Life as Story

What would my life be without these women in it? I mean, what? I leaned back against the wall in the empty living room they would want me to newly furnish and I actually felt a chill at the thought. It seems black and white, entirely black and white: they are either all in it or they are all out of it. That's basically the way it is: all or nothing. But the longer I thought about it, the more the absoluteness of it all made it easier for me. What if I could invite these women into my life on my own terms? What possible terms would those be? I would never have any authority over Clair, never; her mother is a bit more reasonable but how much more? And anyway, would I want authority over them? No, that's what makes this all so utterly fascinating to me: I actually want their complete anarchy and their complete subjugation of me; I actually want their abstract thinking, their unreasonable, irrational, fascinating ... antics.

I held up the keys to the place and looked at them, studying them for meaning. They open and they close, they lock and they unlock. I remembered reading a poem in high school that I think was called Behind closed doors. It was about exactly that, what's happening behind closed doors? You have to open the door to find out.

I was barely awake when she kissed me the next morning. She was dressed, her eyes were gleaming. "I have things to do, I won't be back until late afternoon."

"I have things to do too," Clair was standing at the bedroom door. "I have to pick up some clothes ... hey, that's a massage table!" Sally had bought one and put it up in the bedroom. "I want one, OK? I've got time, we're not leaving 'til around one. You want a coffee first? I'll make it, get you some breakfast then you can give me one."

"I'm not giving you a massage," I said dismissively, as if I had to.

"Why not?"

Sally was leaving and looked back. "Oh, give her one, that's why I got it, you give a great massage."

There was a box of oils on the table and a small stack of white scrubs, that's what she called them when she showed me this stuff yesterday; the scrubs were so I could look 'professional.' She also got a mini sound system which was on a nearby table with two USB sticks filled with meditation music — how that happened I didn't even speculate.

Clair picked up a pair of the scrubs and when she realized what they were she threw them at me. "Put them on ... it's going to be great ... I'll make the coffee."

Sally went downstairs with her leaving me alone with my dilemma: would I do this? Actually, I had been thinking about this ever since Sally mentioned massaging Patricia ... I had flashbacks to her aging but elegant body and knew I'd love to lay my hands on her, now I was imagining Clair's even more diminutive body and found the thought troublingly alluring.

And anyway, I have an excuse: while once I was fully in charge of my life, now I'm not. As I listened to Sally's breathing last night while she slept, I had an epiphany. I had said, fuck it, I am never going to understand any of this so just go with it.

"What was it like with your fingers all over my mother's body?" We were just entering the bedroom after a half hour of coffee ... and teasing — the girl-woman, the one I had saved from the streets, is good at it.

"She said she enjoyed it."

"I bet she did," she said this while taking off her t-shirt.

"No!" I thought she'd take it off while lying on the table.

"Oh, pffff, you've already sucked my tits." Then she dropped her shorts.

"Leave your underwear on or this is going to end now!"

"No one gets a massage in their underwear," she stripped those off, too, then, completely nude she just took her time looking at the oils in the box, selecting one, handing it to me then she took all the things from the table to the bed and crawled on the table like ... like what?

She has a spectacularly cute ass, the rest of her is more girl than woman. I opened the bottle she had selected and drizzled some oil up both legs.

"Have you agreed to be my father yet?"

"The thought just fucking terrifies me."

She giggled at this. "Just give in to her for God's sake, she just wants to give herself to you ... and so do I ... all we want is to make your life as fantastic as we can. You're a fool to be looking this gift horse in the mouth ... anyway, do you know what happened this morning?"

I was pressing my thumbs into her calves wanting to cause at least a little pain. "A vortex developed in the South China Sea?"

"With Susan."

"I don't want to know."

"Yes you do. She was watching me get dressed to come over here; she told me she loves me; she has said that before but usually when my face was between her legs ..."

"Don't be crude."

"She doesn't like sex in the morning, I know that. I lay down beside her and played with her nipples, they're very light pink; she has really small areoles, they're almost non-existent ..."

"Thanks for that, I've been wondering."

"She's wonderful you know, a bit straight but wonderful, a far better person than I am. I was lying there beside her ... I told her I want to marry her and I meant it, I really want her as my life companion, I've thought a lot about it; she's the one, as perfect for me as mum is for you ... and more importantly you are for mum."

"What did she say?"

"She said I was too young for that. I twisted her nipple until she started to laugh. I told her I want to marry her in Las Vegas."

"What did she say to that?"

"She said when? Do you know what I said? I said I wanted to marry her at the same time you marry mum. How about that? Not the same ceremony, different ceremonies, us first. Why not? You don't have any friends here. You can take us there for a week; we all come back married; you move into the condo; we stay in her place, we both like it there; we both help mum with the shops — Susan is really keen on that ... it surprised me but she is really excited about that, maybe we can get a stake in one of them, the coffee shop maybe, that would be perfect for a prof." She looked back at me. "Hand me a towel." I did. She awkwardly folded it a few time then stuffed it under her, pressing her pussy into it. "I'm horny."

"You're not going to masturbate here."

"Yes I am, don't be such a prude."

I watched fascinated as she slowly humped the towel. "I spat in her mouth last night — a girl once did that to me and it really turned me on, then I drooled on her mouth and face, that really got to her, too."

"You shouldn't be telling me this stuff."

"Why not, she going to be my wife or I'm going to be her's, we haven't worked that out yet ... I'm close."

I stepped back not knowing what to do and watched her little ass thrash her pussy at the towel, her arms as down-stretched as her legs were outstretched, her toes curled weirdly. It lasted a surprising long time, or her little cries did, far longer than I last, then she curled in a ball holding her knees to her chest.

"A good one?" Was all I could think to say.

"I have to be in love to be horny, do you know when I figured that out?" She didn't wait for me to guess. "A week after moving in with you ... I wasn't horny for you, nothing like with her, but you made everything feel so much brighter in my life because ... I didn't tell you but I adopted you as my dad — there has always been a void there. When I did you instantly filled it and somehow that turned me on and I started focussing on her ... I knew I could get her if I wanted her. A week after living with you I got unbelievably horny for her and decided to go after her."

She got off the table and went over and flopped on the bed entirely oblivious to her nakedness. She slapped the mattress beside her. "I've never seen a guy cum before and I'd like to," as quickly as she said that she jumped off the bed and went over and picked up her underwear; she gave them to me as she got back on the bed and I actually took them totally confused as to what she was doing. "I used to use mum's when I wanted to get off fast, I use Susan's now — no one ever calls her Sue or Susie, have you noticed that? I think it's because she's tall and thin, anyway use those ... show me how you guys orgasm."

I'm 44 years old and mature and was just used as a prop so a girl could masturbate. Now I am supposed to. So, how mature am I? I wanted to, I wanted to rise to the challenge, I wanted not to shrink from her intimidation and, honestly, I wanted her to have the experience of watching this because I really wasn't convinced she had a huge grip on her sexuality. With panties in hand, tiny grey-white ones that had seen better days I sat down on the bed, then lay on my back and did as I was told, complete with putting the panties to my nose. It didn't take long, the audience guaranteed that, embarrassingly little time; it was only when I caught myself in her panties that her eyes grew wide.

"Those are mine," she said with legitimate shock ... "you weren't supposed to use them for that." She grabbed for them but realized mid-grab what was now on them and stopped herself. She jumped off the bed. "You're going to replace those and you're going to get some for mum ... and lend me some bucks so I can get some for Susan... she hasn't got anything nice ."

When you join someone else's world you can lose all references to your own. John Halstrad would never, ever have done any of those things. Clair Cambolt's father? No problem. As we drove to the mall I was astonished by just how normal I felt as I listened to her complain about what a lousy taste in clothes Susan has — as if she knew the first thing about fashion.

After I parked I was just about to get out when she pulled me back. "Are you getting it yet?"

"What?"

"You like sex, you want to find out about yourself and it's entirely safe for you — you're not going to discover anything bad. You know why? Because you're a good guy, a really, really, really good guy. I love you, I told mum that and Susan and you know what?" She laughed as she got out of the car. "I really, really really love loving you." She waited for me in front of the car, took my hand and led me into the mall.

I have been going for long bike rides on Saturdays for as long as I can remember. It's the way I think through the week that was and plan my next one: there is clarity when you're exercising that you can't find behind a desk.

But, for the first time ever, business was the last thing on my mind. Even in the past few weeks when Clair has been unwittingly prodding me to start thinking about everything differently, I always returned to my business to get me back on track. There is no track any more, the moment I said fuck it last night, I knew I had untethered myself from my convention — like an astronaut floating from the space station, that's the image I had. I felt adrift holding onto a thin cord of reason.

Had last night not been so outrageous I would have thought about it this morning, that little ass as she thrashed at that towel, or buying underwear for three women, underwear that she insisted on modelling — holding the bras up to her little chest to give me the effect and the panties the same. I objected but you just don't object to her, she made me tough it out and made me have fun in the process, that was her, disarmingly natural, things made sense around her that just never should make sense.

But last night took me to weirdness where nothing ever had before. Sally had told me at the last minute that it was a swing party. After I got over the shock I was going to back out but I knew we were creating a story, too and felt that this was a side of Sally I had to see and experience; I looked on it as a probable deal-breaker. I had no idea it would effect me like it did.

And it wasn't the reason I, impulsively, opened myself up to the prospects of selling my business. The story we are creating is. In my read of it there is no way that the guy who runs my company can be the guy living with her, that just didn't fit, it didn't make any sense. If I wanted our story it meant I had to entirely give up on my own; it meant not just selling my house but selling my business ... and becoming someone else — I would have to reinvent myself ... from a business man ... to what? When that realization hit me ... there among all the naked bodies I thought, fuck it, why not? I got really excited.

It was the trust, that's what did it for me. There is just no artifice with either of them; they are who they appeared to be, I am sure of it. They want to take me under their wing and I want to be there.

I had just got in the bath after my bike ride when Sally came in. "Where have you been?" I asked her and immediately felt guilty, it sounded way too invasive like she owed me an explanation.

She put the lid down on the toilet and sat down while waving an exercise book. "Been drinking coffee, I might have had 30 cups — I went to a bunch of coffeeshops looking for design ideas. When you finally say yes, I want to be ready."

When I reached out, she handed it to me. There were sketches on the pages and notes. "You can draw," I said.

"I wanted to be an artist when I was a kid. When the poet left so did that dream."

Just about everything I've seen of this woman has impressed me, maybe nothing more so than this. I know business minds; a good one alway inspires me. I flipped through the pages getting a sense of her thinking.

"Susan is an adjunct professor; she thinks she has some stability but she doesn't expect to ever get tenure. She doesn't make a lot; she needs a second job, so does Clair ... until she lands a teaching gig. They want to get involved. They can work with me, or you can get them their own shop — there are a few buildings for sale close by; we've looked around, the area is going to take off."

I looked over to see if she was serious ... but instinctively knowing she was, totally serious. "You must think I'm made of money."

"For what you can sell this house for ..."

"So that's the plan?" It sounded like it was and she had just tied a bow around it.

"Not THE plan, A plan, my plan, one that they like, too."

I deliberately jump-shifted. "Do you know what happened on that massage table this morning?" Her answer? She chuckled.

I told her anyway, leaving out nothing, including the bag of underwear in the bedroom. She laughed her way through most of it then went into the bedroom and came back with the bag, sat back down and reached inside it. "So, you've decided to invest in me? I'm wondering how to take that."

"Your whole goddam family has me so fucking confused I don't know if I'm coming or going."

She grinned, "No, eh ... well then maybe this isn't the best time to bring this up ... Patricia joined me for a couple of those coffees today. I told her about your new massage table, told her how good you are with it. I asked her if she'd like you to give her a rub down." She snickered. "You should have seen how uncomfortable that made her ... for a few minutes until she let it sink in — she's never had one." She saw my growing shock and that I was about to object and she stopped me. "Oh, for God sake it's fun ... fun for you, fun for whoever is on the table and fun for me. I said I'd call her and tell her when."

"Why is it fun for you?"

She got up without actually having pulled anything from the bag. "It excites me because I think it excites you."

I lay back looking with some fascination at my growing erection. Fun for me? Is it fun having fleeting glimpses gnawing at your brain because that's what is happening, little glimpses of groins and pussies and pubic hair and breasts and nipples and all the other bits and pieces I knew nothing about but should. I know I'm reacting to them like a teenager; I can't help that; it's pathetic, sure, but a near lifetime of deprivation will do that to you.

She was wearing light yellow panties with white lacy trim when she came back in. "Thank you," she smiled. "They make me feel wonderful." She immediately took off her bra, stepped out of her panties then stepped into the bath noticing my erection. "I told you it excites you."

She sat down facing me, running her legs on either side of mine.

I tried to take this in stride, like it's happened to me before. I told her about what has been fascinating me since she arrived. "Do you know what I've noticed about you two ... and Clair is worse than you: you two say whatever's on your mind; you don't care if you annoy, offend or embarrass, you just say whatever you want."

"She's a lot worse than I am with that. I've told Susan, actually I felt I had to warn her ... that if she's with Clair she can kiss goodbye to any secrets she has. To Clair, all information is public information; I haven't had a secret since she was about 4; it's been embarrassing but that's just the way she is ... she isn't mean about it, she isn't trying to hurt, she just doesn't understand that some things aren't supposed to be shared."

"Like the size of Susan's areoles."

She laughed. "Like the size of Susan's areoles and my labia ... not what the public needs to know."

I hit her with a jump-shift, I thought it might rattle her. "Why would you ask Patricia here for a massage, I don't get that?"

"She's lonely. Sex with her husband is over. And thanks to that night with you, she's discovering she isn't quite done with it yet ... so she's available. But that's only one of the reasons. The other is that night with her. You were really into her, I don't know if it was her, her body type, her age or what it was, but you were into her ... so I'm doing you a favour, I like doing you favours, that's another side of us you'll notice, Clair and I love doing things for each other ... now, that includes you ... or it could. But there's another reason I did it ... here's my admission, don't use it against me: it turns me on to give you the sex you deserve, that's absolutely true but it's also true that it turns me on to get you the sex you deserve. When I told her you would give her a massage ..." she smiled, mischievously, "well, I liked it, I like it a lot ... the feeling. All those women I speculated about in the store? When I told her to come here for a massage — it was like getting inside their stories; it really got to me ... I liked it ... like it a lot, what can I say?"

"You can say ..."

She threw up her hand to stop me. "And look what you did for me. You went to that swing thing last night, you didn't want to — it showed. But you did. And you let me have my fun, you didn't make me leave and you haven't mentioned it since — you haven't held it over me. Why wouldn't I want to get you women to massage? You want that? You get that."

"So it's women now, plural, not just Patricia."

"I was thinking, ya, we pick a day and a time and I get you the body types you want to massage, why not, it would be great for both of us."

"You're nuts."

"Not a good idea to do it here, we'd do it in the condo while we're re-doing the stores, see how it goes. What woman doesn't want a free massage by a handsome man — can't wait to ask them ...

I wasn't quite getting this. "Who would you ask?"

"Women like Patricia, strangers. If the massages go further than massages it's because that's what you both want."

"And you'd be OK with that?"

"Totally."

"So, you're managing to tie my life into a new condo, with new shops below and a whole new sex life for me."

"And for me. And we both need it."

She had worked a foot up so it was poking playfully at my chin. I took her toe and twisted it until it had to hurt a bit. "Is this even conceivable?"

She pushed her foot at my face then lay it back beside me. "Let's put it in our story, see how it fits."

Should sex play a big role in a healthy relationship? That's what we talked about as we drove to the party tonight. I'm instinctively concerned: sex is fast becoming a huge, out-sized focus with us — it seems that when we aren't having it we're talking about it or teasingly alluding to it, me, her, her daughter. This has me feeling that it's all just a little bit too preoccupying, all just a little bit sad. But not to her, not in the least: sex has to play a major role in a relationship, at least in the beginning because we're both making up for so much lost time. What's the problem ... there isn't one ...use it or lose it ... don't worry, be happy.