(As always a sincere thanks to my editor
"larryinseattle"
without whom my stories would be nothing more than simply a cluster of words.)
*****
This was the only house that Jerry had ever known. It had been built by his great-great-great-grandfather, Jeremiah, who he was named after. It stood high on the cliffs overlooking the ocean and one of Jerry's favorite pastimes was to climb up to the 'Widow's Walk' on the top of the house and look out over the water.
It had always been a warm, loving house filled with laughter and good times. Unfortunately, that all changed when his mother disappeared while taking her sailboat out for 'a little spin around the bay' as she'd referred to it.
The day had started out bright and sunny but Jerry soon saw ominous black clouds rolling in from the East. He tried to contact his mother on the radio to warn her but before he could, the clouds swept over the small sailboat and it disappeared into the darkness.
His father had called the Coast Guard who sent a rescue boat to look for her but they'd been forced to turn back when the storm became too dangerous. When it was finally over, the search began and her sailboat was found laying on its side on the small stretch of beach below the house. They searched for his mother for another three days before stopping and telling his dad they were listing her as "Missing - Presumed Dead".
After that, it was if a shadow had fallen over the house. His sister moved out after a few months and found an apartment several hundred miles away, saying she never wanted to see the ocean again. His dad ran away too, in his own way, by burying himself in his work. Many times he'd be gone until late in the evening leaving Jerry alone to wander the halls and property in search of something that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Days turned into weeks and then into years as he searched for 'that something' without success.
It wasn't until two years later that he noticed his dad slowly begin to change. Instead of being withdrawn and depressed he actually seemed like his old self at times. When he asked his dad about the change, he only got a smile as an answer. That was until the day his dad brought Brittany home.
Brittany ... how does a 19 year old describe one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen? She looked vaguely like a younger version of the model, Adele Stephens. She stood 5-foot, 6-inches tall and her skin was a golden-brown from all the time she'd spent working on the glass-bottomed tour boats that took people out to see the local shipwrecks. Her hair was a sandy-blonde that hung over her shoulders in long, loose curls and her eyes were a brilliant deep-water blue that seemed to twinkle like the stars in the night sky.
She was wearing a white, sleeveless top that was tied under her bust, highlighting her breasts and the darker shade of her areola and nipples. That and the pebble-sized lumps at the front of her top left little doubt that she wasn't wearing a bra. Her waist narrowed and then flared out to a set of full, rounded hips that were barely covered by her low-rider shorts and her legs were long and toned. The fantasy image of her was heightened by the fact that she was wearing a pair of wedge-style sandals that laced up over her calves and red lipstick with matching polish on her fingernails and toenails. As if to highlight her beauty, there was a white lace choker around her neck with an ivory and onyx cameo broach.
"Hi," he stuttered as his father introduced them.
"Hi, yourself," she replied as she wrapped her arms around him and gave him a hug. "My friends call me Brit."
He blushed as the front of his cut-off jeans began to bulge from the feel of her barely-concealed nipples pressing against his bare chest.
She must have felt it too as she whispered softly in his ear. "Don't worry. I have the same effect on a lot of men, including your dad."
He laughed, nervously, as they pulled apart and his father led them into the house.
After that, Brittany was like a member of the family. She spent almost every free moment with the two of them, so it wasn't surprising when one morning he found her sitting at the kitchen table having a cup of coffee. It was obvious from the fact that she was wearing one of his dad's button-up shirts that she'd spent the night.
"Morning."
"Hey."
"I hope you don't mind," she said, indicating the way she was dressed. "Your dad had to go into work early this morning and I didn't really feel like leaving in the dark again."
"Ahhhhh. So you and him ...?"
"Yeah," she blushed. "We've spent the night together a couple of times but I usually leave before you get up."
"Why?"
A questioning looked covered her face. "I'm not actually sure. Your dad seemed to be embarrassed or maybe he wasn't sure how you'd feel after your mom and all. Then again maybe it was because I wasn't sure how you'd feel."
"Ahhh."
"I mean, you and I are closer in age than your dad and I, so I didn't want you to think I was a 'gold digger' or something."
"Hey, whatever works for the two of you is okay with me," he finished as he grabbed a breakfast bar and left. What he didn't say, and thankfully she hadn't noticed, was that he had a hard-on that felt like it was made of iron from the sight of her sitting there in that shirt and the idea that she probably wasn't wearing anything underneath.
He quickly went to his room and, after wolfing down the breakfast bar, jumped in the shower. The cool water did nothing to remove the fantasy images of her body that swirled through his head as his hand ran up and down his hardened shaft.
"What the fuck?"
he thought.
"She's my dad's girlfriend and here I am jacking off thinking about her ... but she looked so fucking sexy."
His hand became a blur as it flew up and down his cock until he moaned, "Brit", just as his cum rocketed from the tip and onto the shower floor.
What he didn't know was that she had seen the bulge in the front of his shorts and had slipped into the bathroom after he got in the shower. The sight of his hand running up and down his shaft fueled her own desires. Silently, she slid her hand between her legs, quickly matching the rhythm of his hand. She stood silently, watching until she felt her body begin to tremble. She knew she was close to her own orgasm but couldn't take her eyes off of him. Then, just as he came, her pussy tightened around her fingers, clamping them in place. The room seemed to spin as the orgasm overtook her and it was only by grabbing the sink that she kept from falling to the floor. Yet her eyes never left the sight of cum erupting from his cock.
"OHMIGOD, so much cum!!"
she thought to herself as strand after strand coated the shower floor, only to be washed away. Reluctantly, she pulled her fingers from between her legs and slipped out of the room. She leaned against the wall and took several deep breaths to steady herself before heading down the hallway, almost unaware of the stream of her own juices trickling down her leg. It was only when she reached the room she'd shared with his father that she slowed, her eyes suddenly ablaze, as she asked herself,
"Did he just whisper my name when he was cumming?"
Back in the bathroom, Jerry stepped from the shower. The faint, delicate aroma of roses seemed to fill the room, suddenly triggering his desire to find 'that something' again. So, for the rest of the day he retraced his steps until he found himself standing in front of the locked door in the wall of the cellar. He remembered that when he'd asked his mother about it, she got a far-away look as she told him that it was rumored within the family that his great-great-great-grandfather was a smuggler as well as the captain of a trading schooner, and that the door opened to a series of tunnels and caves going all the way down to the beach below the cliffs. The tunnels were supposedly used for bringing smuggled cargo up from the beach after which it was taken to a meadow several miles away to be sold.
Intrigued, he'd asked her if he could explore the caves but she said they hadn't been used in decades and it was far too dangerous. Now, he found himself standing outside the door once again, the desire to explore them almost like a magnet pulling on a piece of iron.
That night, he tried to talk to his dad about exploring the tunnels only to have him shrug and say, "Sure, whatever you want, kiddo " before returning to the technical paper he'd been reading. For Jerry it was almost as bad as a slap in the face, not only to be ignored but to be called 'kiddo', as if he were still a little boy.
For the next several months, Jerry spent every waking moment researching his great-great-great-grandfather and the house that they now lived in. He found articles and stories in the old newspapers as well as a copy of the original blueprints of the house including a rough diagram of the tunnels below it.
At the same time, things settled into a somewhat normal routine. Brittany came over every Tuesday and Wednesday for dinner and then she'd come back on Friday and stay for the weekend. The three of them would spend time camping, hiking, and traveling, though by some unspoken agreement, they never went sailing.
When Brittany wasn't around, he and his dad spent the time rummaging through the various trunks and sea chests that were scattered throughout the attic trying to figure out who they might have belonged to. They even spent time looking at the old blueprints and imagining what might be behind the locked cellar door.
Then, just before the third anniversary of his mom's death, his dad found a newer-looking trunk stuffed in the back of a closet. The moment they opened it up, Jerry knew this one was going to be hard to go through; it was his mother's. Inside they found old pictures of her. There were ones of her when she was young, and others of her playing in the yard in front of the house. There were a couple of her dressed up for her prom, and a large one of her with his dad on their wedding day. They also found an old key and a Journal. The Journal was more of a dairy. Most of the entries were about how much she loved her husband and her children, though some were quite different. The last entry was three days before she'd disappeared:
The dreams seem to be getting more realistic all the time. In each of them I'm in my sailboat battling high seas when a wave breaks over the boat. Suddenly, I'm being dragged down but instead of drowning I wake up laying on the beach below our house. The problem is it's not OUR house, it's my great-great-grandfather's house. I can see him walking towards me across the beach from a cave hidden behind some rocks. He's yelling to me but I can't hear what he wants because of the waves breaking against the shore. Then, I suddenly wake up. I'm afraid that my time is almost done and that something is calling me. I feel like I'm being ripped in two. One part of me is being drawn to the call like a moth to a flame. On the other hand, I'm sure that if I answer the call I'll never see my husband and children again.
Together they read and re-read the entry not sure what it meant.
