Before The Bar Ch 01

Before the Bar

Notice:

This is a Copyrighted Fictional Story; any resemblance, to any person, alive or deceased, whether implied or imagined, is both accidental and unintended. The story is about an ongoing incestual relationship between a brother, his sister and their cousins occurring in New Jersey in the 1940's. This story will eventually have 6 chapters. If you are looking for a masturbatory experience, this is not it. If adult fiction of this nature disturbs you, you are strongly encouraged to leave these pages now.

Ch ~ 1: Tragedy Creates Strange Bedfellows

Who We Are~

My name is Silvio Mercanti, Esq., J.D. (MB: DE, NJ, NY, and PA), I'd been twenty-six since March and it was a 'good to be alive' spring day, at 2:30 Post Meridian, on Monday, the 6

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of May 1946 when my war buddies Edward J. Cantu, Esq. (MB: NJ, NY, and PA), and Antonia Silvero de Esperanza, Esq., (Translator, Legal, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, and German (MB: NJ, NY, and PA)) filed our Legally Licensed Corporation papers in Mount Holly, the County of Burlington, in the State of New Jersey.

We were two Majors in the USAAF's 15

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Air Force's Legal Office in the Foggia Air Force Offices on the Adriatic Coast of Italy, 300 miles south of Venice. Antonia was a Captain in the USWAAF/WASP, an aid to M.G. Jacqueline Cochran. When we left Italy in September of 1945, where we'd been acquaintances, we were thrown together and in spite of our Military Occupational Skills, put in charge of a Troop Transport full of 'Operation Homeward Bound' soldiers, sailors, WAAF's, WAC's, and WASP's bound for Philadelphia. The kindest descriptions would have called it 'Unruly' and being lawyers helped, because we could tell the various miscreants, of both genders, exactly how high their respective Services Branches would hang them if they were charged with their crimes, and that served as an affective inhibitor to noxious behavior. The Merchant Mariners only had to lock one miscreant in the brig.

Arriving in the Port of Philadelphia they put into the Pennsylvania-Reading Seashore Lines docks in Camden, New Jersey. After an all too brief 'Kiss and Cry' on the Docks with relatives and friends we were loaded onto a train for the hour long ride to the huge USA/USAAF Camp Dix. Over the following three weeks we were all poked, prodded, passed and demobilized with our final 'stabilization pay,' and given train tickets home.

Over the eight weeks in transit we three 'commander' became the best, and fastest of friends, and plans were made that led to our filing that May Day.

Just two months later on Thursday, the 4

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of July 1946 we held a small barbeque and party at the new Fort Dix to celebrate the opening of our new Mount Holly Offices on the previous Monday, and for the Fireworks.

My mother, attended with her new husband, Don Vito Scarfo the Consigliore to Don Nicodemo Scarfo and my sister Claire who had just turned twenty-one, was there too, she was down from Brown College in Providence Rhode Island.

As an attorney I knew well of Vito's ties to the Mob, of his toughness, and of the dangers attendant with those associations, but I disregarded them because Vito was a genuinely nice guy and he made Mom happy.

A Shooting in Little Italy, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania~

The phone was dancing all over the desk when I came in from a late run, anyone who knows autumn in Southwest Jersey, knows why I was out running when the clock was wending toward midnight. Tomorrow, Monday was Columbus Day, a court holiday in Burlington County and I had planned to read a bit, having just acquired Warren's "All the King's Men." I answered the phone, eyeing my watch, it was just 11:21 PM.

Because I am an attorney, becoming known for some criminal and pro-bono work I keep good contacts with law enforcement people, and it's good that I do, I get all sorts of information from them.

It was James O'Conner, one of J. Edgar's minions from their Philadelphia Office,

"You need to get down to the U.S. Naval Hospital in Philly." before I could ask why he continued, "A rival gang, the NY Genovese Mob blew up Nina's Trattoria on 9

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Street. Vito and Claire Scarfo were among the injured, and I can't tell you any more, cause Hoover would have me counting KKK peach pits in Georgia if he found out. Just get here, their hurt bad."

I couldn't call Edward, he was in DC on a case, so I called Antonia, asking her,

"Vito and Claire have been shot, can you meet the Broadway at Philly for me? I'm going to have Claire come down cause the FBI said it's serious."

"Yes," she answered, "They're at the Naval Hospital?"

"Unh huh." I answered, "I've got to make reservations for her, and then get down there."

"I'll make the reservations and call her, you just go to the hospital. I'll handle the calendar till you're back."

"Thank you." I started to say. Then Antonia interrupted,

"That what friendship is all about, now get you're ass in gear!" She said, hanging up.

U.S. Naval Medical Center, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania~

Because there was no supporting network of roads to allow going to Philadelphia from Trenton on the Lower Trenton-Morrisville Bridge, I elected to drive down U.S. Highway 130 to Camden to cross the Benjamin Franklin Bridge into Philadelphia, taking Broad Street south to the Pattison Avenue entrance to the hospital, it had, in spite of the hour, taken almost three hours An FBI Agent met me, escorting me through a cordon of reporters, though thankfully no Court Coverage Journalists who might have recognized me.

Vito was almost gone, but still lucid, he was stitched by what looked, from the pattern of bandages, like a Thompson Sub-gun, or maybe a German MP-5. He whispered,

"Come closer," I bent to comply, he continued, "Little Nicky will give you an envelope," he eyed O'Connor, who stood listening, "The Fed can be there, at my wake, it's all legal, its for the girls, see to it!" Then he closed his eyes as his last breath rattled in his throat.

A doctor tried to push through, I said,

"Leave him be, he's dead! I'm his attorney and his step-son. You can't do anything except look important unless your Jesus Christ."

"How do you know?" Dr. Rothschild challenged.

"I'm eight months out of the Italian Theater, and I've seen more death and dying then you'll ever see, and I wasn't on the lines."

"Then you need to come up to the Women's Ward Rooms. Your mother is dying, we're medicating for pain, but there's nothing we can do. She wakes on and off, she's lucid sometimes."

Just before he led me into her room, he cautioned,

"Don't say anything about Mr. Scarfo, she asks for him whenever she wakes. Try to encourage her, we'll try to make the end peaceful as possible. Then he added, they've had last rights and a blessing, Don Nicodemo's own confessor came down. He left a telegram for you."

Some people say Mafia justice is swift, the Telegram was proof of that, as I stood in the hall and read it,

Addressed to Don Nicodemo Scarfo, it said, "Nicky, this was not, repeat not, approved at any level. 8 Shooters and the Bitch," who was Vito's Sister, who rolled over on him, "are sleeping with the fishes. We killed every body but her first, then we chummed the channel and added her alive." It was simply signed, "Lucky." Vengeance was not only swift, it was vengeance of the most brutal kind.

Then we heard momma moan, she called my name,

"Silvio, where is Silvio?"

I held her hand, kissing it, whispering,

"I'm here ma, but hold on! Claire's coming, I sent for her."

Then she whispered,

"Vito's gone, he said good bye. He said he spoke with you." Then she squeezed my hand and went back to sleep.

Claire led Antonia into the room just after 4 PM. I swear that Ma knew she was there, she opened her eyes and weakly said,

"I love you both, take care of each other, and take care of Vito's girls. Now, it's my time, so kiss me good bye. We kissed her cheeks, then she sighed, and died.

A Funeral in Mount Holly~

The following week was when our lives began to change, but it started that first night, as we left the hospital. Claire, my baby sister fit so comfortably in my arm as we struggled to cope with the central nerve damage to our psyche, the loss of a parent is serious at any time. But our loss of both natural parents, our father in the war, and then our mother and stepfather so violently, in a span of just three years was a total shock.

Antonia left in her car, after assuring us of her condolences, promising whatever help was needed, because she lived in Bristol Pennsylvania, hers was the longer drive.

As we started back Claire snuggled against me. As we crossed back into New Jersey she pulled my arm over her shoulder. Turning north on Highway 130 I noticed the comfortable feel of her breast under my fingers, her nipple was erect, sensitive to my touch. My fingers swayed as I drove, slipping into her open décolleté to cup her breast. Claire felt so good under my fingers, I'd guess it was my confused mind reaching out for comfort that blocked my conscience's complaint.

Now I'm not particularly large down there, just eight circumcised inches with a large, plum sized head, but when you consider Claire who was a northern Italian blonde with good breasts and an ass that a brother shouldn't have noticed. I was hugely erect and I could feel the precloital moistures wetting my underwear. Claire sighed when my fingers teased her nipple, then she moved my hand from over her shoulder to her thigh above her knee, then she allowed her hand to rest on my ever so flaming hot cock, gripping me through my trousers as she guided my fingers under her skirt. The softness of her thigh above her stocking top entranced me, then I caressed the damp, hot curve of her ready portal.

Suddenly we were at my house, in the driveway, my how time flies when you're really enjoying your self.

I poured us glasses of wine as Claire hung our coats. Sitting on a large sofa, I was hardly reduced from erection when she surprised me, instead of sitting beside me she lifted her traveling skirt, now somewhat the worse for a day's wear, providing an entrancing view as she straddled me, on her knees, freeing me from my trousers, stroking me, demanding,

"I need you in me!" Then she changed her mind, but I'd been told that that was a woman's prerogative, and my sister, Claire was a damned fine woman.

Kneeling at my feet she busily removed my shoes, socks, and then with some assistance from me, my trousers and boxers. My rampant cock stood above my sack, and like a cobra it danced to Claire's flute as she leaned in to stroke my corona with a hot, erogenous tongue that shattered the moral dialog in my brain balloon saying, 'That's your sister!' as her tongue slithered along the length of my stalk, as her lips cornered one nut like an escaping maverick, gently sucking it into her mouth, tonguing my nut and my libido. It demanded every effort of my will to prevent ejaculation. Then she suckled my other nut and licked her way up my shaft, taking my straining crown to her heart, sucking my spraying my boiling ejaculate into her soul as she tongued me.

Twisting and lifting her to straddle my face I luxuriated in the silkiness of her hose on my cheek as I inhaled the erogenous pheromones of her beautifully weeping valley. I trailed my tongue through the silken crease of her vaginal labia, shielded by her sodden panties. Tonguing the panty gusset aside, caressing her ridged clitoris dragged a passionate groan from her soul as the vibrato of her vocalization thrilled and stiffened my ejaculating cock as she flooded my mouth with her juices.

"Fuck me," she groaned gutturally, swallowing my seed as she slipped down me into a reverse cowboy position. Positioning me at her portal, slathering my cock with our lubricious juices as my corona was surrounded by nirvana's damp heat. I felt an obstruction, realizing too lately what it was as Claire shattered her virginity on my meat pole, whispering, kissing me,

"I've saved myself for you." She moaned riding downward to contain all of me.

The sensation of her liquid tightness holding me in that most inviolate of holy temples thrilled and terrified me. Then she slowly rose up, my throbbing meat glistening slickly in the moonlight with her creams till only the tip of my engine held the doors of paradise ajar as we drove together. Each separation left me more needful of being consumed, as each new penetration twisted my soul, ten thousand tiny fingers grasping my shaft. I don't know how long we were fucking, was it minutes or was it hours?

Claire started to stiffen, then to shudder and shake. She grasped in that most specially of ways, moaning as she wetted my dick. Her reward was a flood of semen. Our lusts satiated, we slept.

In the dark before dawn we undressed save those most erotic of garments, her stockings and garterbelt, then we enjoyed a slow comfortable screw.

After three years in a wartime Army I seldom slept past 0600 Ante Meridian, evidence of our mental and physical strain, of the emotional draining Claire and I had endured last night was that we slept till the near nooning sun woke Claire. Her soft giggle, followed by the intense sensation of her tongue trailing over the tip of my morning wood, and her murmur,

"I, we, taste good on you're loving, ever so hard cock."

I opened my eyes to the brain searing sensations, watching her rose toned lips, barely concealed in her golden pubic forest accommodate, and then consume the swollen plum of my cockhead, swallowing inch after inch of unrelenting dick shaft until her aroused clitoral sheath, the brightly pink nodule of her vital nerve glossed with the fluids of her desire was lost in the merging of our golden and chestnut forests. The erotic séance of this delightful blonde woman, with my sister, squatting on my cock, riding me like some erotic horse, her legs clad in tan stockings, of a black lace garterbelt, drawn tight at the rear and loose at the front, fastened to the dark olive brown welt of the Hanes Goldline

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hosiery, of the pale pink thighs leading to the conjuncture of our genders. With each thrusting tribute, twisting to enhance the sensation we came closer, then closer, then the explosion, an uncontrolled wash of sensation as she wetted me as I held her to me, pumping all that I am into her.

As the release echoed through us Claire sobbed,

"Oh God, Silvio, we've lost them, we've lost them all."

"Yes Claire, all we have now is each other. And two sisters we haven't met. They'll be here later today, around 3 PM."

It was nearly noon when we rose up from the sofa, then Claire realized she was leaking and grabbed my boxers, pressing them to her foaming portal, dashing for the bathroom. I followed her, 'Mr. Happy' at full attention, slapping my belly with every step.

In the bathroom I knelt before my seated sister, spreading her thighs, watching as she parted her golden garden's grotto, opening herself.

"Take off my stockings." She whispered as our effluent drooled from her.

I watched enthralled as her urethra pulsed, squirting a spurt of hot, odiferous, darkly yellow urine as it became a steady stream. My cock throbbed as I unfastened her garters and rolled her stockings. As she finished I drew her to the front of the toilet, kissing Claire as I unfastened her garterbelt. My kisses trailed lower, suckling each pointed magenta nipples, and then lower still till I lapped her pissy, drooling pussy, tasting us, savoring us, titillating the distended pink bud of her clitoral nerve, suckling her, tonguing her labia and portal as Claire clenched me to her, steering my attentions, shuddering as she came.

Rising from my knees I lifted Claire to the counter, pressing my swollen cockhead to her labia, slathering it with her lubricants, parsing her channel, entering the slot, parting her, pressing into the grasping honey, the liquid heat of her love, grasping her to my hips as I lifted her, entering her to the fullest extent. Loving Claire with a tender longing as we kissed I carried her into my bedroom, each step a new thrust into the places of the Gods as thunder shattered our minds as lightening flew, our release.

Our 'Cousins' from Nazareth~

We were up, cleaned up, and I had shaved, something that like many Italian men, I have to do twice a day if I have to maintain a business like appearance. A quick check picked up all our scattered underwear and clothing.

Then with Claire's help I moved all my stuff into the master bedroom, vacant since dad's death and mom's remarriage. We'd just finished tidying up the guest room when the bell rang. That was when we met Charles 'Lucky' Luciano.

An altogether charming man, with a hardness about him that hinted at what he was, a violent animal, prepared to strike at any threat. As complete a contradiction as I have ever seen in any other human. There was none of the nobility that the late Vito Scarfo wore like a suit.

"Coffee, Espresso," I offered seating them, "how would you like it?"

"Just coffee," he said smiling at Claire, "two sugars, please. But before you go, I need to introduce my granddaughters."

Then Claire took charge,

"Let me get us all some coffee, some danishes, decisions that affect all of our lives should be made slowly, discussed, and then decided, wouldn't you agree Don Salvatore."

"Yes, I do, and I can see what Don Vito saw in your mother in you. You go make coffee, girls go help Claire."

Then we chatted about the upcoming 1947 Baseball Season while they were gone,

"It'll come down to the Yankees and the Dodgers unless something happens," Luciano said, "but the Yanks will win."

"What makes you think that?" I asked.

"Dodgers' owner is a fool. Word's out that he's scouting for a player or two in the Negro Leagues, that'll disrupt his team maybe the whole league."

"Why, cause a player's black?"

"Nah! But yes, that too. Its going to happen, just a matter of time, just like the girls during the war. But that'll be a long time coming. Its because he's trying to force change, and change requires time."

The ladies came back and we all helped ourselves, as Lucky began speaking,

"Silvio and Claire Mercanti, these are my granddaughters Audrey and Jacqueline Luciano-Scarfo, Vito's daughters. Normally, in this thing of ours, which you have both chosen not to be involved with, that you've made clear to Vito before he passed." He paused.

Taking a sip of his coffee, "Good Coffee Claire, thank you. I will be leaving America, returning to Italy, to Sicily, President Truman has pardoned me of all legal claims, based on my service in Sicily and Italy." He paused again, handing me a large manila envelope, "This contains all the girls records, Birth Certificates, everything. There are two cashiers checks, a million dollars each, from clean accounts drawn on clean banks. Silvio we want you to adopt the girls, for their ancestral names to disappear, to be forgotten. When they graduate college, or turn twenty-five the remaining balance becomes theirs. There is a third check in there, Vito's pension and insurance and life insurance policies, your mother's and Vito's, so girls, give me a kiss, I've got to go." He rose into my abrazo as his granddaughters hugging him, kissing him, crying. He hugged us all, and then he went to his car, never daring to look back, fearing, as men will, of breaking down.

"I'm going to lock all this in the safe until the bank opens tomorrow. Claire could you help Audrey and Jacqui get settled in, maybe take them to Boscov's and get what they need? Cause those suitcases don't hold much."

"Money honey?" Claire asked, taking the Packard keys off the hook as I handed her my AMEX Card. "We'll have pizza for supper, and then a fashion show." She added, smiling as she led the ladies and they were ladies, eighteen and nineteen, respectively.