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."
