Three beautiful women haunted his dreams. And he loved all three as they
loved him.
THE slanting rays of sunlight came through the open slots of the venetian
blinds, and fell over the still form in the bed. To anyone observing, the
man would appear asleep and dead to the world. But even though his eyes were
closed, his mind was busy...
It seemed like only yesterday that she had come to him, fell headlong into
his strong uniformed arms and given herself completely to him. After the
Ceremony, her body firm and young, untouched, unspoiled, was his and his
alone. They had made love, initially soft and gentle, caressing each other
in the explorative way of young lovers.
Later, they had fucked!
He had entered her, possessed her many times, planted his seed deep inside
her body time and time again.
They had grown close as the year of '40 advanced. They were bonded together
by the union of their emotions, their bodies, and his seed grew in her
belly.
Oh Susannah, you beautiful creature, how you loved me, how I loved you!
She became bigger and lovelier. It made him want her even more. She laughed,
they laughed together when she grew too round for him to stay on top.
Behind, her shape changed little, so he took his pleasures from the rear.
She squirmed her soft sweet rump into his groin, until his tip pushed
against her womb.
Ah, the moment was exquisite...
Then there was Susan.
Child of his own, flesh of his flesh, blood of his blood. Tiny, vulnerable
Susan. Beautiful child, adorable creature, father's golden apple.
Lusty-voiced, demanding, pleasure-giving Susan. She brought the first joys
of parenthood. Together, they rediscovered the world. The place on his knee,
once marked for Susannah and moments of other delights, was now Susan's.
Susan's to bounce upon, Susan's to sit on and ask her wise-child questions.
Small, frail Susan became adolescent gawky Susan. Then adult golden Susan,
she of the long limbs and flaxen hair. Beautiful child, now grown woman.
No more did she sit on his knee. He watched her blossom, watched as her
charms developed. No guilt in his mind as he studied his own handiwork and
craved. Susan and Susannah, one in his mind, the same body, the same
softness.
"Papa? Are you ill?"
"Yes, my child. Come and comfort your father."
She sat by his side, reading to him, bringing him nourishment. Susan at
eighteen, grown and curious.
Susan alone, Susannah long gone but still living and beautiful in Susan.
"Here child, rub this on me."
"What is it, Papa?"
"A balm, to take the cough from me."
Her hands were like rose petals, soft, caressing. The balm, soothing. She
traced her fingers in his belly hair and laughed. She kissed him on the
navel, mischievous, eyes twinkling, flirtatious. He closed his eyes. My love
Susannah, where are you now?
"Does the balm sting?" she asked, concerned.
"No, it helps."
"'Can I put some more on?"
"Yes."
"You go to sleep, Papa. I will put the balm on you. ...here!"
Susan alert, Susan discovering, Susan calculating.
Sleep could not come with such hands on him. He felt fevered, wanting, but
he dare not move. She moved for him. Her hands were gentle, rubbing, and
they lingered low. As her fingers brushed his rod, at first a casual touch,
his breathing deepened.
Asleep? She slowly took the tip and held it up. It glistened in the
lamplight.
"It's beautiful, so hard and strong!" she whispered, "Papa?"
He did not reply.
She bent and kissed it gently, like a butterfly landing. He kept the shiver
in his mind. The moment was much too sacred to crush by awakening. Awakening
Susan, her loins demanding. She put her lips to his and kissed him, one hand
still on his rod: Eyes closed, she imagined some romantic fantasy. Susan the
Lover, Susan the Vamp, Susan aroused.
"Papa?"
She held on tight and moved it up and down, pure instinct, no learning, she
knew what had to be done, animal to animal. Deliberate Susan, Susan beyond
caring, she took his hand and placed it up her skirt, on her bare leg.
His fingers quivered and hesitated, but now they had their own life.
"Rub me Papa, please!"
Plaintive Susan, craving woman.
His eyes still closed, he moved his hand and found the maiden hill. Wet
Susan, Susan who opened so well. He dug a finger in, then another. She
gasped and held on tight, her mouth crushed hard against his own.
Sweet-lipped Susan.
Then he fucked her!
Flesh of his flesh, blood of his blood, he pumped into her gulf, pumped the
seed of his
middle years into her youth. Ah! Susan my child, how you loved me, how I
loved you in that summer of'58!
Then Sue arrived.
Child of his child. By him.
Pink, bawling Sue. Sue with the dimples, giggling, playful Sue. Child and
grandchild, Sue through Susan through Susannah, his Sue. Sue who dribbled on
his cheek, gnawing, infant Sue. Delightful Sue, sitting on the same knee,
conjuring the same sensation. Sue who grew and grew, Sue who knew about men.
Easygoing Sue, Sue without a care, always-laughing Sue. Beautiful Sue,
beautiful beyond his wildest dreams. Sue at eighteen. Ah! The summer of '76.
"Hello Gramps!" She kissed him on the mouth, teasing.
The afternoon was warm, the garden in summer bloom.
They walked along the wooded path to the river. She went before him, her
body fresh and firm, Susannah-like, Susan-shaped, all revealed by the
sunlight filtering through the soft fabric of her dress. Her young breasts
jerked with every step.
Laughing Sue, crazy child-like Sue, Sue in the river, wading, dress about
her thighs.
"C'mon .Gramps, you're not too old for this!"
He sat and watched the water lick her limbs. She swam about fully clothed.
Golden hair plastered wet, blue-eyed Sue stood up and came towards him, her
pleasures clear through soggy, clinging cloth.
"I'm cold!" she said.
"You'd better take it off and dry out in the sun."
"Dirty old Gramps!" she laughed. And then removed her dress.
She lay alongside, stretched out on the bank, the grass a cushion to her
damp, naked body.
Golden, golden Sue, her breasts two rose-hued orbs, her nipples firm,
transmitting Susannah-signals and Susan-sweetness.
He studied her and stiffened. He watched the steady rise and fall of her
belly, her legs apart, the thatch of crinkled hair that glistened in the
sun. Wanton Sue.
"Do you fancy me Gramps?" she asked, her eyelids closed, amused.
He made no reply.
"I'm cold. Put your arms about me Gramps."
She turned and snuggled close, her rump all marked with grass. He brushed
the green off her. His hands caressed the roundness of her hips and strayed
up to her breasts.
Fumbling Sue, she undid his flies and held his stiffness.
Bold, dominant Sue, as she climbed onto him.
Slow and sure the rod was placed, her lower lips engulfing his vibrant
penis. She began to fuck him!
Ah! Sue, my Susan and Susannah, my women-woman, my love!
Though the blinds the light shone on the bed. The room was still, its
whiteness gleaming in sterile mockery. Outside the room, the doctor of the
day looked at his students.
He pointed to the door.
"In here," he said, "we have our Coma Case. An old soldier... been like that
since the War.
A bullet in his brain near killed him. Sighs a lot.....sad really, happened
just a week before he was due to marry his girl - she later married someone
else, they say. ."
_______________________________________________________________________
proculus@hotmail.com
*** Comment, ideas, or criticisms accepted with enthusiasm! ***
Proculus
(The Storymaster)
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