It was a wild midsummer's night. The rain was pelting down in sheets and the wind was howling through the trees like the banshee's lonely wail. I was sitting in my favorite chair with a half full bottle of single malt Scotch in my left hand and a revolver in my right hand. There was only one bullet in the revolver and I was getting up my Dutch courage to play the first round of Russian roulette.
Click! I downed another shot of Scotch and spun the cylinder on the revolver.
As I poured another shot into my glass, I heard a faint tapping at the door, or was it something tapping inside my head? Ever since my wife had died in a horrible hit-and-run accident, I had been feeling rather more than depressed. The rest of the family called me a basket case and I guess that I was. Tonight, I had reached the end of my rope and somebody forgot to tie a knot in it.
Tap! Tap! Tap! It had to be coming from the front door. Maybe, just maybe, if I ignored it, whoever it was would go away and leave me to my Russian roulette.
I live out in the country and my nearest neighbor is easily a mile away through some mighty dense woods so I don't get many visitors banging on my door in the middle of a downpour...and it was pouring like the forty days and nights that led up to the Great Flood that floated Noah's ark full of animals.
Tap! Tap! Tap! I roused myself and somehow managed to get to my feet. In my drunken state that was no mean accomplishment. How I managed to navigate my way to the door was another mystery that my brain had no desire to investigate. What happened next totally took my unawares. I opened the door to find a shivering young lady dressed in...dressed in nothing but the suit she was born with. As I opened the door, she literally collapsed dripping wet on my hardwood floor. The wind was blowing rain directly at the door so somehow I managed to drag her into the house and lean hard enough against the door to get it closed.
I looked at my naked visitor and felt my cock begin to expand, something it hadn't done in the six months since my wife was killed. The girl in front of me was a natural redhead and was a bit on the small side. I doubt that she weighed over 110 pounds or stood five feet tall in high heels. Her small breasts sported a pair of nipples that stuck out at least a quarter of an inch in the cold and wet. In my drunken state I guessed her age at no more than twenty, but at least eighteen. How I made that determination I have no earthly idea, but it was a best guess at the time.
Seeing the girl laying at my feet snapped me into an instant sobriety and I managed to bend over placing my arms under her shoulders and her knees. She was as light as a feather and I laid her on my couch. I noticed her skin was mottled blue and full of goose pimples so I dragged a comforter over from the back of a nearby chair and covered her with it, but only after taking another really long look at her beautiful young body. My cock was now at full mast and I tried to will it down, but it wouldn't go down without a fight so I took off for the bathroom and fisted myself into a gigantic cum. It only took about thirty seconds for my sperm to shoot out and into the toilet. It had been a long time since the last time I had been sexually active: six months and several hours was the way I had it figured. Tonight was the six month mark of my widowerhood.
Sexually satisfied, I took my clothes off and dragged myself into my bedroom where I fell asleep without pulling the covers over me. I don't think I moved all night. It was the first really good night's sleep I had in quite some time.
When I awoke, the morning sun was playing hide and seek with my eyelids and my stomach was trying out for the local high school gymnastics team...with a good chance of winning the state championships. My head was pounding and there was a strange smell coming from somewhere. I staggered to my feet and managed somehow to get myself into the bathroom where I relieved myself of my morning load of urine, looked at the haggard face in the mirror and swore I would never touch Scotch again--at least not until nightfall. Foregoing the clothes that I had taken off the night before, I walked towards the kitchen in my original birthday suit even if it did sag a bit in places. The smell was still there and got stronger as I left my bedroom in the direction of the kitchen which had been a mess when I left it the previous afternoon.
My eyes did a double take as I walked through the kitchen door. The dishes had been washed and put away. The smell had been coffee which was in a mug in front of my chair at the table along with the milk and sugar.
My eyes did another double take as I looked at the girl standing in front of the stove with a spatula in one hand. She was dressed in one of my dead wife's almost see-through nightgowns that did little to hide her charms. Her mouth was moving, but I couldn't hear anything she was saying.
"Excuse me. Who the fuck are you, young lady?"
"My name is Brianna, but everybody calls me Bree. And who the fuck are you?"
"My name is Henry, but everybody calls me Hank. Now, what are you doing in my wife's nightgown?"
"I-I-I found it in your bedroom closet. I had to have something to put on. I woke up naked on the couch and I needed something to wear, didn't I?"
"Hmmmm. You do have a point there. OK. You got the nightgown from the closet. Fair enough."
"How would you like your eggs?"
"Over easy. Hey! What the hell are you doing standing at my stove cooking eggs?"
"Well, I figured you might be hungry this morning. By the way, where did you put my clothes? And where are your own?"
"What clothes?" I passed on answering about where my clothes were, after all it was my house and I could walk around naked if I wanted.
"The ones I had on."
It started to come back to my still recalcitrant mind. This was the girl who had fallen naked through my doorway last night just as I was starting my game of Russian roulette.
"Uh, you didn't have any on."
"I did too! I never go out naked. Did you? Did we? Uh, you know?"
"Well, sweetheart, you were certainly very naked and very, very cold and wet when you fell through my door and landed at my feet. And, no we didn't. I was too fucking drunk to worry about sex last night." It was just a small lie after what I had done in the bathroom, but she would never know. "Say, did you see a revolver laying around?"
"Yeah. How do you like your bacon?"
"Extra crisp. Well, where is it? The revolver, I mean."
"I put it away where you can't hurt yourself. One bullet. A bottle of Scotch. Passed out naked and drunk on your bed. You were going to kill yourself weren't you?" The tone of her voice made me mentally wince, it was that sharp. "Weren't you?"
"Yeah. I guess I was going to try to keep playing until I lost."
"Hank, that's fucked up...big time fucked up."
"You don't know the whole story, as they say."
"Hey, I know enough not to put a gun to my head and pull the trigger. That's the only story I need to know. And why aren't you wearing any clothes?"
"Listen, Bree, is it? This is my house and what I wear in my house is none of your damn business." Unfortunately, my smaller head was beginning to get very interested in what I could see of Bree's young body which was only partially covered by the very revealing nightgown. That head decided it was also time to rise and stiffen. I tried to ignore it, but every look at Bree caused it to rise and stiffen a bit more.
"Yeah, you're right. It isn't any of my damn business."
"Now, young lady, I have a question or two for you. First, where the hell are your own clothes? Secondly, where did you come from?"
She put the food on the table before answering my questions. "First, I don't know where the hell my clothes are. The last time I saw them, they were on me and I don't remember taking them off. I suppose you won't admitting to taking them off me?" Bree bristled and glared daggers at me. "Secondly, I'm from Charlottetown. Third, where are your clothes right now? Your thingy there seems to be getting awfully stiff."
"Bree, you are one hell of a long way from Charlottetown...at least a hundred miles and probably a bit more. My clothes are still in my room where I left them. And, dear girl, if I were so interested in ending my life why would I undress you, hide your clothes, and then leave you on my couch without fucking the hell out of you?"
"I-I-I don't know." Bree was obviously on the verge of tears. "I-I-I was a virgin until last night. I thought you had raped me. I was bleeding from down there and there was some gooey stuff dripping out."
How did I ever miss that last night? I really must have been drunker than I had thought. By now my lower appendage was at full staff and saluting the idea of fucking this girl eight days to Sunday, but I knew I shouldn't and couldn't push that issue in her current frame of mind. I sat down before my small head could rear any further into the air, not that sitting down was going to make him behave himself.
