Three Queens and a Joker Ch.3#

Things had been going fairly well. Jessie and I had remained friends despite her having ghosted me in such a nefarious way. However, on the brighter side of life, Joyce had filled the void most adequately -for the most part. Despite her cowardly departure, I had remained true to my promise to Jessie about not shagging her daughter -despite Jenna’s continual flirting and occasional window exhibitions.

Yes, all things considered, it had been a good summer. Joyce had been open to most all of my unfulfilled, bucket list sexual exploits. I think it even helped liberate her a bit to alleviate some of her own vanilla ways. I never did quite figure out why she claimed to being appointed the black sheep of the family. Still, all that being said, I eventually came to sense the reality that Joyce had been more the performing arts major fulfilling a supposed obligation than to feed her own desires. Perhaps it had been those twenty odd years spent in the marines. On top of that, the following twenty plus years in her other government job, which she never actually detailed for me, the idea that grew up in me was that that was what had all but killed her youthful adventurism. I didn’t blame her. She was just being who she had always been —a stoic. Her lows were never deep and her highs were never euphoric. Joyce’s laugh was more a snicker than one of those let-it-all-hangout gaiety type laughs. In bed she performed adequately. Her breasts were ever my play toys and eye candy. I thank God that she never cast any negativity my way because of my unebbing desire to touch them, view them, hold them, squeeze them and suck on them no matter where we were. However, I got the sense that she wished to slip back into her, party-of-one, ways. Like with Jessie, Joyce and I had had a good go of it. People have to be who they are.

Though Joyce had never made direct reference to it, I knew she frowned on my on going jocularious friendship with Jenna. Despite all of the repeated reminders of my promise sincerely given to Jessie, it had always fallen on deaf ears. So, now that Joyce had taken her leave of me, I felt it was no longer an issue. On top of that, Jessie, if we were are being honest about it, had played me. So I reasoned as to why I should not return the favor and do what Jenna and I had originally been about to engage in before mother Jessie had pulled into the drive earlier that spring. And that was to enjoy fucking the brains out of her daughter?

It had been two long and lonely weeks since Joyce’s departure. Still, I was enjoying the day as it was one of those late fall days with all indicators being that summer was having its last hurrah. Mid-seventies. Sunny. Clear blue skies with big puffs of cotton slowly passing by. It was one of those days where it was warm enough to forgo the jacket yet crisp enough to require a long sleeved shirt. It was a good day for log splitting, leaf raking and the burning of them before the forecasted mixture of rain, sleet and snow. Why had I not yet moved to Florida?

As I was watching the leaves burn, the familiar SUV pulled into the neighbor’s drive and on back around the house. Jessie was dropping Jenna off at her dad’s. Brian had been home all day. A rare experience. I could hear a bit of their banter echoing between the houses. Oil and water they had become. The divorce had saved them from each other.

Another batch of leaves on the fire as I turned to catch a brief wave of the hand as Jessie pulled back out of the drive. Twenty-one oak trees created a lot of leaves. Twenty-one oak trees plus the five which the neighbor never raked, leaving their leaves to blow into my yard. Two more loads of leaves on the fire before Brian’s cruiser creeped out the drive. No hand wave from him. Just the familiar frown and sneer. I had come to suspect that he had somehow learned of the fact that me and his ex had been doing the dirty even before he had signed the divorce papers. The warrior class in him would never let that issue die. Thankfully, however, when his thrice removed step sister, Joyce, had moved in with me earlier that summer, it had somewhat lessened his vitriol acrimony. For, god love her, Joyce had taken it upon herself to occasionally treat him like family despite the fact that they had largely lived their lives entirely separate from one another. Morning coffee carried over to his back door before his leaving for work or the a beer in hand at night when or if he returned home. I think Joyce held on to the family she never had. One more load of leaves.

Brian was a force to be dealt with. He was a bruiser by all accounts. Large, six-five to maybe six-six, easily pushing two seventy-five, broad shouldered, beer truck barrel chested and oak tree thighs. Beyond that was his being a Chicago cop and no nonsense demeanor. He was not one to be taken lightly. He knew a thousand ways to secretly crucify you if he had wanted to. It wasn’t just Jessie’s petition asking me not shag her daughter that kept me from tasting Jenna’s perpetual offering of forbidden fruit. Still, there remained those times when her second story bedroom lit up in its familiar pink glow late night. Jenna, all the while knowing I was sitting atop my attic stairs landing, gazing over her way, would tease her elderly neighbor by slowly discarding one layer of clothing after another. I never tired of stealing a view of her large, youthful breasts giggling hypnotically. I knew it for what it was —the proverbial carrot held just far enough away at the end of the stick. I often pondered all too often whether or not she would be worth the flogging that would surely result if I partook of her forbidden fruit.

Injun summer. It was getting dark and the last of the leaves were now reduced to a heap of glowing, smoldering ash as lazily I leaned against my rake, freely letting my mind wander haplessly where it may.

“Hi, Mister Allen!” an unrecognized voice called over to me from Jenna’s back door. Slowly I pivoted atop the rake handle to see who it was that had disturbed my unconsciousness.

I didn’t recognize her as one of Jenna’s often-over girlfriends. She was shorter than the rest. Skinny, with silver dyed hair that didn’t quite reach her shoulders. Squinting and looking again at her, I couldn’t place ever having seen her before. How’d she know my name? She wore a pair of jeans with the knees ripped open and a loose fitting, turned-inside-out sweatshirt. I took one hand off of the rake and waved back at her as she turned back to the open door, saying something to the hidden occupant inside. The door closed and the back door light switched off. Hesitantly the young lady walked across Brian’s crunching driveway gravel.

“Do you mind if I join you?” asked a raspy voice sounding like she had just polished off two packs of filterless cigarettes.

“It’s a free country,” I replied, not knowing where all this was headed.

“I love the smell of burning leaves this time of year,” confessed the young lady with hands shoved deep inside the rear pockets of her jeans. If it had been summer, I could have made a better assessment of what lay under the front of that well worn sweatshirt.

“Well if you had come over sooner you could have helped me rake all of them!” I joked.

“Jenna said you wouldn’t mind if I came over.” I looked over at the house and could see Jenna peering out the kitchen window making some sort of hand gesture to me.

“She did, hu? How long have you known, Jenna? I don’t remember seeing you over here before.”

“Oh, not long. My dad just got transferred. So we moved down here.”

“Down here? Transferred? What does your father do for a job.”

“He’s a Chicago cop. Just got promoted with a reassignment down here to the south side.”

“Promoted? Well good for him. But I suppose you’re not all that happy leaving all your friends behind.”

“Ya, well, as my dad says, you gotta follow the money. And it’s a big deal to go from traffic cop to detective.”

“Detective? Wow. Well, that is a big deal. What does your father detect?”

“Vice.”

“Oooooh kay! I suppose that would include underage girls and older men,” I joked, winking at her.

“I’m eighteen, Mr. Allen” she proudly confess, thrusting out her hips one way and then back the other. “Jenna’s dad and mine were friends in high school. So when dad got transferred down here I got to meet Jenna. And, I think we have sort of hit it off together.”

“Birds of feather, eh? You know what they say? ‘Bad company corrupts good morals.’ I’d be careful with that girl if I were you.” Again I laughed as she looked up at me quizzically trying to figure out the meaning of it. “Just joking, dear. By the way, Mr. Allen was my father. You can just call me, Wade.”

“Jillian,” the young girl answered, offering a hand to me to be shaken.

“Jillian?” I laughed. “What is it with all you women having names beginning with ‘J’?” Again she cocked her head questioning what I meant.

“Sorry. You know Jenna’s mom’s name is Jessie, don’t you?” She didn’t answer so I continued. “Well it is. And Brian’s step sister is named Joyce. So there’s Jenna, Jessie, Joyce and now… Jillian.” I chuckled. She giggled, finally understanding my point. I surmised she wasn’t the brightest bulb on the tree.

“Ha. Ha. I spell my name with a ‘G’!” her raspy voice informed me.

“Well that’s a welcomed relief, Gillian with a ‘G.’ Hey, I was just about to go in and get something to drink. Can I bring anything out for you to drink, Gillian with a ‘G?”

“Oh, I’ll have whatever you’re having. I’m easy to please,” she said with a mischievous smirk.

“Um, I was going to get a beer. But I think I’ve got some sort of pop stowed away somewhere.”

“A beer’s fine with me. I’m eighteen, remember?”

“Oooooh kay,” I again answered her. “Here, hold the rake and I’ll be right out.”

About to close the refrigerator door, I heard my screen door swing closed. Looking up over the open fridge, door, there stood Gillian . . . with a “G”.

“Would you mind if I used your bathroom, Mr. Allen, er, I mean, Wade?”

“Ah” I stuttered, trying to judge the situation. “Ah no. Go right ahead. Of course not. It’s right there around the corner.” I turned on the light over the stove and then the hallway light as I pointed her into the bathroom. “The light switch is just behind the door.”

Returning to the kitchen, popping off the lids of two beers, my loins were being tickled as the phone buzzed. It was a text from Jenna. It read, “How are you two getting along over there? She’s cute, isn’t she? She’s eighteen so you don’t have to worry.” As I was about to shove the phone back in my pocket, it buzzed again. “Be nice to her. Tell her she’s pretty. She likes older men!”

“Anything important?” Gillian asked as she reentered the room with me holding my phone in hand.

“Ah, no. Shall we take our beers back outside?” I offered.

Gillian didn’t reply. She just extended her hand, relieving me of one of the beers. She took a small sip of it before looking back up at me as her tongue began circling bottle top. I knew what she was implying. And she knew that I knew.

“Can I ask you a question, Wade?” the young lady asked in seeming earnest.

“Ah, I guess. Ya. Go ahead.” I waited for her question. Rather than asking directly, she first sat her bottle on the table before grabbing the hem of her sweatshirt.

“I need your honest assessment,” she said as she pulled the shirt upward, revealing two very distinct youthful breasts. “Do you think I’m ugly?” Her question, indeed, was an earnest one. “I think they are ugly,” she continued. “I use to get teased by the other girls when we were forced to take showers after gym class. They always laughed at me. And my boy friend…. I could tell he didn’t like them either.” Gillian lowered her shirt and fell back onto the chair and began to cry.

“Hey, hey, hey there! Gillian. There’s no reason to cry. We all have what we were born with. I have a friend who had large cauliflower ears that stick out like this,” I said as pushed my ears outward. “He use to say that when God was handing out body parts, he thought he heard him say, ‘beers.’ So he ordered two big ones!” I laughed and she smiled. “Gillian, would you let me see them again —please?” I asked. This time I was the one being earnest.

“Why?” she whimpered.

“Because I think they are beautiful,” I answered as I sat my bottle down on the counter before kneeling down in front of her. “Gillian, you were right to ask an older man. Please ….let me see them …again. Ok?” Wiping her tears on her sleeve, Gillian looked at me as her eyes quizzed me to see if I, like all the others, was only going to make fun of her. “Honest, sweetie. You might be different than all the other girls, but that doesn’t mean you are, by any means,” I heartily emphasized, “ugly. Believe me. Not_at_all. Please? Just a peak? I’m on my knees here, girl” I laughed. Gillian smiled. Then, sitting back in the chair, she slowly lifted the shirt once again.

In seven decades of looking at pictures in Playboy and the like, I had never seen their equal. She was, indeed, unique. Beautifully, amazingly, unique. They weren’t large and full. They were youthful, gravity defying, independent of one another with the left being slightly larger than the right. For as if two melting scoops strawberry ice cream were dolloped on top of each, her rose colored areola covered fully half of each breast. I could see why silly girls had teased her. Children are so less discerning than seventy year old men.

“Gillian?” I asked as my hand reached out to touch them. “Would you mind if I…touched them?” With sad eyes and pouty lips, she shook her head no.

Jenna had beautiful, full breasts with sand dollar, red rose colored areola and number two pencil eraser nipples. Jessie’s were even larger than her daughter’s, full, broad and awe inspiring with similar areola and number three sized nipples. Then there was Joyce, commandant to both with breasts half again as wide and heavy but with bottle cap sized light pink areola and tiny nipples. And now there was —Gillian with a “G.”

Gillian soon began giggling with delight as I touched, fondled and joyfully played with her jiggling breasts. I had a shit eat’n grin that went from one ear to the other. She whimpered happily, caressing my head as I leaned in and began kissing them, licking them and then finally engulfing each in a hungry ungentlemanly way. Seventy years I had gone without. Then in my seventy-first year of life, long having given up hope, my life long pursuit had been granted me. There had been Jenna, Jessie, Joyce. Now, the most amazing breasts a man had ever imagined -Gillian with a ‘G’. I would have normally wished I was younger, to be more near her age so as to enjoy her as we grew old together. However, as soon as that thought entered my head, it was just as quickly extinguished with the realization that it had taken seventy years to get to where I could appreciate them as fully she needed them to be appreciated.

Jenna had introduced me to the idea of the older man, slash younger girl relationship. But she and I had never consummated it. Gillian, like Jenna, had been around older men most all her life. She had no brothers. No boy friends except the one who, at last resort, offered to take her to the senior prom. Three dates with a wimp hardly provided her hope of being thought of differently. From earliest memories, she had been alienated from both the boys and as well as the ever teasing, belittling, girls. Gillian had been the quiet wall flower all through grade school. High school had brought a new reason for self-flagellation. For while even back in grade school, the other girls had all budded, some having three, even four bra size changes by eighth grade. Gillian, on the other hand, entered high school still in a training bra. However, in those four years, even she had began to bud. Yet all too quickly it became obvious that the bras available were not designed for her oddly shaped snow cones. Now a new lease on life was being granted to her. Graduation and her father’s transfer had provided her with new friends and new hope. Jenna had apparently taken her under wing.

We didn’t meet often after that brief encounter. Gillian got a job which kept her busy most of the week. Her mother needed her home as she grew weaker and weaker in her illness. Like Jenna, Gillian’s father wasn’t home often and when he was, it wasn’t a bed of roses. Jenna gave her an excuse to get away from it all two or three times a month. And god bless her for that. Jenna would arrange that the two of them would spend most of that time over at my place. Two vice cop fathers, however, made it dangerous to be seen in public. We got to know the pizza delivery boy by name. Jenna even flashed him once. Jenna was ever the tease. She also kept trying to make herself part of the party. I must confess, as enticing she was, even with Gillian beginning to entertain the idea of a threesome, I knew it be a fool’s errand to play that game. Always thanking her, I would usher Jenna out the back door before joyfully giving Gillian my undivided attention.

Before you jump to conclusions, our brief moments together weren’t always of a grasping sexual nature. Well, okay- some of it definitely was. However, there were times of greater need where I could tell that Gillian needed a shoulder to cry on, a word of encouragement or a bit of sage advice from an elder outside of her normal circle. She had taken to calling me Uncle Wade in mocking form. Sometimes she would express the hope that one day she and I could get away and pretend that I was her real uncle and not her secret lover.

It was Jenna who gave us the heads up. It seemed that Brian was going to Vegas for another policeman’s weeklong seminar. Gillian’s father was also apparently going as well. However, he never saw fit to mentioned it to Gillian nor to her mother. With a quick asking of Google, I found the dates that they would both be gone. And as fortune would have it, Gillian informed me that her mom had also been wanting to visit her sister and her sister wanting her to come spend time with her before the illness got worse. So with a bit of manipulating, parental absence was scheduled to occur at the same time. All that remained was somehow finagling a bit of time off from work. Through my “generosity,” we lined a couple pockets of Gillian’s co-workers who then “volunteered” cover for her absence.

So it happened. Gillian and Uncle Wade traveled as niece and uncle, two business class tickets to San Juan, Puerto Rico. Far from watching eyes. It was ten below with swirling snow flurries as we boarded, eighty and sunny as we walked with bags in hand out the airport’s front door before finding the correct bus to scurry us off to our rental in Pinones. Booked for four days, our front door was only a block away from the ocean were a warm, brown sand beach greeted us each and every day. I thought it best to stay away from the casino and the major resorts and hotels downtown along with their white sandy beaches and herds of vacationers. Though far from home, I had long ago found out just how small the world could be. We would risk visiting the ancient forts in San Juan, however, most of our time would be spent under outbound airport traffic in bed and on beach.

There are no nude beaches in Puerto Rico. However, we quickly found out, there are many deserted ones. Gillian was thrilled by the aspect of being completely naked under a warm and bright Caribbean sun, waist deep in salt water with nothing between her and Africa except six thousand miles. Whereas I tanned, Gillian’s white skin quickly reddened requiring shade and lots of sunscreen which I freely administered. She couldn’t return home having to explain where the change in color had occurred. There was, however, one benefit to it. Gillian’s magnificent areola began to deepen their color to that of a fine burgundy wine. Many times we made love in bed and on beach before having to return to the frigid homeland. Never had people seen an uncle so enamored with his niece. Though brief, the time allotted to us in paradise made it all the more difficult to return to the land of normality.

Winter turned to spring turned to summer. Jenna graduated high school. It became increasingly difficult for Gillian to free herself from job and a mother who was all too quickly succumbing to her illness. Each meeting became both sweeter and yet more strained with the realization that life was moving us apart. I saw her once more, several years later, married, pregnant but free from her father’s heavy hand. It was then that an expensive European SUV pulled into my drive one day. Stepping out with a wide smile dressed a bright yellow sundress with tiny little blue polkadots, that we found ourselves once again sitting at the same kitchen table sharing a beer, each giving a brief synopsis of what we had been up to. Her’s, of course, was a bit more obvious and entertaining. The big diamond ring on her finger and the bulging of a baby in the sack told much of it. It was a nice reunion.

Before leaving, smiling a mischievous smile, she kissed me before stepping away from me. As she had once done years before, she surprised me by pulling her elastic bodice down to show me how her breasts grown and how dark her areola had become. Discerning my avarice, she offered them to me one last time.

“Oh god! Now you’ve gone and done it,” she clamored as her breasts began to weep. “Wow. I sure didn’t expect that happening yet. My dress! Get me a towel. Wade, look at what you’ve gone and done to me!”

Of course I didn’t fetch the requested towel. Rather I chose to move in and begin sucking on each of them. At first, I was careful so as not to trespass fully. However, when it was divined that she wasn’t upset with me, I sucked on them harder while squeezing the other to spray her new milk out onto the floor. We laughed. All it had taken was one innocent last flash. One innocent, one last, passionate kiss had put us both in heat. My hand found its way underneath that summer dress. Swearing there wasn’t any forethought, she had chosen not to wear anything under her summer dress. As I sucked and fingered her, she cooed and sighed, freely spreading her legs wide for me. No longer did I find her baby bottom shaven bare. Now there was a mop of long curly hair which rapidly became moistened by my fingering joy.

I was older now. I had long given myself over to Gillian having been my last hurrah. Masturbating had also ended years before. So it was not without reason I feared trying to maneuver her one last time into the bedroom.

“One last time?” I inquired as I nodded toward the back room.

Gillian smiled and cocked her head, thinking it over briefly before standing up and taking my hand as she led me back into where we had once enjoy stolen moments so long ago. She knew what I liked (and she desired) and quickly discard the only piece of clothing she was wearing. Laying herself back across the bed, she pulled her knees up and spread her legs wide for me. “Do you like me with hair?” she questioned. My answer was only to fall to my knees and loving tongue her marvelously hairy thatch. I had forgotten how thick and swollen her outer mounds were and how mildly long her inner lips were. I had forgotten how long of a gash she had and how taut her clit became when sucked on. I had forgotten how sweet it was to hear a woman moan with pleasure.

Gillian climaxed quickly. She saw my surprise and offered, “He doesn’t do that. You were the only one and you always knew how much I liked it.” Sitting up, her nipples moist and erect, she unfastened my belt and slid my jeans down. “Sorry” I offered my apology. But we were long beyond such niceties. Gillian simply placed me in her mouth, sucking my shrunken glory lightly, circling her tongue about the head, just holding it in her mouth as it began to gain strength. One last hurrah.

By god’s grace Gillian managed to bring it back to life. Drawing herself back on the bed, she pulled me along side her as she continued to suck on my manhood till it was hard enough for her to roll over on top of me and slip it inside her wonderfully wet soup. Up and down she slide it deeper and deeper within her as her breast began to leak more and more until it became a steady dripping. “Fuck me, Wade,” she begged me. “Fuck me like you used to. This time,” she whispered, “I want you to cum inside me.” Her magnificently distinctive breasts were now the size and color of eggplants. I knew never again would I enjoy their wonder as I squeeze their juice to spray my chest. Sitting upright, Gillian slowly began sliding back and forth across my cock, clutching it with her inner muscles, eyes wide open watching my appreciation of her, seemingly excited further by my moaning. All too soon I gave her what she had requested. With a loud cry I pulled her down on top of me, wrapping my arms about her, squeezing the life out of her as I pounded my oozing cum deep within her.

“AHHHHHH! Oh my gawd. Oh my gawd, Gil,” I cried. I kissed her with as much passion and appreciation as I had ever kissed another. “I needed that. You have always known what I needed. You have made this old man so very happy to be alive.”

With bated breath Gillian caressed my face and replied, “Thank you, Wade. Thank you for being there for me when I need you. You’ve been the best friend a young, silly girl could ever have asked for. I thank you for always being there for me no matter what. Thank you for all the kind things you have done for me. I felt so ugly and unloveable. But you made me feel like,” she hesitated.

“The cats meow!” I quickly interrupted her, thinking of her milky breasts. “That’s because you are. It is I who will always be thanking you. You’re so young and beautiful and I am so old and of little use to anyone any more.”

“Wade, don’t talk like that. You know I love you. I will never love anyone else the way I love you. Never. You were the first. You will always be the measure of all others. And besides, you know, it’s a boy in here,” she confessed as she rolled over next to me, rubbing her tummy. “And I’ve already named him.” Gillian smiled. With a finger she turned my chin toward her mouth and kissed me lightly. “His name is going to be —Wade.”

Life is like a box of chocolates.