South of Dreams

So at the end of Extreme Measures, Michael was headed out of town to a cousin’s wedding. As is often the case with Mike, things happen; good things, not so good things, and sometimes things so wild you’d never dream they could happen. This is one of those stories…

“Ah can’t believe you fucked (she said ‘fucked’ with that southern belle long slow, sexy as hell, sultry drawl. It was closer to ‘faawcked’) my Nana. But you did, didn’t you, and don’t you bother trying to deny it either.” The fact that Lexi spoke these words with my slowly softening, now completely spent cock still in her only added to this moment of deep-fried Southern surrealism. “You do know that she’s married, right? She’s got a big ole diamond ring and everything, married to my Pawpaw. Well, what have you got to say for yourself?”

Well, what could I say? There was no winning answer, no correct response, there was not an etiquette book in existence that could help me here. My uncle Henry always said when you’re with a woman in an intimate moment and you think that what you’re about to say might be taken in anyway wrong – just don’t say it, don’t. In cases like this, silence is the best option, so I said nothing. How in the hell do you respond to something like that, anyway?

Okay then, so in all honesty – yeah – I did do it. I did have sex with Lexi’s Nana, but she started it. Just give me a moment and I’ll explain it all. I can lay this all out, and then you’ll see that…that, well you’ll just see how this all happened.

I was just standing on a step ladder, like I’d done for who knows how many times that day. Hopefully I was getting close to the last one. And it wasn’t my idea to be on the ladder to begin with. I had been on my way to the pool, I was wearing swim trunks, a t-shirt (to maintain the proper decorum required in this fine establishment,) I was wearing flip-flops, I even had a big fluffy hotel towel in my hand when I was shanghaied by this little grey haired lady.

“Excuse me, but just how tall are you young man…how high can you reach?” Out of curtesy more than curiosity, I reached up overhead. This pleased the woman no end, go figure. “Oh perfect, you’ll do just fine. If you’ll please come with me, I could really use your help right now?”

What was a few minutes spent helping someone out? The water would still be wet, the sun would still be out…no problem. For my part it is my sincere belief you can never have too much good karma. So I threw the towel over my shoulder and followed.

That’s how I found myself in the uncompensated employ of one Margarette (call me Margie) Sheffield Walker. I spent the next few hours – yes, I said hours – climbing up and down that fucking step ladder – four steps up, then four steps down. Not to mention that it was a totally crap ladder, kinda rickety and unstable. Thankfully Margie’s job was to steady the ladder, as well as provide me with constant and meticulous directions. The directions were variations on my reaching overhead and turning a plate-size decorative shield right side up. Seriously, that’s what I was doing; climbing up four steps, reaching overhead (Margie holding the ladder steady) turning the decoration right side up, asking Margie “That good?” And if it was good, then climbing down four steps picking up the ladder moving it the next decoration, and repeat, repeat, repeat. All with a nonstop monologue from Margie.

“Now, Michael (that’s me) it wouldn’t do ah-tall for the grooms family to see their coat of arms upside down…doesn’t matter that they bought it, even the best families have to begin somewhere. And sometimes the somewhere is at best somewhat shady and in some cases down right villainous.” That segued into a long history of the Sheffield family going all the way back to England where they were forced to leave, in all haste, sometime in the late 1700’s. Heads intact, if not honor and fortune preserved.

Or, “Now, Michael, that decoration is just short of perfect, turn it a little more, more…back just a bit…perfect.” Unsurprisingly, I did not nail a single decoration on my first try, although I’m fairly confident I was right on the mark most of the time. Just not in Margie’s eyes.

And this, “And the invitations didn’t even use his proper name. They should have said ‘Stephen’, and none of the lazy California nickname in parentheses. It’s almost disrespectful…and I can assure you that it is not proper. I’m surprised we (Hillary Walker, Steve’s fiancé and her mom, Jennifer)allowed in the first place. The unspoken implication that by not seeking Margie’s approval, appropriate decorum had fallen short.

It was during this time that I noticed that Margie had been brought a third tall glass of ‘orange juice.’ And while there was not the slightest slurring or stumbling over words, her eyes were shinier.

“You do realize I’ll be sitting on the grooms side Margie. Steve is a cousin of mine…on mah daddy’s side.” That was my standard reply (both with and without the phony Southern accent) every time she made one of those comment or something similar which was just about every time I reached overhead. Margie would laugh at my accent and say, “Hailing from Southern California doesn’t give you the right to sass me young man. You best mind your manners.”

Despite all that I liked Margie and I found myself enjoying being on the receiving end of a lengthy and very detailed history of the Walker family, replete with participation in military victories and defeats, scandals both financial and sexual, relatives of great beauty, scalawags on the run or ne’er do wells in jail. Basically, the Walker’s were just a normal American family that was gaining a son-in-law with the last name of Taggert (remember…on mah daddy’s side).

I told Margie I was pretty sure the only reason we got invited was to help fill the grooms side of the church. (She thought that was hilarious.) I said I think I’ve met Steve twice, maybe three times, and that his part of the family had stayed on the East coast, while my Dad stayed in SoCal after getting out of the service. (Yeah, I had to translate SoCal for her. She thought that casual contraction was horrific, “That anyone would ever identify the great state of South Carolina as SoCar is too much for a soul to bear.”)

When I suggested that the Walker’s were just your ‘average’ family, I got stoney silence as an answer. Since I was up the ladder, I looked down to see and found myself on the receiving end of an icy glare looking up. So I winked at Margie. She busted out a great guffaw. I started laughing too and had to take a seat before climbing the four steps again.

It might have been our loud laughter or something else but it brought one of the very attractive Walker women into the room to check on Margie. The young lady was wearing a loose fitting cover up and when she bent forward to ask Margie a question the material fell forward and afforded me a clear view of her breast. A very bountiful breast, with what appeared to be a piercing through her nipple. There was nothing in the piercing, just the visible hole.

Nipple piercings are a HUGE turn on for me. My body quickly reacted and I felt a hard on developing. I tried but was unable to look away. I heard Margie issue some directive and the young lady turned and left.

Margie leveled a laser like focus at me, “You impudent young man. How dare you take advantage of a lady’s distress. If you had the slightest consideration you would have looked away.”

I started laughing again, “Seriously, and miss a show intended for my viewing? I would not, I could not disrespect her bravery for showing me such a beautiful breast. Oh Margie, she wanted me to see her breast, she needed me to see her breast.”

I gave her an exaggerated leer. “And I don’t doubt for a moment that we’re the two of you contemporaries in the 1970 you would have been the no doubt about it winner in a wet t-shirt contest.”

“Oh shush you…you naughty boy. I’m old enough to be your mother.”

“You were hot and you know it and I bet not a one of these girls would have given you any competition. Hot, hot, hot.”

She dropped her gaze slightly and smiled. For a moment I thought she was preparing a snappy retort, until I realized what she was looking at. Oh shit, I’d been on my way to the pool when I was shanghaied, I was still wearing baggy-style boardshorts and one leg was clearly lifted by my as slowly relaxing but not there yet erection. There was no doubt what Margie was able to see.

She recovered quickly. “Just a few more Michael.”

When I turned the last shield right side up, my first thought was that I still might get in some pool time. I was wrong, naturally.

“Michael, there is just one more last thing I need you to do for me (I recognized the order for being just that…”Yes Margie, lead the way”) please follow me and bring the ladder.” I followed Margie down a long hallway that ended at a storage room.

“Put the ladder there, and if you could climb up and get that big box. Be very careful with it, I’ll tell you where to put it in just a moment. Thank you Michael.”

I did as asked, grabbing the box (it felt empty to me, but maybe that’s what fragile is all about), “What now Margie?”

“Michael, do you know what I’ve been looking at all day? Do you know what I saw the first time you climbed up that ladder, and every time thereafter? (No, I did not know – although I had a pretty good idea – and informed her so.) I looked up and there it was, plain as day, every damn time. And it got me to thinking, and that thinking got me to wondering, and that wondering got me to wanting, really wanting. Are you willing to help me with what I want Michael?”

“Just ask Margie, clearly based on my demonstrated ability to stand on this ladder, I am ready, willing, and ab-oh…oh, oh Margie!”

Margie had reached up my baggies (out on the Left Coast if you surfed in the 60’s and 70’s you wore wide leg trunks called ‘baggies’, because tight trunks chaffed and that was really uncomfortable. Now-a-days with all kinds of high tech fabrics they’re called “boardshorts” as in surfboard shorts) She grabbed my cock! I was stunned and undeniably aroused.

“Every time I had to hold that damn ladder and look up there was that big old dick of yours (she gave it a couple of tugs) was looking back at me. Sassing me. Denying me what has been denied for far too long.” She let go of my dick long enough to pull my trunks down to my ankles, then she was right back fondling me. Like any 19 year old male, whose dick was getting handled by an experienced female, I got hard fast. Really, really hard.

“Oh my, oh look at you. You’re not just a ‘show-er’ are you? You my dear young man are a ‘grow-er.’ And look at you grow. Come down two steps Michael, I’m going to express my appreciation for your help today.”

The blowjob that followed was expert, enthusiastic, and ended quite happily as I flooded Margie’s mouth with my cum. I believe that I lasted long enough to require a sustained effort on her part, but not so long as to frustrate or tire Margie, who judging by her post swallow smile was almost as happy as me.

I remained hard, a condition I noticed, and so did Margie. “I’m sorry Michael, as much as I might like to service you again I don’t think I can. I’m afraid I’m just a little bit out of practice. I suppose that I could use my hands if you want…Michael, Michael, what on earth are you doing?!”

“Not to worry Margie.” I had other ideas as I hopped to the floor and cleared off a nearby table. I turned around, picked Margie up and sat her on the table. Now as a horny teenage male with a still hard cock and a woman my mom’s age (or more) I won’t lie, it probably helped that the storage room was semi-dark because in my mind right this moment, Margie was just Margie. And Margie had just given me a really good blowjob and I deeply believe and practice that you should do unto others as they have done to you. Or, what goes around, comes around. And Margie clearly deserved one oral sex induced orgasm, maybe more than one.

Oh, she was surprised when I reached under her sundress and pulled her panties (boy-cut, not at all grannie panties) to her ankles. She was shocked when I pushed her legs vertical and stuffed my face into her crotch.

But her “no, no, no’ turned to ‘oh, oh, oh’ then into ‘yes, yes, yes” in about a dozen licks or so. It didn’t seem to take that long before Margie began to tremble and shake, then she uttered a deep guttural “Ah-ah-ah.” This was repeated a couple of more times before her hands which had been entangled in my hair holding me in place gently pushed my head away. “Oh my lord, oh my, too much, no more Michael, no more, too sensitive.”

I was still hard so I stepped up angled my cock down and slowly pushed into her. Yes her eyes kinda bugged out at me with the unspoken but clear as day question, “are you putting your dick in me Michael?” Which I most certainly was and I began some slow, deep thrusts. She just kept saying “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”

As I felt her relax I fucked her harder and faster, and every so often I trailed my thumb over her clit looking for the stroke to take her over the top. Finally I found the one that did it and her pussy clenched around me. Damn she got tight! Her feet, with her heels hanging on my shoulders waggled back and forth smacking my ears. Never the less (or maybe because of that) I came…hard.

I pretty much expected my dick to soften and slip out, but damned if it didn’t stay firm, not necessarily steel pipe hard, but firm enough. I sure noticed, and so did Margie.

“Young man, this is all your doing.” She brought her feet off my shoulders, placed them on my chest and ever so gently pushed me back until my cock popped free, waving about in the air.

“Now, it’s my turn Michael. Help me off this table (I did) and spread that cloth out (did that too), now you lie down on your back (oh yeah, I was totally on board.) Oh, I am so going to enjoy myself thoroughly and completely.”

Margie fucked me through one orgasm after another (all hers) until she finally said “enough, Lord have mercy, that’s enough.” Her legs were shaking and her whole body trembled. She actually needed a little assistance getting up off of me. She looked at my resurgent cock (which was once again hard as hard could be) and said “I’m sorry Michael, but I am just plum worn out.”

I simply moved behind her as she climbed off and grabbed her hips. “Michael, what are you doing?”

My answer was one long, slow, deep thrust. Which I repeated again and again. I kept at it, gradually going faster and faster, until I finally came a few minutes later. I slowly pulled my now soft cock from her with an audible pop. My dick was officially limp. I sat back in wonder. Talk about a crazy afternoon. I watched Margie rise slowly, her sundress still bunched around her waist. She slowly turned and smiled.

“I’m going to go now my dear, dear boy. I am in need of a very thorough and very hot bath…and maybe a nice nap too.” She kissed my cheek, then patted me where she kissed. “My dear, sweet, wonderful boy.”

She searched around for her panties, shooting a disapproving smile at me until she found them. I watched her pull her panties up and smooth her sundress down. Margie looked down at my flaccid cock, smiled and shook her head. Then she opened the storage room door and asked me to wait a few minutes before leaving.

Turned out I still had time for my swim, after which I headed back up to my room. What a crazy day, a crazy fucking day.

==========

I saw Margie the next day, at the wedding, she looked great. There were no surreptitious acknowledgements between us, no winks or nods. Just the both of us keepin’ it chill.

The ceremony was good (I guess) but the reception afterwards was exceptional. Apparently I was of legal age to drink – which I did. Turns out that I am a happy, gregarious, and absolutely ‘no fear here’ drunk. I had a good time, actually a great time.

A quick background note here: I was in a really bad car accident when I was little, my right knee and femur were broken, multiple breaks. As I’ve grown over the years I’ve endured a number of surgeries, and to that you can add in lots of rehab and physical therapy. One of the therapies I was ‘forced’ to endure was ballroom dancing. Originally they wanted me to do ballet, they even made me watch “Billy Elliot” – oh, look how athletic it is – that simply was not going to happen. Absolutely no fucking way – and no offense to those who love ballet. Eventually we (my parents and I) reached a compromise that had me learning ballroom dancing. So off and on for eight years I did ballroom dancing regularly as a form of physical therapy. And in all honesty, though I’ll never admit this to my folks, I enjoyed it. And I got pretty good according to my instructors. Here was my big chance.

I was ready and I was willing. We ( mom, dad, and me) were seated at a table with a older couple from the brides side. I’d noticed his heavy limp earlier, and I couldn’t help but be aware of his wife looking out at all the dancing.

“Mr. Baker, may I ask your permission to escort your wife onto the dance floor?” Mr Baker thanked me, my mom beamed, and my dad just nodded his head.

Mrs. Baker popped up, kissed her husband and took my arm. She (we) had a blast. Many dances later, Mrs Baker pointed out another woman “that is my dear cousin Ruth Ann sitting as a single (thank God she is finally free of that shiftless excuse for a husband) at a nearby table. She loves to dance, would you mind asking her next.”

“Only if you introduce me.” I offered my arm to Fran (Mrs Baker) and escorted her to the singles table. Ruth Ann was an excellent dancer and made it clear to me she had her own room. I demurred (that’s a really hard word to work into the dialogue of a 19 year old guy) and asked if there might be another woman in need of a dance partner.

Variations of that happened all night, until the woman I was dancing with pointed at Margie. “That’s my step mom, although in reality we’re almost the same age. My mom died when I was young, and my poor dad had second and third wife/goldiggers, god what a mess. The second one barely lasted a year, the family bought her off for a song. The third wife was worse, she seemed so nice and caring but she was selling off stuff as quick as she could. We have no idea how much she stole, but having a bunch of lawyers in the family helps. We had to threaten her with jail. Then Margie came along, she was even younger than wives #2 and #3, we all thought ‘Oh Lord, here we go again’ and we agreed that she would need close watching. We couldn’t have been more wrong, almost twenty-two years of marriage (I started feeling like an asshole) and all but the last three were picture book perfect. Dad was so happy, well we all were, because dad and Margie were just so great together. ” She wiped some tears from her eyes.

“Then about three four years ago, everything just fell apart. Dad had a major heart attack and then it was one health problem on top of another. Then about a year ago, Dad’s memory and reasoning began to falter and he was diagnosed with severe Alzheimer’s. It’s been very tough for Margie, Dad keeps yelling at her asking where Helen is – Helen was my mom – he keeps saying she’s going to get him out of this place and away from you. We’ve encouraged her to get out and about and let the nurses take care of dad, but she has a stubborn streak in her. Could you at least ask her to dance, there’s no way she’ll refuse…please.”

“I’d be happy providing you introduce us.”

I did dance with Margie – twice. Finally she asked to be walked back to her table. She introduced me to her granddaughter Alexandra, and then Margie called it a night with a kiss and a pat on my cheek and hugs and kisses all around.