in a brotherly way and on more than one occasion she offered good sisterly advice when finding a way forward with Fran eluded me. She in turn had me to talk to when the lack of progress between her and Jake was bugging her.

“Why can’t he get his act together and ask me out?” she complained to me during the one class a week we had without either Fran or Jake being there. Strictly speaking, we were supposed to be working on an assignment, but she wanted to talk. “I know he likes me, and I am not exactly playing hard to get!”

“Give him time – the boy is torn,” I replied. “His mother – a bit of a pill by the way, is so aware of status. It doesn’t help either that she is best-friends with Lorraine’s mother, who is a real hag. They have essentially decreed that Jake and Lorraine is an unbreakable item. It won’t be easy for him to bring his mother round, but he will. I’m sure of it.”

“If he really loves me it wouldn’t matter what his mother says!” Denise exclaimed. She was getting worked up now.

“He really loves you, and you know it!” I replied, and then added “Have you considered asking him out yourself instead of waiting?”

She smiled. “Oh, I won’t do that. I toyed with the idea, but I think it would put Jake off completely.”

I shrugged. “There’s nothing for it then. Either drop him or wait for him. And I know you won’t drop him!”

She smiled even broader. “True. Anyway, it just annoys me that my mother’s love-life is progressing quicker than mine! She told Bobby and me that she is going to a conference next weekend. She was so deliberately trying to sound off-hand that even Bobby smelled a rat.”

“Yup, Dad said something similar last night. He even went through the charade of showing me the agenda for the event!” I laughed.

“Cute!” Denise said. “Anyway, I am happy that they get some time together.”

“Yeah, me too,” I agreed. “Perhaps I will end up with younger siblings after all!” I added lightly.

Denise got that at once. “Would I do for a little sister?” she asked – there’s all of 6 months between us.

“You’d be the best,” I smiled and gently brought the conversation back to the assignment.

Chapter 7

Fran’s self-confidence steadily grew, and no more so than when it was discovered during Phys Ed – a subject she had otherwise hated and dreaded for years – that she was nearly as fit as the elite athletes. She had also finally started to really lose weight, not just building up muscle mass. Her BMI came in at 29.9, so while she was still overweight, she was officially no longer obese. “Thank you!” she whispered in my ear when she had told me. “You made it all possible. I couldn’t have done it without you. There wouldn’t have been a point.”

I felt like I was on the top of the world. “I am so happy for you and for us. I love you and I so wanted this to happen for you,” I said with a lump in my throat.

Fran looked at me, drew breath to say something, faltered, and then got it out. “I love you too. I think I have for a long time. I am learning to love myself; that takes a little longer…”

Did I say I was on top of the world before? Forget that. This was the top of the world. I resisted the urge to tell her how easy she was to love. She was finding her own way and I loved seeing that happening.

My birthday is in late November, and Dad let me have a big splash for my 18th on the day – a Saturday. The entire class and many additional friends were invited. For once we had food from caterers – simply because so many people were coming, but we arranged it ourselves and Layla – big surprise – promised to come over to help. She would bring her kids, and when Jake heard that he immediately volunteered to help too. That didn’t go down well with Lorraine who exclaimed that she expected to taken there by Jake despite the fact that they both live within easy walking distance from me.

Remembering my debt of gratitude to Elisa, and finding out that she was in the same class as Bobby – who was otherwise going to feel rather left out in the company of much older kids, I had invited her to come. “I’d love to,” she gushed when I asked her. “And Bobby is a really cute kid. Quite the nicest boy in my class. I like him a lot!” she added, turning quite pink. Bobby, already taller than me, massively built and one of the coming stars on the school Football team, would have been mortified to be called ‘cute’, but I let is pass.

“Super. That’s settled then. Will you do me a favor?” I asked.

“Anything!” she replied eagerly. “What do you want me to do?”

“Well, I want Fran to look her best – it boosts her self-confidence,” I said. “Would you be an absolute honey and take her shopping for a really nice dress and shoes and what-not? It would be a real help – and you can obviously buy stuff for yourself too.”

Elisa looked gob-smacked and even more so when I handed her a thick wad of cash. “Make me proud of her,” I said and turned to go.

“George!” she called and I turned around. “I’ll make sure of it.”

We didn’t skip our Saturday training ‘just for a party’ as I put it, but made it slightly less strenuous. Through Denise I had gotten Layla to pick up Elisa and they all arrived in the early afternoon so we could get everything in order. A good hour before the guests were due to arrive, the girls excused themselves and withdrew to get changed and ready. With five minutes to go (apparently being punctual is a big thing round here – I like that!) the girls came down the main staircase to the hall, and Bobby, Jake and I were completely stunned.

They were dressed in identical outfits – very stylish cream dresses with an intricate system of strings – and wore medium high heels. They really looked stunning. It was actually a small miracle finding something that three such different girls – Denise petite, Elisa tall and gangly, Fran, well, voluptuous for want of a better word – would all look great in, but they’d done it. I was so proud I was fit to burst, and I am sure Jake and Bobby felt something similar.

“You’re catching flies, boys,” my dad laughed. Bobby, Jake and I hastily closed our mouths.

“I think they like the outfits,” Denise laughed.

“And how!” we exclaimed in unison.

“What happened here?” Layla asked – apparently she hadn’t been in on the plan.

“Well, Fran and I met Denise when we went shopping and we decided to see if we could find a common theme,” Elisa replied. “We all loved this dress, they had it in our sizes, and with the string-things it is very, ‘eh, adjustable…” she made a vague hand gesture towards her chest and all three girls giggled. I learned later that was not the only thing the ‘string-things’ were good for. Right now, however, three absolutely gorgeous girls were there with three very proud boys to formally receive the guests.

As I mentioned, punctuality is an old-fashioned virtue that is observed around here and all our guests arrived over the next 15-20 minutes. Most had gone to the trouble of dressing up, but in my eyes nobody matched Fran and her two friends. There was a very awkward moment when Lorraine arrived. She shot daggers at Denise who was standing very close to Jake. “What is she doing here?” she hissed at Jake, “looking like a co-hostess.”

Before Jake could say anything,
Fran spoke up. “She is. Denise and Elisa are my very best friends and they have been helping us getting everything ready. As have Jake and Bobby.” So there! Lorraine, jealous of her social standing, dared not continue the hostility at that stage, but I worried for later in the evening. In the midst of that worry, I did have time to rejoice over the fact that Fran had – more implicitly than in so many words – established her natural right to be considered the hostess through being my girlfriend.

There were buffets with loads of food and a bar. Officially no alcohol, of course, but in reality plenty of beer and mixers. “I’d rather the kids have beer strength drinks under my supervision than neat alcohol outside behind the shed. When you have beer or mixers, at some stage you need to go to the toilet and when you get up you know when you’ve had enough!” Dad said. But there was a strict ban on alcohol to drivers.

People could pretty much be all over the house. As Dad said to the guests in his brief but funny welcome speech “If a door’s not locked you can go in,” and then added “and if you don’t want anyone entering while you’re there, do lock the door.” That caused laughs and mock-outraged comments about ‘New England liberals’.

‘The Cedars’ has a huge old fashioned dining room which had been empty since Dad and I moved in; now it came to good use. A DJ had set up his gear and presto – somewhere to dance. And dance people did. I spent almost the entire evening dancing. I danced with Fran most of the time obviously, but also had a swing with a number of the other girls. Jake on the other hand spent the entire evening with Denise in his arms. He is admittedly a very good dancer, but he was glued to Denise in a close embrace during the slow dances.

Poor Lorraine did her best to attract Jake’s attention and in a doomed attempt at making him jealous danced so suggestively with Simon that it was bordering on the indecent. To no avail. She finally gave up and left the ‘dance hall’ with Simon. I didn’t see her again that evening and briefly wondered why she would commit the social sin of not saying goodbye. Only much later did I learn why.

Around 3 AM the last guests left. Layla and Bobby took Elisa home; I am sure Elisa’s mother had only OK’ed her being out that late with the express proviso that she was chaperoned. Even so, Elisa and Bobby had a great time together and I think they established the foundations for the relationship they are still in to this day that evening.

Denise did not go home in Layla’s car. Only a fool would have tried to separate Jake and Denise, and Layla is not a fool, so Jake – who was completely sober – collected his car and was permitted to take Denise home. That he was a gentleman and utterly trustworthy was beyond discussion; in fact a lot of us wished he was just a little bit more forward. “Give him time,” I whispered to Denise just before they left. “There really is no hurry.”

We were now only Dad, Fran and I left in the big house. Dad said his good nights and retired to bed. I turned to Fran. “Well Miss McNair, shall I take you home?”

“No!” she said. Before I could say anything she grabbed me by the hand and dragged me off up to my room. “Time for your birthday present” she said in a voice that immediately sent blood to my groin. She turned round, looked back at me over her shoulder and said “Aren’t you going to open it?” and indicated the blessed straps on her dress. With shaking hands I untied them. The dress started sliding down Fran’s body and in one graceful swirl she now faced me wearing only a set of incredibly sexy midnight blue underwear – miniscule lacy panties and an also lace-trimmed half-bra that only just kept her large firm breasts in.

“Ta da!” she said, but I could see on her face how nervous she was and I could well imagine how difficult it would be for her to expose herself in that way, having had such difficulties with self-image for so long. Sure, she was certainly not skinny. But not fat and floppy either. Her muscle tone was amazing, the result of months of hard training. Yes, voluptuous was the right word.

My voice was constricted, my mouth dry. “Fran my love, you are beautiful!” I manage to croak. “Absolutely ravishingly beautiful!”

She was in my arms in a flash. I kissed her mouth, her throat, the top of her breasts, and then – through the flimsy material of her bra – her hard nipples that I had felt against my chest all evening. “You like?” she moaned.

“I love!” I replied. I had never bought her overtly ‘sexy’ underwear, and I hadn’t thought she owned any. “Where did this come from?”

“It was Elisa and Denise that suggested it,” she replied with a blush. “They said you would like it.”

“And how!” I exclaimed.

“Good!” she said, “’cause it is staying on!” Before I could even consider being disappointed, she continued “You however are severely overdressed!” in a voice that caused such a blood flow to my groin that my dick threatened irreparable damage to my suit pants. She dropped to her knees, unzipped and unbuttoned them and when they had dropped down around my ankles, she liberated my straining dick from my boxers.

“Hello!” she said to my dick. “I am so glad to meet you in the flesh at last!” and in one incredible sexy move engulfed the head in her warm moist mouth.

I knew she had never done it before, but she was a natural. Her tongue was swirling around the ultra sensitive edge of the head while her mouth was bobbing forth and back over the shaft driving me to ecstasy
very quickly. “Fran, honey. I’m going to come soon,” I managed to say.

She made an “hmmmmm” noise as way of reply, continuing her tongue and mouth work on my engorged dick and seconds later I erupted in the most intense orgasm of my life. Instinctively knowing that I would get extra sensitive, her continued sucking was very gentle and she kept swallowing until I stopped shooting sperm. She let go of my dick and stood up to kiss me. “Happy birthday George, I love you!”

“Oh Fran, I love you too!” I said, tears welling up in my eyes. “Thank you, not just for what you just did, but for trusting me enough to get us to here and showing me your gorgeous body!”

“I would never have had a body I dared to show off if it hadn’t been for you!” she said. She was undoing my shirt while she spoke. I looked at her hands and she grinned. “We are going to sleep now. You will be more comfortable with this off!”

“You are staying the night?!” I asked in amazement.

“Oh yes I am,” she replied with a confidence I had never heard in her voice before. “But before you get too excited – remember that my panties are staying on!”

“Does that mean the bra comes off?” I asked hopefully.

“Yeeees, I never wear a bra to bed,” she said.

“You said the panties stay on?” I started.

“You know why,” Fran said, sounding serious.

“Indeed I do,” I hastened to say. “But can I amend the rules?” I asked, sounding coy I’m sure.

“How?” she asked, not disinterested.

“Oh, just that your panties stay on unless my boxers are on?” I said my hands now busy caressing her still bra-clad breasts.

“Now there is an idea!” she said. “It will have the same effect.”

“Indeed!” I said and very pointedly retrieved my boxers. “Your turn to be ravished, my love” I added, reached behind her back and deftly undid her bra.

“I thought boys were supposed to struggle with bras – you’ve had a lot of practice?” she teased. I hadn’t, although I’m not a complete novice, and I told her so.

“But I got a glimpse of the clasp when you turned your back to me before. Besides, why should you be the only one who is a natural at bedroom activities?” I added.

Whatever she had intended so reply to that was lost in a long moan as my lips closed over one of her large erect nipples while my fingers played with the other. As I swapped a heavenly scent was reaching my nostrils from her crotch. Teenaged boys are programmed to react to the scent of turned on girl and my dick was again straining to break out of my boxers. But a deal is a deal, and it was Fran’s turn to enjoy. With my mouth still sucking and gently biting her nipple, my hands slid down over her sides until they reached the waistband of her panties. Inserting my thumbs I ever so gently slid them down over her hips and they dropped to the floor. I looked down. “Not that I ever doubted it, but you are a genuine read-head, aren�t you?” I said in awe.

“Oh yes, all natural and all yours,” she laughed.

Now, that was an invitation. I gently pushed her onto my bed, and then lay down on it too, kneeling between her legs. I started licking and kissing her all over her body, from her lips, down her neck, over her breasts, further and further down. She giggled when I stuck my tongue in her belly button, but when I continued towards her crotch she fell silent,
although her breathing sounded labored. She spread her legs further for me, giving me access. I had never done this before, but I had a fair idea of what to do. Her pubic hair was not very plentiful – I am sure she had been trimming it – so I could see everything and I delighted in observing her swollen, wet sex before I dived in with my tongue, licking her pussy lips all the way to the top. When my tongue ran over her clit, she yelped. I repeated the action a few times before I drove my tongue as deeply into her vagina as I could, then moved up and started concentrating on her steadily more and more engorged clit.

By this stage she was very very loud, and I was happy that Dad and I have bedrooms on different floors. Different wings would be better though! “Oh God yes, Oh God Yes, YES YESSSS!” she cried out and her entire body stiffened, then arched off the bed and copious liquid gushed out of her – not that she was dry before. When I could get back to her sex, I repeated the licking of her clit and within moments another climax hit her, then another. Coming down from that, she begged me to stop “No more my love, no more. Oh wow oh wow oh WOW!”

We basked in the afterglow on top of my bed, feeling complete satisfied and at ease – my dick actually managed to go down a bit – before deciding it was time to sleep. Fran retrieved a tee-shirt and a plain pair of panties to sleep in and her toiletries from her bag and we got ready for bed together in my en-suite bathroom. She didn’t put the tee-shirt on until she had removed her make-up; her vigorous action had a most delightful effect on her firm breasts – which in turn had a most delightful – and firming! – effect on me. Fran just smiled at the tent in my boxers and shook her head. “It really is time to sleep!” she admonished me. Back in my room I removed a very wet bedspread – Fran blushed at that – and we snuggled up together under the duvet. Despite the many new sensations of having a girl – this girl! – in my bed, I drifted off quickly.

I woke up around 9.30 with a massive erection. I usually have ‘morning wood’, but this was something else. Obviously having the girl of one’s dream in one’s arms – my hands were on her large soft yet firm breasts – definitely adds to the excitement. I started kissing and licking Fran’s ear and she slowly woke up with a huge smile on her face. “Well, good morning!” she said in a seductive voice when she realized what it was that was poking into her ass. “We can’t have breakfast with your Dad with you looking like that,” she grinned, rolled to her other side so she was facing me and started to slowly stroke my dick.

It wasn’t particularly easy going. I still had my boxers on; the head of my dick stuck out of them – and she only had her left hand free, but her ministrations were nevertheless wonderful and in a few minutes, I exploded in several strong spurts, most of which landed on my belly and her hand. “It’s a little messy,” she said. “I am looking forward to the day when we can put it where it belongs.” I did too, but was determined that it would be her call when we were ready for that.

Chapter 8

We had – separate – showers, got dressed and went downstairs to the kitchen. Dad was there drinking tea (he was never a coffee person) and reading the Sunday paper. He looked up and seeing Fran, his eyes widened. “Well, good morning you two,” he smiled. “I didn’t know Fran was spending the night!”

“To be honest, neither did I,” I replied. “But you won’t hear me complaining!”

Fran, blushingly, blurted “I hope you don’t mind Dr. Monroe…”

“Under the circumstances I think you can call me ‘Art’,” Dad dean-panned in a stern voice, but seeing Fran looking uncomfortable, he hastened to add. “Just joking! I am truly delighted you are here. You are so very good for George. Besides he is 18 now – you may recall we celebrated his birthday yesterday – so he is his own master.”

“Well, it is your house,” I interjected.

“No, George. It is our house,” Dad replied. “And Fran is welcome any time.”

We fixed ourselves breakfast – Dad had already had his – and sat down to eat. “Listen,” Dad said. “It’s a bit like the alcohol policy thing, really. I’d much rather you had a chance to explore your sexuality in the safety and comfort of your home than nervous and unsatisfying fumbling at random parties or in the back of uncomfortable cars.”

Gosh, my dad was cool! “Thanks,” I said, “we really appreciate that.” I had unconsciously said ‘we’, but Fran murmured agreement. Most of my peers would have been embarrassed having that kind of conversation with a parent – particularly in the presence of your girlfriend – and the girlfriend would be mortified. Not that many of the other parents were willing to speak openly in the first place. But with Dad it was different. He made people feel at ease, and I could see that Fran was OK about this – she was looking at Dad with rapt attention.

“Just as long as you look after each other and take precautions,” Dad continued. “Sex is wonderful, but it can have nasty side-effects like incurable diseases and unwanted pregnancy.”

“Well,” I said, “we are both virgins, so we don’t have to worry about diseases. And pregnancy is not a concern either. We have agreed that we are not going to go all the way before Fran has my ring on her finger.”

Dad lifted an eyebrow. “That is unusual for this day and age,” he said. As a medical professional he knew very well that the abstinence programs promoted by the Bible-bashing right had no effect apart from adding
hypocrisy and deceit to the misery of unwanted teenage pregnancy.

“Perhaps,” I said, “but Fran’s mother had the wrong idea about what we do and said so in a hurtful way. It is important for us to prove her wrong.”

Dad nodded. “Besides, Fran’s and my relationship is in itself ‘unusual’, wouldn’t you say?” I added in a lighter tone.

“That it is for sure,” he agreed and turned the conversation to other matters.

Fran’s surprise overnight stay may have been the greatest thing that ever happened to me, but it did not go down well with her mother at all – the ‘wrong ideas’ got even more distorted. When I took Fran home on the Sunday afternoon, we were met with a tirade of abuse. Ms. McNair out-did herself in her venomous outbursts and she didn’t sound like she was sober. She worked herself up so much that her fat face got dark red, and I started to worry about her health.

I worried more about Fran, though, and tried to be as diplomatic as possible. “I think you are misunderstanding the nature of our relationship Ms. McNair,” I tried – in retrospect much too convoluted. I had another go: “Fran and I love each other, but our relationship is not physical.” Better perhaps, if not strictly true – unless you apply a bit of Bill Clinton logic, but close enough to counter her vulgar suggestions.

She would have none of it. “Yeah, right. You spend the night doing scrabble, I suppose?”

“No Ms. McNair,” I replied. “We spent the night cuddling and sleeping.”

“Yeah, right!” she smirked. “And you paid her for it!”

“I did not, and you know it!” I replied – stung and starting to get angry.

“Well, I didn’t buy the slut’s outfit and she didn’t pay for it herself either,” she bellowed.

I was about to fire an angry retort, but Fran stopped me. “George, please,” she cried, tears streaming down her face. “Ignore it, don’t answer her. I’ll be OK. If you stay arguing with her it will only get worse.”

Reluctantly I left, but my heart was breaking for Fran. She told me the next morning that the verbal abuse had carried on for hours. At one stage Fran had been battered into admitting that we had been touching each other – she couldn’t bring herself to talk about the oral sex – but was adamant that we had never had intercourse. Her mother had called her a liar and Fran had replied that they could go and get a doctor to confirm her virginity. Her mother then changed track and again claimed we didn’t have sex because Fran was fat and ugly and I couldn’t stomach the idea.

So Fran’s life was like night and day. Pitch black night at home, bright happy day in school and with me. After the watershed of my birthday party, Fran and I showed our affection openly at school to the point where Linda described us as ‘Hallmark Card lovey-dovey’ and calls of ‘Get a room!’ where frequent. Our dates were great. Remembering Dad’s wise words about sex in a comfortable setting, we would frequently go home to my house and make out on my bed. “Not that your car is uncomfortable,” Fran laughed, “but it doesn’t have a back seat!”

We stuck to the ‘rule’ that either her panties or my boxers stayed on at any given time, but we got to know each other’s bodies very well and enjoyed giving the other pleasure. And it wasn’t only physical. We got closer and closer and I felt she was happy and that we could talk about anything when we were together.
Still I could feel she dreaded the time with her mother and I obviously hated taking her home.

By unspoken agreement she had stopped being home in the late afternoon when here mother would otherwise be briefly back from work. In that way she avoided all but the morning contact during the week, but the weekends were different of course since her mother would be home – more and more frequently drunk – when Fran touched base. We were despairing, but powerless. At 17 you don’t call the shots yourself and Fran wouldn’t be 18 until April.

Another reason for dropping going home in the afternoon was the simple fact that there was no way Fran would now eat the junk her mother brought back from the diner. Instead she stayed with us for dinner, often helping in the preparations and quickly becoming quite accomplished in a kitchen – something she had never had a chance to learn at home. While Dad often worked late, he was very good about being home for the evening meal and in this way we had many times together just the three of us, talking about whatever was on our minds.

In mid December Fran and I got our mid-year grades – a novelty for me since I used to get them in the mail during the Christmas break at my previous schools. I have always been a straight A student, so there were no surprises there, but Fran’s grades had really taken off. She had previously had outstanding grades only in history and one or two good grades in other subjects, but now she shone across the board.

I flatter myself that it had a lot to do with Fran and me being together. Studying together had helped her in a direct way in subjects like physics were she had gone from a C to an A, but the improvements in other subjects had much more to do with being sure of herself and extrovert for the first time in her life. Dad looked over her report sheet – which also had a glowing testimonial from the Phys Ed teacher, by the way – and said “Wow Fran, with grades like this you could do anything! Have you thought about what you want to do after high school?”

Fran hesitated. She may not have given much thought to that before of course, but I had expected an answer from her anyway, and I am sure so had Dad. Uncharacteristically, Fran was reluctant, bordering on the evasive. She mumbled something about ‘it not going down well in an academic household’ and what had merely been a friendly inquiry unexpectedly made her tense. Well, Dad has people-skills! In a few well chosen words he made it clear to Fran that an academic education wasn’t the only way and whatever she wanted to do was fine and we would support her in it.

“You may think I am very foolish,” Fran said, “but I really just want to be a stay-at-home Mom.” She blushed profusely.

I was gaping and close to saying something stupid or even hurtful about wasting a good mind, but Dad neither flinched nor laughed. He maintained his even, friendly gaze and encouraged Fran to continue. “I have always dreamt of that. Having babies and looking after them. I never thought it would happen, I mean, that anyone would want me, but now…” she looked at me with such love that I felt completely humbled.

“I don’t think that is foolish at all,” Dad said in a tone of voice I had never heard before. I turned to look at him and to my astonishment, his eyes were moist. “That is what Laura, George’s mother, wanted too.”

I didn’t know that. I was only four when Mom died, and I have no recollection of things like her having a job or not.

“Laura was 3 years younger than me, so I was well into pre-med when she graduated from high school. Her parents talked her into doing a degree at a teacher’s college and then teach while I finished my MD. It didn’t go quite that way,” Dad continued. “She got her degree, but all she wanted was to get married and have babies. We were married when she finished her 3-year course. I was halfway through medical school by then.”

“You only had George?” Fran said. As much a statement as a question.

“That’s right,” Dad said. “He came along a year before I got my MD. We started planning for a sibling when George was two or two and a half. For some reason it didn’t happen. We had just decided to find out if anything was wrong when a drunk driver ended her life.”

The silence was very deep. Finally Dad spoke again. “All she wanted to be was a mother. I am glad she could be that full-time, especially since her life was so brief. So no Fran, I don’t think you’re foolish at all.”

Fran, her eyes brimming with tears, hugged Dad. “How did you and Laura meet?” she asked. “It’s not every day that a freshman girl bags a handsome senior!”

“Oh, it wasn’t anything like that,” Dad replied with a smile. “She ‘bagged me’ the summer we met – when we were 4 and 7 respectively. At least that’s what she said!” Dad was laughing at our surprise. “Well, we grew up in a very wealthy neighborhood full of old rich people with no kids. We were neighbors and practically the only kids in the area. We had many things in common – we both had quite old parents who were only children themselves, so there were no aunts or uncles or cousins or anything. We only had each other, so we played, despite the age and gender gap. From the word go we were pretty much inseparable. Laura actually told her mother straight away, and very seriously, that when she and I were married we would have lots of children. She never for a moment doubted that we would get married and the fact is I never had any other girlfriends.”

“Wow!” said Fran. “That is pretty amazing.”

“Laura was 26
when she died, but she had been with me for 22 of those years,” Dad said his eyes moist again.

“Few people are together that long,” I said. “I start to understand why you’ve taken so long to find someone else.” I checked myself – I was pretty close to intruding into his personal space.

Dad shot me a strange look, but he didn’t say anything.

Chapter 9

This was a Thursday and he had told me earlier that he would not come home Friday since he was going to be away for a ‘conference’ on the weekend. He returned in high spirits Sunday night from that ‘conference’ and Monday morning over breakfast he looked somewhat nervously at me and said “About Christmas, ahem, I, we, I thought it would be nice with company for Christmas Dinner. How about that?”

“Sure!” I replied. We’ve just been Dad and me like forever, but I’d welcome a bigger gathering. “Fran can’t come. She feels she has to be with her mother which I think is a mistake, but there it is. It is her mother after all. Anyway, who were you thinking of?”

“Eh, I, well, actually, I have asked Layla if she and the kids would like to come over and…” He trailed off. “Perhaps you would like to adjust your Christmas gift list?”

This sounded interesting. “Well, I already have a gift for Denise, but I�ll happily get something for Bobby and Layla too.”

“Good,” Dad said. “Good. Do that.”

Dad went to work and I headed off to pick up Fran on the way to school. Denise was hanging around at the car park to catch me. “Can I have a word?”

“Sure,” I said. Fran kissed me and ran off to her class, leaving Denise and me alone.

“Let me guess,” she started. “Your dad had a ‘conference’ this weekend, right?”

“Yes, he did,” I replied. “And, if it is my turn to guess, your mom did too?”

“Precisely!” Denise said. We both laughed.

“And this morning we are told the two families will be together for Christmas?” she continued.

“Yup, that’s what I’m told,” I chuckled.

“Do they really think we haven’t got them figured out?” she asked.

“Well, I think they still kid themselves into believing we haven’t. But it will be interesting to see just how far they are planning to go,” I replied.

“You got a point there,” Denise said. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Well, we’ll know in just over a week,” I said. “Oh, by the way, what do you think Bobby and your mom would like for Christmas?”

Denise laughed out loud. “Oh, so you’ve been asked to ‘revise your Christmas gift list’ too?”

“The very words,” I chuckled, “or very nearly. My dad said ‘adjust’.”

Denise came up with a couple of suggestions which were most welcome. Buying gifts for a 14 year old boy was not a problem, but I have zero experience when it comes to adult women. Strangely, Denise didn’t seem to need my advice on what to get my dad. I felt slightly put out. Intimidated, perhaps. But then Denise is so massively competent, just like her mother.

Christmas Day was wonderful. The only thing that could possibly have improved on it would have been if Fran had been there. But she had found me a beautiful little collection of love poems and I felt that they spoke her feelings. I told her so when she rang me from the mobile phone I had given her and she happily confirmed
that. And then I told her about the momentous news.

For, yes, Dad and Layla sprang the ‘surprise’ on us just moments after Layla, Denise and Bobby had arrived. Dad took Layla’s hand, coughed lightly to get our attention and in surprisingly clear and lucid words told us the ‘news’. “Kids,” he said, “I want you to know that I have asked Layla to marry me and that she has accepted.”

“Yes!” Denise and I yelled out and high-fived with each other and Bobby.

“They don’t seem particularly surprised,” Layla said to Dad in a loud whisper.

“Surprised?” Denise cried. “Knock it off Mom. George and I found out months ago that you two were an item. You were so circumspect about your ‘unexpected dinners’ and ‘business meetings’ and ‘conferences’ that we knew right away something was afoot!”

Dad laughed. “I feel so busted! And you’re sure you don’t mind?”

“Mind?” This time I was the one to sound outraged. “It is wonderful. We are so happy for you – and for ourselves.”

Bobby nodded in agreement. “So when will we move in here?”

“Well, we were thinking of doing that over the Christmas break, actually,” Layla said.

“Gosh!” Denise said. “That is a surprise. How do you get hold of a moving company over Christmas?”

“We’re calling in a few favors from our colleagues,” Dad said. “It will work out fine.”

After we exchanged presents we had a fabulous dinner. Too much of it, as usual for Christmas. Denise and I decided to chill out in the living room to digest. I had flopped myself onto the big comfy sofa and Denise was stretched out, lying with her head in my lap. We were quietly talking while I idly stroked her hair. Having a sister was great! When Dad saw us he smiled, then suddenly checked himself and looked confused and concerned. He came over. “Listen,” he said, “I intend to adopt Denise and Bobby. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t have any objections to that.”

No it was my turn to be confused. Objections? What was he talking about? “Why should I object?” I asked. “I have always desperately missed having siblings. I am happy to share you with them.”

Or perhaps he was thinking of the financial side of things, but I was sure there would be plenty. “I mean, if you had remarried earlier and had more children I would be sharing with them and happily so. Getting adopted siblings is just as nice. I’m sure there will be plenty for all of us…”

With a little smile Denise stopped me. “I don’t think Dad was thinking about finances or inheritance,” she said.

I thought it was so sweet she had said ‘Dad’ and not ‘Your dad’. Obviously Dad thought so too because he looked incredibly happy. Denise had just – in that one sweet word – shown that she now saw him as her dad too. And that’s when it hit me exactly what they were talking about. He evidently had misread Denise being in my lap! “Oh, now I get you. And no, no objections. I love Denise to bits.” I pulled her closer to me. “She is everything I could ever want in a sister. But that’s what we will be – brother and sister. We both have our minds set on someone else.”

“I thought so,” Dad said. “I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t making a disastrous mistake in adopting Denise.”

“No Dad, no mistake there,” Denise said, got up, bestowed us both with a kiss and walk off to find her mother.

Speaking of ‘someone else’, the next person to get the news was Jake who rang to wish me Happy Christmas. After the usual cheery greetings he asked casually “So, did you get any good presents?”

“Yup,” I said. “Fabulous presents. I got a brother and a sister!”

“Say what?” Jake burst out.

“You heard me. My Dad and Denise’s mom are getting married. Bobby and Denise are now officially my brother and sister, or will be anyway.”

“Man, that’s great news!” he exclaimed. “I am so happy for you all.”

“It’s not bad for you either,” I hinted.

“What do you mean?” he asked – confusion in his voice.

“Well, Denise and her family are moving in over the next couple days. In fact, you can help out if you’ve got nothing better do to,” I started.

“I’d love to!” he fawned. “I’d much rather do that than having endless get-togethers with my parents’ unbearable friends.”

“Thought you might,” I chuckled. “And consider this: Denise will now be Denise Monroe, a doctor’s daughter and a ‘Hill Girl’ residing at ‘The Cedars’…”

“Yes?” he inquired, still not getting it.

“Well,” I replied. “I know it makes no odds to you. But it will make one heck of a difference to your mother.”

The penny dropped. “I’m hearing you,” he breathed softly. “Loud and clear. Mom will like the sound of that much better.”

We hung up just as Denise reentered the room. “Who was that?” she asked.

“That, little sister, was your soul mate,” I replied.

“And who exactly might that be?” she said trying to sound aloof, but the softening of her features gave her away and her eyes darted to the gorgeous bracelet Jake had given her.

“Yes, that one!” I said with a laugh, following her gaze. “He shares our joy. The devoted fellow has promised to spend the entire Christmas break as your willing slave, helping you to move in here.”

“Oh!” Denise said.

“Yes, and listen. He’s my best friend, but even so I agree
he’s a bit of a wimp. Just don’t be too hard on him. His mother is a very difficult person and he is petrified of her,” I said.

“Brother dear, what are you trying to say?” Denise asked.

“You have no idea what a buzz it is to hear you say that,” I replied, then refocused. “Well, I pointed out to good old Jake that while I knew it made no odds to him, the fact that you were now Denise Monroe, daughter of a doctor and residing in ‘The Cedars’ would make the struggle with Mother a little easier.”

Denise looked a little skeptical, so I soldiered on for Jake. “He is not quite 18 and not terribly mature. But he is dead set on you, and eventually he will get the courage to follow his heart. You living here does not change the end result – that is given and has been so all year. But it could speed the process up. That would be good for both of you.”

That earned me another sisterly peck on the cheek. God, I just loved having a sister! Denise sat down with a dreamy look in her eyes, swung her shapely legs up and repositioned herself with her head in my lap. “I thought big brothers were supposed to be over-protective of their little sisters and keep them out of harm’s way, especially with boys!” she teased.

“Oh, I’ll make sure to grill him about his honest intensions,” I replied. “On the other hand, the world is practically full of girls who married their big brothers’ best friend!”

“Well, I hope to be able to add to that statistic!” Denise said. “You’re sure Jake’s mother will fail in coercing him into marrying Lorraine instead?”

Poor kid. Still worried about old family ties. But, unusually, I knew something she didn’t. “That’s not going to happen. Lorraine is out of the running, so to speak.”

“What do you mean?” Denise asked looking up at me.

“Well, Lorraine has other things on her mind just now. I have it on good authority that she has not had her period since visiting one of the guest rooms in this very house at my birthday party – and leaving it again shortly after crying and walking bow-legged,” I said.

“WHAT?” Denise burst out. “She’s gotten herself knocked up, has she? Who did it?”

“I think you saw yourself how she was flirting with someone in a not too subtle way,” I replied. “I am sure the purpose was to make Jake jealous, but he only had eyes for you.”

“Simon?!?!?” she exclaimed.

“The one,” I replied.

“How come you know?” Denise asked, naturally enough.

“Linda,” I simply replied. Linda is the specialist at knowing everything. It really threw her a few months ago that she didn�t realize I was serious about Fran. She was still making up for that. Lorraine had confided in one of the other cheerleaders who told Linda, and Linda had told me. Not because Linda is a gossip, but because she knows I am Jake’s friend. Simple as that.

Denise nodded. “Does Jake know?” she asked. I just looked at her with a frown. “Sorry. Of course you haven’t told him!” she hastened to correct herself.

“No I haven’t,” I agreed. “He wouldn’t want to use that information. Just like it didn’t matter to him personally that you are now living here. And just like it was spot on that you never invited him out yourself. Jake has certain standards. He means no ill to Lorraine and will feel genuinely sorry for her. He just wants her off his back. But he will never use her misfortunes
in the conflict with his mother.”

“Some of the many reasons I love him,” Denise said, and then – as an afterthought – “Poor Lorraine!”

“Indeed,” I replied. “But at least she will be able to finish school before the baby is due. She’ll be huge at the Graduation ceremony, though. And I doubt she will be up to attending Senior Prom.”

“You are sure she won’t have an abortion?” Denise asked in a hushed voice.

“Not likely,” I replied. “The Deveraux family is quite one of the pillars of the Roman Catholic Church. Her mother would never permit it, and by the time she is a legal adult, she will be too far gone. Always provided she would want one herself. I don’t know much about her beliefs, but I doubt it. So short of a miraculous miscarriage, she will be a mother next August.”

“And Simon will be a father…” Denise said.

“Biologically speaking, yes,” I said drily. “And possibly also legally. Paternity is a bit harder to escape these days what with DNA tests and all. But emotionally? I doubt it. I doubt it very much.”

“That�s awful!” Denise said. “Simply awful. Is he really that much of a jerk?”

“The worst kind,” I replied – and told Denise about my very first exchange with Simon.

She was outraged. “I’ll give him ‘trailer-trash’. His own child is likely to grow up in a trailer-park!”

“Oh, I don’t think it will come to that. But Lorraine’s life is going to be quite different from what she thought only a few months ago,” I said.

Before Denise could reply Layla came into the room. “Time to go home, sweets,” she said to Denise. “For the last time. From tomorrow you’ll be living here.”

That notion cheered Denise up no end. She kissed me and Dad goodbye and they drove off.

Chapter 10

Dad and Layla’s colleagues from work turned out in force over the next two days and got everything moved from the Patterson household to ours. The team included a janitor and his assistant, and they had commandeered a small hospital truck. I am sure it was all very irregular, but Mr. Thornton, the hospital administrator is a good friend of Dad’s – in fact the only reason he didn’t help out himself was that he suffered from a bad back.

We had decided to open up the unused wing of ‘The Cedars’ and Denise and I volunteered to move over there. We joked about having a floor each, but ended up having rooms at opposite ends of the first floor. In addition to the university hospital people, Jake, Elisa and Fran helped out and by late afternoon on the 27th, we were all set up.

The wedding itself was a quiet and very private civil ceremony on the 29th. Denise was Bridesmaid and I was Best Man. Apart from us and Bobby, only Fran, Elisa, Jake and two of Dad and Layla’s closest colleagues were in attendance, the latter two acting as witnesses. We had a small dinner at home, and that was that, Dad and Layla thought. They hadn’t cleared that with us though. “You must be joking!” Denise challenged. “You are going to have a wedding bash, make no mistake about it. We will have it on New Year’s Eve.”

“Darling,” Layla replied. “No one can come with that short notice!”

“Who is talking about short notice Mom?” I asked – calling her that for the very first time and obviously distracting her. “We’ve already invited all our moving helpers and their spouses.”

“And guess what?” Denise added, “They all said yes – including poor Mr. Thornton.”

“Elisa will bring her mom and brother,” Bobby chipped in. “The little brother hero-worships George.”

“Must be that car-ride” I said. “Oh, and Jake talked his parents into coming too, or he couldn’t come at all,” I added.

“Oh!” Denise said. “I didn’t know that.”

“Well, I talked to him only 5 minutes ago. They will also bring his uncle,” I added.

“His uncle?!” Denise demanded.

“Yes, also a Mr. Rutherford. Jake’s father’s older brother. You know him very well. He is our principal,” I said.

“I know him quite well too!” Dad exclaimed. “We’ve worked together on the school food project.”

“Exactly. That’s what made it all possible,” I replied. “Jake’s mother had reluctantly agreed to ask her brother in law, assured that he would nix it. On the contrary he was very excited about the idea, so there will be four Rutherfords as well.”

“Jesus, kids!” Layla threw up her hands in horror. “How many are we going to be?”

“Well, with Jake’s family that I did not know about,” Denise said, shooting me daggers, “I make it thirty four. Thirty five if Fran’s mother accepts.”

“She won’t,” Fran said quietly, speaking for the first time.

“Thirty five!” Dad sounded stunned. “How are we going to feed them?”

“Oh come, Dad! We’ve managed parties bigger than that!” I said.

“Not when we had to cook ourselves!” Dad replied.

“It’s my turn to have exclusive information,” Denise said, with a pointed look at me. “The caterers that did George’s birthday can help us.”

“Never!” I said almost scornfully. “Not for New Year’s Eve with 48 hours warning!”

“Can too!” she replied, pouting at me. “I rang them, saying I knew full well that they were likely to laugh at me, but asked anyway. The owner did laugh, but only because of the irony of the situation. He had just had a cancellation. Somebody was going to have a big bash,
but they are now doing their own personal version of ‘War of the Roses’ whatever that is. His words. He would be delighted to serve us instead since he had ordered raw materials and called in staff. We obviously won’t have a say in the menu, but it sounded mouth watering. He said he could do up to 40 people. I will just call him and update our numbers.”

Did I mention that my new sister is massively competent?

“I think we’ve been out-smarted by our children again Mrs. Monroe!” Dad said.

“Sure looks that way Dr. Monroe!” she replied with a laugh. “Sure does. Well, we’d better get cracking.”

The next two days were hectic, but fun. One little detail that we hadn’t thought about was how we were going to seat 34 people. The caterers were apologetic. Tablecloths were not a problem, nor was crockery and cutlery, but tables and chairs they couldn’t provide. Once more the indispensable janitor form the university hospital and his truck came up trumps. We ‘borrowed’ a number of tables from the university that could be put together as one very long table and the requisite number of chairs, and Jake, Bobby and I had it all set up in ‘The Cedar’s’ majestic dining room in time for the girls to take over the table setting.

Fran spent all the days with us during the Christmas break, but was reluctant to spend the nights. Yes, she wanted to, but her mother was giving her enough hell as it was. Ms. McNair, in a drunken stupor, had scornfully turned down the invitation, and I frankly found it hard to imagine under what circumstances she would get to meet my now extended family. According to Fran her mother had taken up drinking big time and Fran worried that she would lose her job at the diner.

But the party was a roaring success. The food was fabulous and the caterers had outdone themselves in gratitude for not being left high and dry. Everyone had a great time, no one more so than Jake and Denise. When the Rutherfords arrived and the adults had exchanged their polite welcomes and congratulations, Jake cleared his throat and said “Mom, Dad, Uncle Henry. I like you to meet Dr. and Mrs. Monroe’s daughter Denise.”

His parents nodded vaguely at the pretty girl, but obviously had no idea why they were being introduced in this formal way. Seconds later they knew. “I want you to know that I love her. I have done so for quite a long time now, and I hope to marry her one day.”

“Oh Jake!” Denise cried and flung herself in his arms. “I do love you too.”

“A formal proposal will hardly be required,” Jake’s uncle chuckled. “When the day comes you can just refer to this New Year’s Eve!”

Jake’s parents had obviously come, thinking they were going to meet the parents of their son’s best friend. That they now found themselves introduced to their son’s prospective wife and in-laws could have thrown them, but they took it well. Let’s face it, Denise is very pretty and any parent could see that Jake was heads over heels in love with her and vice versa.

Jake’s dad also helped breaking the ice between Jake and his mother. “I told you so Eleanor. It couldn’t just be George that kept Jake up here all the time!” He then turned to Denise, kissed her resoundingly and said “Welcome in the family.”

If Jake’s mother was still skeptical she hid it well. In retrospect there is no way she could have known about the developments around Lorraine. She must still have been certain that Jake
was going to end up with Lorraine and the shock must have been profound. Later when the proverbial shit hit the fan over Lorraine’s pregnancy, things fell into place for her. By that stage she was as infatuated with Denise as her son and husband, and Jake never had any more problems with her over his choice.

Jake did eventually formally propose to Denise, but not before he had finished a law degree and entered his dad’s business. Denise is still in medical school and has a few years to go. At this point they had been living together for years, though. They got an apartment together shortly after high school and Jake’s mother never lifted an eyebrow over that.

On that fateful New Year’s Eve, all that was still in the future of course. But I distinctly recollect whispering in Jake’s ear – deliberately loud enough for Denise to hear it “Now, that wasn’t so difficult, was it?” If looks could kill, the combined death-rays from Denise’s and Jake’s eyes would have reduced me to smoldering ashes on the floor.

So the New Year started really well for all the people I loved, except for the one I loved the most. The inherent conflicts in Fran’s life got progressively worse and she started acting strangely towards me too. We were still doing the training program – Fran was if anything more determined than ever – and we had been pretty free around each other’s bodies, although we’d had to clean up our act a bit when Bobby started using the gym too on a regular basis.

Shortly after New Year Fran had a nasty bruise on her right arm one day. She claimed she had banged into a door (a hardy bromide, that) and made every effort to downplay it. But next week she started wearing long sleeved shirts for training and insisted on showering alone. She claimed it was because she was uncomfortable about being caught nude when Bobby was around, but I highly suspected there was more to it.

On the Friday she wouldn’t make out after our date, saying she had her period (which was true) and claiming that her breasts were tender (that had never been a problem before). She was evasive about her home situation, but I got the feeling that the abuse was worse than ever.

The following week her mother was finally dismissed from her job, having shown up at the diner so intoxicated that she fell over and caused a major mess in the kitchen. With Ms. McNair now home all day with nothing better to do than drink and yell, Fran’s life got worse and worse. She had been relatively free to do what she wanted to in the evenings when her mother was working; now things were more and more restricted.

Money was scarce too. Not that Fran relied on her mother for anything financially – I, or rather Dad, had been taking care of that for the last many months, but whatever money there was got spent on alcohol and Fran was worried that the rent on the house wasn’t being paid. Ms. McNair’s health also seemed to be in free fall. She was more obese than ever to the point where she could barely move around. Her face was brick red the few times I saw her, and I was convinced we were heading for a major disaster.

It came quicker than I’d expected – before January had ended.

We were having history – our favorite subject – when Ms. Pendergrass, the Principal’s universally feared secretary, known to students and teachers alike as ‘The Dragon’, knocked on the door and entered. “The Principal’s apologies Mr. Harris. I was to ask Miss McNair to come to the office at once.” Her voice sounded all wrong, almost subdued. Certainly not the usual self assured rasping voice. To our shock and disbelief it looked like she had been crying. “Mr. Monroe was to come with her. They should bring their coats and bags.”

I had an icy feeling of dread. I’m sure Fran must have felt the same. I caught Denise’s eye across the room. She looked frightened too. “Ms. Pendergrass!” I managed to croak. “Should my sister come too?”

“No, Mr. Monroe. Miss Monroe is to go find your younger brother and await the arrival of your mother,” Ms. Pendergrass replied. “Please go now; I have to talk to Mr. Harris.”

We hastily grabbed our bags and coats and left – Denise towards Bobby’s class room, Fran and I towards the office. “Mom. It must be something about Mom!” Fran said, panic creeping into her voice. I had the exact same feeling and saw no reason to contradict her. I didn’t know what to say so I simply firmed my clasp of her hand. We would know soon enough. We almost collided with Ms. Smith, one of the school’s student counselors entering the admin corridor, doing nothing to allay our fears, and when we were ushered in to the Principal’s office by his other secretary we knew for sure the news were as bad as they could be. Dad was there and just from the looks on the faces of Dad and the Principal who was just finishing a phone call, we knew.

As I mentioned Mr. Rutherford is Jake’s uncle. He is very kind, but the school is his kingdom and he usually rules it unchallenged and with supreme confidence. Yet he yielded to Dad’s natural authority – probably even with relief. Dad sought Fran’s eyes and held them locked in his. “Fran, there is no good or gentle way of saying this. A little over two hours ago your mother was brought to the hospital unconscious. We did everything we could, but we couldn’t save her. She is dead.”

Chapter 11

I heard Ms. Smith draw breath sharply. She was a good and well-liked counselor, trusted by most students and used to hearing hair raising stories. But you – luckily, I suppose – never get used to students losing parents. She moved closer
to Fran and took her other hand, but Fran didn’t seem to notice. Dad still looked her in the eye and Fran seemed to draw strength and comfort from that, sensing only Dad. “How did it happen?” she asked.

“She suffered a massive stroke in a shop downtown,” Dad replied. I later learned it was a grog-shop and that she yelled herself to a stroke over being refused credit.

“Did she suffer much?” Fran asked, picking up on the more common meaning of what was simply meant as a medical term.

“No. Impossible,” Dad replied. “She must have been unconscious in seconds. I know, since they called me to the emergency room because of her size. She was brain dead on arrival, suffered cardiac arrest and stopped breathing in the emergency room. We couldn’t bring her back.”

“What happens now?” Fran asked.

“First of all, you will have to come to the hospital to see her and formally identify her. I know that is a frightening prospect, but don’t fear it. George and I will be there, as will Ms., Ms. Smith was it? and Principal Rutherford,” Dad replied. Fran’s question obviously had a lot of levels in it, but I think Dad was right in taking them one by one.

So we drove off – Ms. Smith with Mr. Rutherford, Fran with Dad and me. Nothing was said in the car – Fran seemed completely numb. We were received at the hospital chapel by the staff who had attended to Fran’s mother’s body. She didn’t look horrible, more like she was at peace. Dad had been right – nothing to be afraid of here. Fran still didn’t cry, and her voice was completely toneless when she formally confirmed to the hospital Registrar that it was her mother. He thanked her, offered his condolences and left.

Fran repeated her question from the Principal’s office. “What happens now?”

Yes, she would need to know that. Dad’s reply was instant. “You come home with us.”

Again Dad’s straight answers to straight questions seemed to help Fran.

Mr. Rutherford spoke up. “You are legally a minor and will need a guardian. In cases like these the social authorities will get a judge to appoint a temporary guardian until a permanent one can be found. Seeing that you will be 18 in less than 3 months, I think there is no need for the latter. I have already phoned the municipal office with a simpler suggestion. A case worker is on her way.”

Even as he said so, a woman was ushered into the chapel. Introductions were made and she entered into a quiet but intense discussion with Dad and the Principal. While they were talking, Ms. Smith who had been studying Fran with a concerned look finally said “Fran, my dear. It is perfectly OK to cry. Don’t feel that you shouldn’t. Everyone will understand.”

“I don’t feel anything at all, Anne,” Fran replied tonelessly. She knew Ms. Smith quite well. “I am all mixed up. I know I should feel something. My mother is dead. I have never known my father, so I suppose I am now an orphan. But I have been wishing for her to be dead so much recently.” She trailed off.

Ms. Smith, not easily shocked nevertheless looked shaken. “But why have you been wishing that Fran?”

By means of reply Fran rolled up a sleeve unveiling a number of purple, black and yellow-green marks. “There are others that I can’t show you here. And the worst bruises are on my mind, soul, whatever. She hated me. She hated that I was happy with George and did everything to make my life a misery. In
the last month she has been beating me.”

Ms. Smith drew sharp breath. Even I was shocked. I knew full well about the emotional abuse, but Fran had kept the physical battering from me. No wonder she had been unwilling to undress in my presence. I wish she could have confided in me, but I understood perfectly why she hadn’t; she must have feared – and rightly so – what my reaction would have been. Now that it was out in the open the flood gates burst and Fran could cry. She did that in my arms, Ms. Smith patting her back and stroking her hair.

Meanwhile the conference had ended. The case worker – a neat grey-haired woman in her fifties, waited patiently until Fran had calmed down. “I am so terribly sorry for your loss Fran,” she said. “We will do everything we possibly can to help you, as will your school. I understand from Principal Rutherford that a solution could be to appoint Dr. Monroe as your temporary guardian until you reach legal maturity in April. Dr. Monroe is happy to have you as his ward, and the municipality will be so too if we are convinced that it would be in your best interest. What do you say?”

“Yes!” said Fran – her voice no longer flat and dead. “I couldn’t imagine anyone better.”

The woman looked at Fran, then me and then back at Fran. “Very good. I will draw up the required paperwork as soon as I am back at the office. We will have to take it before a judge, but I think I can get that done already today. Dr. Monroe, Principal Rutherford – you will have to come and sign the documents before the judge. Can we meet at the court house at 3?”

Dad and the principal both nodded. “Do we, that is to say Fran, have to be there too?” I asked.

“Strangely no,” the woman replied. “Since guardians are often appointed for people wholly incapable of speaking for themselves – babies, the infirm, people with mental disabilities, it cannot be a requirement that the ward herself is present.” She looked directly at me and a small smile formed on her face. “The Judge will formally ask me if I believe the appointment is in the ward’s best interest. I think I can confirm that with confidence!” She left.

I felt my own face getting warm, a sure sign that I was blushing. It didn’t help that Dad suddenly said. “George, I will only be Fran’s guardian. I know better than to adopt her…”

Mr. Rutherford made a strange ‘humph’-noise. Even Ms. Smith visibly un-tensed. The whole atmosphere felt lighter; Fran had friends.

When we got home to ‘The Cedars’, Mom – I not only called Layla that now, but also thought of her in that term – was there with my siblings. (And no, I never used the ‘step-‘ prefix. No need.) “Fran will be living here with us from now on,” Dad announced.

Mom embraced Fran warmly. “Of course you will. I always hated that you had to leave at night. It will be so much better having you here all the time.” Does a mother get any cooler than that? Fran cuddled up with Mom in the sofa while Denise and I fixed up a late lunch.

Mr. Rutherford dropped in at a few minutes to three to drive him and Dad down to the court house. When they returned an hour and a half later, they had not only settled the guardianship issue but also obtained a court order enabling them to deal with the estate after Fran’s mother. Not that it was likely there were any significant assets, but they wanted to secure Fran’s personal things, official papers and family mementos and so on. We cleared out the house the same night to avoid looting – sadly not an unusual occurrence in ‘The Tracks’.

The house was reasonably tidy – Fran’s work – but personal papers were one big mess. A young clerk from Rutherford and Partners – Jake’s dad’s law firm – went through it all and managed to find a number of important documents, like Fran’s birth certificate, school reports and so on in addition to some financial information. The result of the latter was depressing, and Fran was advised there would be no inheritance as her mother had been heavily in debt when she died. The furniture and kitchen gear was worthless, as was Ms. McNair’s clapped out car, and practically all books in the house were Fran’s already.

Fran didn’t want any of her mother’s things anyway, except a few pieces of jewelry that had been her grandmother’s and asked that clothes be dropped in a charity collection bin. The clerk was willing to turn a blind eye to the jewelry, but Dad asked him to have them valued and paid the equivalent sum to the estate. The balance was still negative and some creditors, the landlord especially, tried to come after Fran for the money, but were told in no uncertain terms to forget it. It was all in legal language and very correct, but the lay-man’s translation was ‘Go to hell’.

When the question of a funeral came up, Fran said she couldn’t care less. Dad knew she meant it, but still talked her into having some marking of the event to give her closure. So Ms. McNair was cremated after a ceremony at the crematorium chapel the following Saturday. Only us, the Rutherfords and the Jeffersons (Elisa’s family) were in attendance apart from Principal Rutherford who had brought Ms. Smith and our history teacher Mr. Harris – he would ‘not let his favorite student bury her mother alone’, as he put it. That pleased Fran a lot. Ms. McNair’s former employer and colleagues at the diner had been informed, but none of them showed up.

We settled into a happy routine. Fran had her own room next to mine, but more nights than not she slept in my bed in my arms. We resumed our intimacy although we still didn’t go all the
way, and I saw the ugly bruises fade away from her beautiful skin and with those the memories of the last ugly episode in Fran’s life also faded. What also disappeared from Fran’s body were the last remains of excess fat. Her BMI was now well under 25, and she told me with an shit-eating grin that she needed new clothes as many of the ones I had bought her in the beginning were hopelessly too big. “But I won’t throw them out,” she said. “They will come handy when I’m pregnant!”

In late March, Fran’s braces finally came off. Mom took her to her dentist in town who cleared up the slight discoloration from the glue, and when they came home Fran had a truly blinding smile. Mom also got her contact lenses, and she took Fran and Denise shopping for Prom dresses. I am convinced Mom really enjoyed having two girls to deck out. For once I was kept in the dark as to Fran’s wardrobe – all attempts at getting information about the dress were stone-walled, but I was given a blue tie and instructions that the corsage should be pure white roses.

On Fran’s birthday – the big day – we had a brunch for family and friends. I gave her a pair of sapphire ear-rings and she nearly swooned over them. It was not my only purchase from the jeweler though, but I kept that a secret for a few more hours. The guests left mid-afternoon as Denise, Fran and I – and Jake at home – had to get ready for the Prom. I was told to get dressed in Mom and Dad’s bedroom as Mom and the girls would be occupying our floor – and boys were not allowed.

Chapter 12

Denise was ready first and came down to find us in the living room. She looked gorgeous, and I told her so. “Thank you Bro, you’re so sweet. But wait ’till you see Fran,” she said and went to call Jake about some last-minute detail. I heard noises from upstairs and Dad and I went out into the hall. Fran came down the stairs and the world stood still. Her lush red hair was set in an Edwardian braid and her velvet dress, of a blue that matched the color of her eyes to perfection, fit her like a second skin. Her dazzling white teeth shone in a wide smile, perfectly framed by her full, naturally rose lips. I liked the glasses she usually wore, but she was wearing contacts tonight and I must confess I liked what they did to her face, especially letting her cute little nose be seen. She was the very image of self-assured beauty.

Dad was the first to speak. “George, my boy, you will have to fight off all the other boys with sticks!”

Fran blushed prettily. “Actually,” I replied. “I was thinking stones. Or rather a stone.”

“Good one George!” Dad laughed after a moment. Fran didn’t get it and looked at Dad in confusion. When she looked back at me she didn’t see me at first – for the obvious reason that I was now down on my knee. She looked down, registered the tiny box in my outstretched hand, and her eyes opened wide in shock.

“Frances McNair,” I said, forcing my voice to sound steady. “You know I love you. Will you marry me?”

Her reply was instant. “YES!” she almost yelled. “Yes, yes and a thousand times yes!” She opened the little box and the large cerulean-blue sapphire glinted in the light, outshining the hosts of small diamonds on the eternity ring it sat on. “Oh George,” she whispered. “It is beautiful!”

“Nothing is as beautiful as your eyes,” I replied, “but this is the closest I could find.”

Denise, having heard the commotion, came
running out in the hall and shrieked a piercing girlish shriek of delight when she saw me, still kneeling and in the process of putting the ring on Fran’s finger. “Fran! George! Congratulations!!” she almost sobbed. “Way to go Bro! And do you know what Fran? I didn’t even know about it!”

“Now, that is a surprise,” Mom said – she had followed Fran down the stairs. Everyone laughed.

A few minutes later Jake arrived, looking very sharp in his tux. Before Denise could say anything – and she was obviously dying to tell him, he calmly walked up to Fran, extended his hand and said “I believe congratulations are in order. The very pretty ring you’re wearing on your finger has a matching wedding band twin. George has honored me in requesting that I should carry it on my person until such time as he puts in on your finger in marriage.” This was Jake�s rather convoluted way of saying that I�d asked him to be my Best Man.

“You knew!” Denise yelled. “And you never told me!!!!” Jake looked a little guilty.

“Of course he knew Sis,” I replied for Jake. “I had to confer with my Best Man, didn’t I? But I swore him to secrecy.” Denise looked defeated. It was the only time I ever outsmarted her. She didn’t mind, but it has never happened again.

Dad reminded us that the limos were due soon and proceeded to take the mandatory Prom Photographs in all possible settings, combinations and so on with plenty of zooming in on Fran’s hand. He of course also did Jake and Denise. “I have promised your parents to have some prints made for them too,” he said to Jake. “Your mother particularly asked for a close-up of you and Denise.” The joy in Denise’s eyes was priceless.

The Prom night was a success. I don’t suppose it was so very remarkable or different from thousands and thousands of other Prom nights across the country. The girls were pretty in their dresses, the boys looked sharp in their tuxedos. There was dancing and kissing and a little groping here and there as yet another generation of kids celebrated the end of their time as school kids.

Fran’s ring caused ripples of excitement, and her self-assured beauty both admiration and envy – and, eventually, the coronation as Prom Queen. Giving what her life had been like until the beginning of the school year, it was a remarkable journey. Many people mentioned what a transformation she had been through. But I didn’t see it that way. From the very first time I looked into her sapphire blue eyes, I had seen her true beauty.

Oh, one remarkable thing did happen. Most people hate to be called wrong, but not me on this occasion. Contrary to my prediction at Christmas, Lorraine did attend the Prom. For the last several months she’d been wearing baggy clothes, but tonight she came in a very pretty mother-to-be dress, showing rather than hiding the bulge in her belly. Not only that, I was seriously wrong on another count too. To everyone’s consternation (except Denise’s), Lorraine was escorted by Simon, who had her on his arm with proprietary pride in his eyes. “Good evening Miss Deveraux, good evening Mr. Metcalf,” Mr. Rutherford said – he received each and every student at the door. “Miss Deveraux, you look radiant!”

“Good evening Mr. Rutherford,” Lorraine replied with a smile. “Why thank you. Oh, and it is Mrs. Metcalf now, by the way…” she said and flashed a discreet wedding-band on her left hand.

Jake, Fran and I gasped in amazement, but not Denise. She just smiled her sphinx smile. “You don’t seem surprised?” I asked. Knowing Denise, I wasn’t really surprised of that fact. The incident earlier that evening had been the one exception that confirms the rule.

“Nope!” she said matter-of-factly. “It dawned on me that no-one had bothered telling Simon about Lorraine and that we might have been mistaken about his intensions. So I rang him, just after New Year and according to Lorraine he showed up at her doorstep less than an hour later – with his parents in tow, by the way. He told her parents what had happened, apologized for his recklessness – that’s the very words – and declared his undying love for Lorraine, promising to support her and their baby in every possible way.”

“Good for Simon!” Jake whistled. “I had no idea he fancied Lorraine.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Denise shot back. “He wasn’t going to tell anyone, least of all you, when you and Lorraine being an item seemed a foregone conclusion. And afterwards, they have been very discreet and private about it – I am not surprised most people failed to spot her pregnancy or pick up on their affection.”

“But what about Lorraine?” Fran asked. “I mean, she was mad-keen on Jake, wasn’t she?”

“Well,” Denise replied. “I asked her the same question. She says that during the dance at George’s birthday she realized that Simon – whom she had otherwise just used to try to make Jake jealous – was really sweet and immensely keen on her. Having sex with him was a mistake. At least so soon and unprotected and all, and she shunned him – especially when her period didn’t come. But when he turned up that way, taking full responsibility and saying that he loved her, she started to think she could do much worse. Much worse indeed. It took her a month or two to come round to the idea completely, but Simon was patient and persistent. They�ll do fine.”

We all hoped so. “Patient and persistent,” Fran whispered in my ear. “That reminds me of someone.” She smiled her megawatt smile.

Denise and Jake went to an after-Prom party, but Fran asked our limo driver to take
us home. When we got there Fran dragged me off to my room in much the same way she had done at my birthday. Except this time she got out of her dress herself and in a few moments had shed all her clothes – including her sexy underwear – leaving her completely naked apart from the sapphire ring. I was still getting undressed when she took off the bed spread, flung herself on the bed and in a husky voice full of emotion demanded “You have put a ring on my finger. Now put a baby in my belly.”

I knew better than to ask her if she was serious. That I had been looking forward to our first real intercourse was an understatement. But knowing that it was also going to be a breeding session certainly added to the excitement. Strangely I wasn’t apprehensive about that, only immensely turned on. I took my time getting undressed while feasting on her beauty. Her pussy was swollen and moist, but I didn’t rush in. Rather, I kissed her mouth, her neck, her breasts, her belly and finally her pussy. Her secretions were sweet, plentiful and stringy. She seemed to be at the peak of her fertility and I had little doubt that chances were high she would be pregnant in the morning. I brought her off orally and moved back up to her face, kissing her deeply and positioning my straining dick at the entrance to her pussy. “I’m told this may hurt a little,” I said.

“It won’t,” Fran replied. “I removed my hymen the day my mother died.” I didn’t say anything but my eyebrows must have shut up. “I had no more use for it then,” she said simply. “It would only be in the way.”

Gosh! I didn’t inquire how she’d done it, but I understood and appreciated the sentiment. “Oh!” I just said. “Well, at least I have a chance of getting all the way in before I come,” I added, with a little laugh – trying to make light work of my nervousness.

“George, Sweetheart, don’t worry,” Fran said. “I read somewhere that a girl should give her boyfriend a blow job before his first time so he’ll last longer. But I won’t do that. I want all your sperm in me. First, second and third round.” With that she – literally – took the matter in her own hands. She grabbed my ass and pulled hard and I slid into her in one long motion. It felt fabulous. She may not have had a hymen, but she was still very tight and the sensation was intense. Despite trying to stay still – acting on a piece of paternal advice that I had not told Fran about – I knew I wouldn’t last long. “Just enjoy!” Fran whispered in my ear – her tongue almost licking my ear-drum. So I did. I pulled nearly all the way out, and then bottomed out in Fran again. After embarrassingly few repeats I was past the point of no return, so I stayed as deeply inside her as I could, delivering what I was sure would be the biggest load of sperm in my life.

“Baby number one on its way!” I said as Fran flung her arms around my back and her legs around mine in a death grip.

We stayed like that for a long time. I was about to pull my flaccid dick out when Fran shook her head and started to make the most incredible motions with the muscles in her vagina. Within moments I was rock hard again. Fran released my legs and I started to fuck her – slowly at first, then increasing the speed. Despite the lubrication from our combined juices, her muscle control ensured there was plenty of friction, but having come so recently, I was able to last longer. Much longer. The mashing of our pubic bones stimulated Fran’s clit and she got progressively louder. I hoped Jake
would spend a very long time taking Denise home, or my sister would know for sure she was going to be an auntie! Fran reached her climax with a piercing scream and stayed on the plateau for the time it took me to arrive there too. I am sure I must have come less, but it still felt like many spurts.

This time I rolled off her, lying next to her panting. “Wow, as in wow,” I said when I finally had breath. “That was fantastic. Fucking fantastic.”

“Indeed,” Fran said with a grin, calmly swinging her self around and placing her feet on the headboard of the bed. I lifted my eyebrows. “To keep your sperm in,” she said matter-of-factly.

We stayed like that for quite a while, talking about this and that, mainly our immediate future and that of our classmates and friends. Most wanted to start college right away, but a surprising number were planning on a gap year. Amongst the affluent students, trips to Europe and the Far East were high on the agenda. Others had to work to save up money for college. “Lorraine said she evidently had no choice but to spend a gap year looking after a new baby, but that she looked forward to that,” I said. The conversation had been very pleasant. Lorraine seemed genuinely happy which was nice.

“Yes, I heard her saying that,” Fran said. That’s right; she’d been standing close by when I talked to Lorraine. “Later on in the rest room I told her I hoped she was not the only one doing so. She was rather taken aback by that!” Fran added.

“You are very serious about this baby thing, aren’t you?” I said.

“Oh yes!” she replied. “I am ovulating today and I intend to make every effort to get pregnant before this night is over.”

Despite having come twice, I felt a stirring in my groin. “Just what is ‘every effort’?” I asked, trying to sound innocent.

“Hmmmmm” was all Fran said – since she had taken my no longer completely flaccid dick in her mouth and was stimulating it back to full life.

“Oh yes, do that!” I panted.

“Sorry Lover Boy,” Fran said, “no blow jobs for you until you’ve knocked me up.”

I pretended to be distressed letting my face fall to a pout. “Come now, it’s only for two weeks!” she laughed.

“What do you mean?” I was a bit dim there, I admit.

“Duh! In two weeks we’re either celebrating a positive pregnancy test – and you get a blow job, or I have my period, in which case you get a blow job to keep the sperm production up. It is ‘supply and demand’, you know, and I demand a steady supply!” she grinned.

“So that’s why you’ve been ripping my pants down and blown me almost constantly over the last couple of weeks!” I exclaimed.

“Yes Lover Boy!” she said, pushing me firmly back onto the bed. Then she swung a shapely leg over me and impaled herself on my dick. “And now I want to try being on top!”

She rode me at a steady rhythm, letting her vagina muscles do their magic. Having my hands free, I played with her nipples eliciting groans of pleasure from her. When I reached up to take one nipple in my mouth, the groans started to get louder. “It is happening again!” Fran gasped and increased her speed, making oral contact with her nipple impossible, so I reverted to using my hands. “Knock me up, knock me up, knock me up!” she chanted. “Knock me up now nooow NOOOOW!” She wailed like an air-raid siren.

This time I was right there with her. The orgasmic spasms of her vagina took me the last little bit of the way and made me ejaculate deep inside her for the third time. Fran slumped on top of me and fell asleep almost instantly. I couldn’t bring myself to move her, so I pulled the duvet over us and drifted off too.

I woke up a couple of hours later, rather stiff (no, not there!) and bursting to pee. I was also reminded that we hadn’t had time to brush teeth – my mouth felt like the bottom of a parrot’s cage. I ever so gently rolled Fran off me and tip-toed out to the bathroom in the hope that I wouldn’t wake her up. Alas, to no avail. As I was standing in front of the toilet, willing my overfull bladder to release, I felt a pair of large soft breasts being pressed into my back, and a hand snuck round me to my dick. “I can hold that for you!” a seductive voice whispered in my ear.

I was instantly hard. “Oh God,” I groaned. “I so needed to pee! Now look what you’ve done!!”

“Poor baby,” Fran said. “We will just have to make it go down again, won’t we?” and she hopped up on the vanity unit, spread her legs and pulled me in. Well, I have to admit that the height was just right, and Fran’s vigor made me come quickly. The sensations of standing sex with a very full bladder were, shall we say, unusual, but I got there. Amazingly, Fran got off too – it sounded if anything louder in the bathroom, and I really worried about Denise. Mercifully I got soft enough to relive my bladder after a few moments. We brushed our teeth and went back to bed.

Sunday morning I awoke to the sensation of having my dick licked to full erection. Fran was looking at my eyes when I opened them and let go of my dick. “Oh goody, you are both awake,” she said and got on top of me. She seemed to like that position best – over the years I would say that is how we do it more than two thirds of the time. Her gentle rocking got faster and faster and when I started rolling her nipples between my fingers, the air raid siren went off again and I spurted in her for the, what? the fifth? time in ten hours. We made it six during a long and fun, but not very efficient shower and finally we got dressed
and stumbled down to the kitchen. The rest of the family was there, but still at their breakfasts, so they couldn’t have been up all that long.

Denise brought me a huge plate of scrambled eggs and bacon. “Here’s something to keep your strength up Bro,” she said in a fake-innocent voice. I blushed profusely while Fran giggled silently. “Oh, and Mom?” Denise said. “I think I want to move downstairs. I mean, I guess George and Fran will need more space soon.” This time it was Fran’s turn to blush.

Mom smiled. “And it has nothing to do with you wanting a bedroom with its own entrance?” she said with a quick wink to Fran and me.

Denise smiled her sphinx smile. “That may just be a bonus effect.”

Dad had been following the exchange with gentle amusement. “Speaking of bonus effects,” – he lobbed a large jar of tablets over to Fran who deftly caught it, “take one of these each morning. A bit of extra folic acid is a very good precaution.”

“Thanks,” Fran said in a small voice. The jar had ‘PreNatal’ in large red lettering – no subtlety here. “That would be a good idea.” No need for secrets in this family, that’s for sure.

I was kept ‘hard at work’ for the next two weeks, but then got my blow job and it was a celebratory one – no sign of Fran’s otherwise clockwork-regular period. One week later we confirmed Fran’s pregnancy with a home kit and took the evidence down to Sunday breakfast. The reception was deafening.

Epilogue

We were married just after graduation. The wedding took place at home. Denise and Elisa were Bridesmaids and Jake my Best Man, of course. Our honeymoon was a cruise in the Caribbean. On return, we decided on taking up on Mom and Dad’s offer to stay at ‘The Cedars’ – the house was plenty big for two families. Six years later we still live there, and we wouldn’t want it any other way. The kids love having their grandparents near and vice versa – three generations living together is great.

Bobby picked up on the idea. After high school, he was offered scholarships to several universities to play Football. He picked one that offered accommodation for families and took Elisa, her mother and little brother with him. He is doing a science degree and plans on become a teacher/coach at a high school when his Football career ends.

The clerk from Jake’s dad’s firm dug a little deeper into the pile of leftover papers to find out a bit more about Fran’s background. He managed to locate one living relative – the brother of Fran’s grandmother. Great Uncle Jeff turned out to be a great uncle. He is gay and has no family, so he was overjoyed about getting to know Fran and her new family. We love him to bits.

He knew of Fran’s existence, but had lost all contact when they moved. We asked about Fran’s father, but since Fran’s grandmother had been less than tolerant about her brother’s sexual orientation, they had never been very close and thus Jeff had no idea who the young man was that had impregnated his niece. That information died with Fran’s mother and we will never know.

But it doesn’t matter to Fran. She is happy and content surrounded by people who love her and busy raising babies. Our first was a girl. We named her Laura after my mom. Next followed twin boys – George Jr. after me and Art after Dad. Our youngest is called Cecilia like Fran’s grandmother, but as Fran said during Jeff’s most recent visit. ‘Don’t worry
uncle; I am not nearly finished yet. There will be a small Jeff too one of these days.’

Life is good.