Warning: This story contains incest near the end, bisexual sex, and group sex.
I wish to thank the readers of Chapters 1 and 2 of this series for their enthusiastic response. I am most appreciative and I hope you enjoy this story, too.
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I was returning from Ghana, in Africa. It was a business trip, and I was tired. The Ghanaians I met there were truly lovely people, but the way they do business is so very different I needed a major adjustment continuously, and I was more than tired. I was exhausted.
My body was exhausted, too, due to near constant heartburn and "digestive issues." In Ghana I went through an entire large bottle of Tums. Ghanaian cuisine involves ginger, garlic, ginger, onions, ginger, hot pepper, and ginger. They even put ginger in the pineapple juice. I have to confess though, it tastes delicious that way. It was a relief to have the bland airline food of Delta Airlines, the only company to fly nonstop from Accra to New York.
I travel a lot so I have all the gimmicks that make travel easier, such as "trusted traveler" status. Since I went with carry-on, I was out of the airport and on line for a taxi in record time. I was coming home three days earlier than planned, and I could not wait to surprise my boyfriend. I asked the taxi to go straight to his place. I figured with traffic and everything, we'd arrive between 7PM and 8PM.
I left the taxi, carry-on following faithfully behind me as I pulled it, used my key to get into his building and took the stairs to the third floor. His building had neither doorman not elevator. I rang the bell and knocked on the door. I heard footsteps through the door and my face opened into a broad smile. I could not wait to fall into his strong, warm arms, pushing my breasts against his chest and perhaps feeling his hardness as we hugged. Hey, a girl can dream, can't she?
I was shocked into paralysis when a sexy blonde opened the door wearing my house robe. She looked to be naked underneath the robe. She had a big smile, and I thought there might be just a spot of my lover's cum at the corner of her beautiful mouth. She was pretty, no doubt about it.
She was buxom, full figured and her large breasts, unencumbered by a bra, poked strongly at my robe. My robe was not accustomed to clothing such a sexy woman, since usually it clothed me. This woman had child bearing hips and the curves of her body were pronounced. Barbaie dolls from my childhood come to mind. My body's curves in contrast are more subdued. I felt my French body of small hips and slight figure (except for my breasts, for some inexplicable reason) was somehow inadequate measured against this sexpot's body.
The woman in my robe was talking but I was not hearing. I was not hearing anything. Finally, she said, "Isabelle? Are you Isabelle?" There is something about hearing your own name that can cut through the fog of shock.
"I'm sorry we met this way. Mike said you weren't expected home for a few more days," she said. "I'm Julia."
I just stared.
"I'm pregnant, you see. Mike's the father," she said. I remained frozen to my spot, staring. "My baby's three months along. Mike's been meaning to tell you. I'm hoping we can all be friends."
I found my voice. "I need to use the bathroom," I said, as I brushed past Julia and ran to the bathroom for guests. I vomited all the airline food in my tummy. Julia heard me vomiting and brought me a glass of water and ironically a piece of candied ginger.
"Ginger helps relieve nausea," she said. "Are you pregnant, too? I hate the nausea, don't you?" Julia added, her voice laced with fake sympathy and saccharine sweetness.
"I have to go," I said, and grabbed my carry-on and set a new speed record for descending stairs while dragging a carry-on at the same time. Once on the street I flagged a taxi and gave the cabbie my own address along with some suggestions as to how he might get there. Cabbies hate that, I'm sure, but I was stressed to my very limits and beyond.
I was still feeling queasy when I entered my building with its elevator and doorman. The doorman stopped me. "We tried to contact you," he said, which are words you never, absolutely never, want to hear from a doorman.
"Mr. Peters, who lives above you, had a heart attack," he said.
"I'm sorry to hear that. How's he doing?" I asked. "What hospital is he in?" I figured I would send him a get-well card.
"He's dead, I'm afraid. He died while taking a bath. Apparently, he drowned. It was horrible," Sam the doorman said. Clearly, he had not reached the key piece he was dreading telling me. Death is always horrible, especially when it's a neighbor, but frankly I did not even like Mr. Peters. He was a grumpy old man who was always trying to look down my blouse.
"The poor man. I'm so sorry," I said.
"Yes, we all are. The funeral is this coming weekend if you'd like to go," he said.
"Yes. Yes, of course. Thank you," I said. What was he still holding back?
"He was adding some hot water to his bath when it happened. That's what the super figures," the doorman said. Uh-oh, I quickly and silently thought.
"I'm afraid there was some flooding that also affected your apartment. You live directly below him, as you know," he said. The other shoe was dropping. "You may not want to enter your apartment right now, especially in a weary state after a long flight. How long was it?"
"Ten hours in the air," I replied, trying to process everything. "There's also the issue of time adjustment. It's a four hour difference currently. Ghana does not use daylight savings time."
"The super said to tell you that he's already contracted for repairs. He'll ask you later for your insurance details."
"Where should I sleep, then?" I asked, quite reasonably, I thought.
"With your man friend?" he said, and seeing my face, he added, "Or a lady friend?"
"Listen, Sam," I said, "Could you call that Bed & Breakfast down the street and see if they have a room free?"
"You mean The Twilight House?" he suggested. "Good idea. Probably insurance will pay for your hotel stay given the circumstances."
"Yes, whatever. I don't know its name, actually."
He called. They had a room. I thanked him and rolled my suitcase down the street to The Twilight House. I felt like I was walking a dog only better because I didn't have to stop while my suitcase did its business or sniffed the trees growing in dedicated spaces cut out of the sidewalks.
I met the Innkeeper Beatrice and explained my situation. She had two rooms available: The Serenity Room and the Eros Room. When she said 'The Eros Room' I broke down crying.
