Magnus and His Family

Magnus and His Family (Chapter 17)

Kathryn M. Burke

Darcy's arrival made one thing painfully obvious: Kristen was, for all the love she received from the others, becoming the odd woman out.

It was never realistically assumed by anyone that Kristen and her brother would be a "couple" for anything like the long haul. They couldn't marry or have children, and Darcy's emergence as Paul's true love—along with the increasing devotion that Adele and Curt shared—made Kristen feel as if she had only a tenuous place in the household. The others did all they could to make her realize how integral a part of this unusual group she was; but her sense of isolation was nonetheless becoming evident to everyone.

Paul talked about the matter with Darcy one night.

"Isn't there anyone we can set her up with?" he asked.

"Paul, there are all manner of men on campus—she just has to go and find one."

"I guess her involvement with Dad, and then with me, has made her forget how to become appealing to guys in general."

"Oh, come on, that's ridiculous! She's beautiful, she's smart, she's sweet—and the moment a guy gets her into bed, he'll know what kind of satisfaction he'll get from her."

"Sure, but the trick is to

find

a guy she can take to bed—and not just for sex, but for love too. She wants that." Then, after a pause: "Say, don't you have a younger brother? What about him?"

Paul, who was embracing Darcy as she clung to his side, felt her stiffen immediately. "I don't think that's a good idea," she said tightly.

"Why not? I think it would be swell! I'm not saying there's any guarantee they'll hit it off, but they can at least meet, can't they?"

"Paul, I really don't think so."

"But

why?

Does he have three legs or something? How old is he, anyway?"

"Just about Kristen's age—nineteen."

"Well, there you go!"

"Paul, the fact is"—and it became evident that Darcy was able to speak only with difficulty—"he . . . has some problems."

A little shudder went through Paul. "What kind of problems?"

"Well, he's a bit on the autistic side."

"Is that all? There are plenty of wonderful people who are 'on the spectrum,' as they say. What's the big deal?"

"It's just . . ." Darcy was having trouble saying what she wanted to say. "He hasn't had much experience with girls—and I'm not sure most girls would like him."

"Why? What does he look like?"

"Oh, he's pretty good-looking. That's not the problem."

"Is he just shy? Awkward?"

"Something like that."

"Darcy," Paul said decisively, "I think you're being overly cautious—and maybe overprotective. If your brother—what's his name, anyway?"

"Greg."

"If Greg might benefit from meeting a girl like Kristen, then I think it would be all to the good, even if it doesn't really lead to anything."

Darcy sighed. "Oh, all right."

"So where is he? Is he a student here?"

"No, we decided it probably wouldn't be a good idea for him to go to college. He's working in a hardware store downtown."

"That's great! Maybe he'll lend some real-life perspective to Kristen—and to all of us."

"I don't know about that. I'm not sure what his hold on reality is."

"You must be exaggerating. I think they'll have a wonderful time."

So it was set up. Kristen grudgingly accepted the blind date, realizing that Paul was basically arranging it out of pity for her. But she tried to keep her spirits up and look forward to meeting the brother of someone who had already become very dear to her.

Since Greg worked all day, a dinner was planned at a modestly priced restaurant. Kristen put on a nice knee-length dress, dark blue with a cinched waist, that showed off her figure—even though she trotted out her perennial complaint that her smallish boobs didn't make her quite as curvy as she would like. She was given only a vague description of Greg, so she found herself in front of the restaurant peering around at every guy who might even remotely be him.

When he did emerge, shuffling up the walkway of the restaurant, she let out a gasp.

He was fairly short—maybe five foot eight at the most—but strikingly good-looking. From his appearance alone, he might have been considered an actor. Underneath a shock of dark brown hair that hung partly over his forehead, he had chiseled features and a jutting jawline that made Kristen go a little weak in the knees. And from what she could tell, his physique was equally impressive: wide shoulders, muscular chest, strong thighs and calves, and biceps that would make any woman get wet. Kristen, swallowing hard, realized that that was exactly what had happened to her.

But Greg's behavior was indeed a little peculiar. As he sidled up to her, he did everything he could not to look her in the face.

Kristen had been told of his autism, so she tried to be welcoming. Holding out a hand, she said, "Are you Greg?"

He muttered something incoherent, which Kristen took as a yes.

"Hi, I'm Kristen. It's nice to meet you."

Greg didn't seem to notice his date holding out her hand, or else didn't know what to do with it. Instead, he just stood in front of her, looking at his shoes. She decided to go for broke and gave Greg a little hug—one that pressed those smallish breasts into his chest.

He stood, amazed, arms at his sides, as she held him for a few seconds. When she released him, he just gaped at her. Then he burst out in a loud voice:

"You're really beautiful!"

Kristen tried to ignore the other people around them who turned their heads at the remark. "That's very sweet of you, Greg. Let's go in."

She took his arm in hers and led him into the restaurant. When the hostess greeted them, Greg couldn't even say that he wanted a table for two, so Kristen obliged. The hostess led them to a table that was reasonably secluded in the back of the restaurant.

Over the next hour and a half, Kristen did her best to coax some information out of Greg. For nearly the whole of the meal he kept his head down, as if the food on the plate was unspeakably fascinating, and shoved the food in his mouth chiefly as an excuse to say as little as possible. But Kristen still got something out of him.

He admitted to a tremendous admiration for his older sister, and was almost pathetically grateful that she had made such a hit with the people in Kristen's house. One of the few times he actually looked at his date was when Kristen told him what a wonderful person Darcy was—although of course she didn't go into any details regarding sleeping arrangements. She also learned that Darcy and Greg's parents were divorced, and that their mother lived pretty close to him—and had in fact wanted him to remain at home while he worked at the hardware store. But Greg had, in an unusual spasm of independence, said he needed to get out of the house and live on his own. He had found a small apartment not terribly far from his mom's house, and seemed happy there.

It became quite obvious to Kristen, though, that he had never had any involvements with girls.

She caught him staring at her chest every so often (

maybe my boobs aren't so small after all!

), and even licking his lips and getting a kind of dreamy look on his face—but almost at once that look turned into one of apprehension, alarm, even fear. Kristen's heart bled for this naïve young man, and she vowed to see if she could help him overcome some of his psychological issues.

When the dinner was over, the couple faced the next fateful decision: what happens now?

Greg magnanimously picked up the check, and Kristen gave him a winsome smile and touched his arm when he did so. The crimson blush that spread over his face almost made her laugh, but she restrained herself. But she did say, in the most offhand manner she could manage:

"Say, Greg, why don't we go to your place? I'm not ready to go home."

This very mild suggestion of further intimacy so disconcerted Greg that he now seemed to blanch with terror. Kristen knew he had an apartment somewhere close by, and she was eager to see what a real bachelor pad was like. But Greg, who stood stock still in the parking lot when Kristen made her offer, was spooked almost to speechlessness.

"Oh, come on, Greg," she urged. "I'd like to talk with you some more."

"My place is kind of a mess," he muttered to himself.

"I'm sure it'll be fine. I'll follow you in my car, okay?"

And she headed off toward her own vehicle before Greg could say anything.

She followed him dutifully. They entered a not particularly good part of town, but one where a lot of working-class people had nice but modest homes and apartments. Greg was in a three-story building that seemed to have about sixty units, and he grudgingly led her up to the top floor where his place was.

He barely opened the door wide enough to let them both in. When he turned on an overhead light, Kristen was pleasantly surprised. The place was, in fact, quite tidy, leading her to wonder if Greg was some kind of neat freak. Well, there were worse things in the world—like the opposite! As Greg didn't offer to show her around the small apartment, she herself wandered from room to room—living/dining room, tiny kitchen, and one bedroom, with an incredibly small bathroom crammed in somehow. She did notice a few dishes left in the kitchen sink—so this was what Greg considered "a mess"!

"Oh, Greg, this is charming," she said.

She tossed her thin wrap on an easy chair in the living room and sat down on the sofa. When Greg stood there staring at her, she patted the cushion next to her and said, "Come sit down, Greg."

He did so gingerly, as if there might be a bomb under that cushion. Kristen regretted making feel Greg uncomfortable in his own place, but she wanted him to get over the alarm and embarrassment that the mere presence of another human being here—especially a female—was obviously causing him.

He made no attempt to offer her a drink or anything. Clearly he had no alcohol—and good for him! Neither of them would be old enough to drink for another two years. She was dredging her mind to think of something to start a conversation, but then Greg did something odd.

At first he had been staring straight ahead of him, apparently at some blank spot in the wall across the room. Then he turned his head slowly in Kristen's direction. His spooked expression metamorphosed into a kind of painful grimace, and before she could ask what was the matter he burst out:

"Oh, Kristen, you're so beautiful, and so nice! I don't deserve to have you here!"

And he burst into tears.

She certainly wasn't expecting this reaction.

All her feminine sympathy for suffering mortals (especially males) coursed through her. With a little cry of her own, she jumped up from her seat and flung herself onto her date, landing in his lap with her legs bent on either side of him. She impulsively grabbed his head and held it close to her chest, kissing the top of his head and making soothing sounds to restrain his tears.

He clung to her in desperation, and she was squeezed so tight that she found it hard to breathe. His cries now turned to sobs; and, without realizing what he was doing, he took one hand and fastened it to her breast. She could feel the wetness of his tears bedewing the front of her dress—and then felt the discomfort of that strong hand squeezing her bosom.

She placed her own hand gently on his and said, "Not so hard, Greg."

Only now did it dawn upon him what liberties he was unwittingly taking, He almost thrust Kristen away from him as he looked up at her, aghast. "Omigod, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to—"

She had slipped off of him and now stood before him. "It's okay, dear."

Without thinking, she reached behind herself and undid the long zipper of her dress. It fell noiselessly to the floor, revealing her in only a bra and panties. In seconds she had relieved herself of these encumbrances, then placed herself back on Greg's lap.

"Maybe this will be better," she whispered.

She placed his head between her breasts, and he once again clung to her. His crying had stopped for the moment, but now it resumed, and she realized that he had to let out his pent-up feelings if he was going to find any kind of relief from his trauma. He did place a hand on her breast again, but this time he was as gentle as could be; and he seemed to find an ineffable pleasure in the simultaneous firmness and softness of its texture and in its small and delicate rondure. Between sniffs he tenderly placed his mouth on the nipple, wishing he could draw sustenance from it.

But he clearly

was

drawing a kind of sustenance from her nudity and her unabashed sympathy. When he stopped crying, Kristen reached over to the end table, snatched up a Kleenex, and wiped his face like a mother tending to a son who had scraped his knee. Then, prying herself out of Greg's grasp, she slid to a kneeling position on the floor. Looking up at him, she slowly unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a chest covered with thick but fine tufts of black hair. She rubbed her face in it for a few moments, then turned her attention to Greg's pants. They were Dockers, and the zipper seemed to be unusually stiff; in a few moments Kristen realized why.

"Oh, my goodness!" she cried.

She had peeled down Greg's pants and underwear to his knees and exposed a cock of such dimensions as she had never seen before. It was already fully erect, and must have been at least ten inches, maybe longer. Not Magnus, not Curt, not Paul, nor any of the men she had serviced during the various "parties" at her father's house had sported a member like this. It was also quite thick, and as she grasped it she found that it almost required both hands to encircle its circumference.

"What's the matter?" Greg said in alarm.

"It's—it's huge!" she cried.

"Is it too big?" he said, concern filling his voice.

She gave him a little smirk. "I think I can manage."

For a moment Kristen was just going to sit on that monstrous organ to complete their intimacy; but she sensed that this would be Greg's first time at copulation, and she wanted to make it super-special. So, urging him to stand up, she stripped away his remaining clothes—pants, socks, and underwear—and, kneeling in front of him, placed his member into her mouth.

She could barely get a third of it into her mouth, although she could probably have managed a few more inches if she had really tried. But that seemed to be enough for Greg, who gasped aloud and looked down at her in amazement at this first contact of his member with a female. She licked and sucked it with gusto, sometimes taking it out of her mouth and craning her neck to place his balls in her mouth—an act that elicited a kind of catlike mew from him.

She didn't want him to ejaculate prematurely, so after a few minutes she stopped and, impishly taking his cock in her hand, led him toward his bedroom.

Thankfully, he had a queen-size bed, so there was plenty of room for action. They both flopped onto the bed, and Greg immediately began paying rapt attention to Kristen's breasts. Their small size didn't seem to bother him in the least, and he touched and kissed them with a reverence closely akin to awe. When her nipples got erect, he observed the phenomenon with delighted fascination, then wrapped his lips around them in turn, causing Kristen to moan loudly. Greg looked up to Kristen's face, unable quite to believe that he had just succeeded, however inadvertently, in actually stimulating a woman.

But both of them knew that the ultimate moment couldn't be postponed. As Greg climbed up her body and found himself ensconced between her parted legs, he seemed ready and eager to plunge into her—but then he hesitated in uncertainty.

"Go on, dear," she said encouragingly. "I'm waiting for you. Just don't go in all at once, okay?"

Greg needed to hold his cock in his hand to guide it properly. Even then, he didn't find the orifice right away, and a strange little cry of frustration came out of his throat.

Kristen took pity on him. Saying, "Here, let me," she took his cock in her hand and directed it into her vagina.

Greg clumsily entered more than halfway, leading both of them to gasp loudly. A little frown of discomfort appeared on Kristen's face, and Greg cursed himself inwardly for causing her even the slightest pain. "I'm sorry!" he said plangently.

"It's okay," she said. "Just go easy."

He managed to slip in a few more inches, and that seemed enough. As it was, the sensations he was feeling were so overwhelming that he could only drop his jaw, his eyes almost bugging out of his head.

For a time he just lay on Kristen, unmoving, absorbing to the full the feel of her whole body—breasts, stomach, belly, thighs—against his own. Then he began pumping slowly. The warm moistness of her cleft was so exquisite that he thought he would spurt at once, but somehow he managed to hold off and get into a nice rhythm. In doing so, he entered her fractionally more and more until he was fully lodged into her. Kristen had never taken such a huge organ into herself, and she felt filled as if Greg's entire body was in her.

She simply lay passive as Greg pumped her while frantically pawing her breasts and back and thighs with his hands, slathering kisses on her face and neck and shoulders and even her armpits. He himself felt enfolded into Kristen's body in a way he had not thought possible. There was a true union of bodies and minds and hearts in this act of coitus, and both of them were transported into another world.

The tingling in his balls that Greg now felt—an all too familiar sensation from his many acts of self-pleasuring—heralded the culmination of this transcendent event. His emission was long and copious, and Kristen felt the shafts of his seed coating her pussy as if it was being bathed with a priceless ointment—as indeed it was, for Greg's bestowal of his most precious substance upon her was an act of piety that rendered them a spiritual unity.

He lay in her for minutes after he had finished, and she gloried in the weight of him on her, keeping her arms wrapped tightly around his back. At last he felt the need to come out, and he flopped over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, his entire body covered in sweat. Hers was also glistening with perspiration.

She snuggled next to him, saying, "Was that nice, Greg?"

Still staring at the ceiling, he said, "That was the most incredible thing that's ever happened to me."

"Oh, I'm so glad!" she cried. Then, after a pause: "Greg, dear, do you know how to make a girl happy?"

A worried look came over his face. "What—what do you mean?"

"Girls like to come too, you know—and we usually don't come from intercourse alone. I was close, but didn't quite get there. Can you finish me off?"

The look of worry turned to alarm. "Um—um—" he blundered.

"You don't know how?" she said gently.

He shook his head in an agony of self-recrimination.

"That's okay," she said. "It's not hard. Here—give me your hand."

She took his right hand and directed it toward her cleft. Manipulating his fingers, she said, "These are my labia, and this is my clitoris. You just want to rub that, maybe in a circular motion. I'll come in no time!"

Now Kristen was on her back and Greg was on his side, intently gazing at her. She had released his hand, and he began stroking her—awkwardly at first, but soon with more assurance. He couldn't help feeling delighted at the thick fluid leaking out of her (

that's my seed!

), but made sure to focus on her pleasure, not his. As she began arching her back and moaning, he could tell that his actions were having an effect; and he continued to peer at her as she clutched the sheets and then, her jaw dropping and her tongue protruding a bit from her mouth, she cried out sharply as the initial waves of her orgasm poured over her.