Amiga ISO Collection/AmigaDemoCD2.iso/ASCII/TEXTE/SEX/ENGLISH/InOutLaw.lha/INOUTLAW.TXT

Text File | 1994-02-14 | 31.3 KB | 524 lines

Path: oslohd!news.eunet.no!nuug!trane.uninett.no!sunic!EU.net!Germany.EU.net!netmbx.de!zrz.TU-Berlin.DE!zib-berlin.de!xlink.net!howland.reston.ans.net!vixen.cso.uiuc.edu!cs.uiuc.edu!laff
From: [e-mail] (Joshua A Laff)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: ARCHIVE: inoutlaw.Z mf
Message-ID: <[e-mail]>
Date: Sun, 13 Feb 1994 09:15:50 GMT
Sender: [e-mail]
Reply-To: [e-mail]
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Organization: University of Illinois, Dept. of Comp. Sci., Urbana, IL
Lines: 511

This story is another from the archives, and is not written by me.
Requests for just about anything concerning these posts will be ignored.
See the FAQ in a.s.s.d for more information.

Author: [e-mail] (Michael Kalen Smith)
Keywords: mf
Archive-name:  inoutlaw


                               IN/OUT LAW



   I'll admit it up front: My younger brother, David, and I haven't
gotten along since we were in junior high.  Since he's my only sibling,
I've often felt more like an only child.  Nevertheless, when he got out of
the service at the age of 22 and was job-hunting here in Houston, Beth and
I put him up for a couple of weeks.  I suppose it allowed me to
demonstrate my economic superiority (an unworthy motive but mine own) and
besides, our sofa-bed wasn't *that* comfortable.
   A few days after David arrived, my wife's younger sister, Janet, came
down for an unexpected but welcome visit.  She was twenty and still living
under her parents' roof while she worked and attended junior college --
but her folks often treated her like she was still fifteen, and every so
often she had to escape or risk popping an artery.  I liked my sister-in-
law and the two of us had always gotten along well.  An air mattress and a
sleeping bag on the other side of our living room took care of her
sleeping arrangements.
   Beth and I found out later that David and Janet apparently had spent
several nights sitting up late, talking.  They certainly hit it off
because they started dating and were married about a year later.  I
couldn't, for the life of me, understand what a nice, sweet, smart girl
like Janet saw in my oaf of a brother; as they say, there's no accounting
for tastes.

                             *  *  *  *  *

   Cut to (almost) the present, twelve years later: I've been divorced
for more than two years and Beth has moved to California, "to find
herself."  I'm also living in a smaller apartment, but at least Texas
doesn't have alimony -- and we never had kids (which I regret) so there's
no child support to pay.  David and Janet live in Atlanta with their two
daughters, ages eleven and nine.  He's recently been promoted to regional
manager for some kind of government contracting firm; she seems to spend
much of her time looking for ways to keep constructively busy.
   I haven't seen my brother in years (and have no desire to), but I keep
in touch with Janet and my nieces, whom I unabashedly adore.  Janet calls
every few weeks, usually just to chat and to check on my bachelor-ite
well-being.  And Rachel, the eleven-year-old, always clamors in the
background to talk to her Uncle Mike.
   Rachel and her sister, Rebecca, both write me long letters, too,
filled with the latest news about school and their soccer teams, and about
the stupid boys who seem to be bothering them lately.  I reply with my
latest adventures as a consulting engineer, which take me around the
country frequently.


   I hadn't actually seen Janet or the girls in person since before the
divorce, so I was pleased when I was offered a two-week job in Atlanta.
When I called Janet to see if I could take my nieces out somewhere for an
afternoon reunion, I found my brother (a light colonel) would be doing his
annual Army Reserve training that same two weeks.  I immediately relaxed;
I hadn't even realized until that moment that I had tensed up at the
prospect of having to deal with David.
   "Why don't the three of us take *you* out on the town?" Janet
suggested.  "And the guest room is ready and waiting."
   "No, Janet, I wasn't inviting myself in!  I have an expense account--"
   "Then use it to buy the girls mocha almond ice cream.  But I'm going
to be very annoyed at you if you stay at a hotel instead of my house!
*Loudly* annoyed!"  She made a silly growling sound for emphasis.
   "Okay, okay -- I give!" I laughed.
   "Damn right," she said.  "Besides -- seriously -- I've been wishing I
could talk to you about something.  It's not the kind of thing I feel
comfortable discussing over the phone."  Her tone had sobered and I
wondered what the problem was.  Well, she knew I'd help her any way I
could.


   Janet was right; staying with her and her daughters was much nicer
than a hotel, and a lot more fun.  I could tell it was going to be a great
visit when I wheeled the rental car into her driveway that Sunday
afternoon.  I had called from the airport to get directions and to tell
Janet when to expect me -- and she had obviously told the girls, because
both of them came pelting across the lawn before I even had the car door
open.
   Rachel had grown so tall in three years I almost couldn't believe she
was the same little girl.  Her long, billowing hair was very light brown,
lighter even than her golden tan, and so fine it floated on the slightest
breeze.  Her eyes were even bluer than her mother's, a deep, reflective
sapphire I hoped would stay with her through adolescence.  I knew
intuitively she was going to be heartstoppingly beautiful in not too many
more years.  Just now, she was grinning like a Cheshire Cat.
   "Uncle Mike!" she squealed as I bent (though not far) to give her a
hug, and she locked her arms around my neck.  I got a large, sloppy,
lip-smacking kiss on the cheek, accompanied by a giggle.
   "Well, hello!" I replied.  "But what did you do with little Rachel?
Last time I saw her, she was only about knee-high!"
   "I'm growing up," she insisted.  "I'm glad you could come see us,
Uncle Mike."  She hugged me again.
   "So am I, honey."  Why couldn't she have been *my* daughter?  "And
who's the gorgeous redhead?"  I indicated Rebecca, who was standing shyly
behind her sister.
   At six years old, the last time I had seen her, my younger neice had
been a mass of freckles and carrot-red curls.  Her body was now beginning
to sort itself out and it was obvious that she was going to be dangerously
cute by the time she was in high school.  She was proportionately shorter
than Rachel and her hair had turned a deeper auburn with matching
eyebrows.  Her eyes were iridescent green and the freckles still scattered
thickly across her nose and cheekbones stood out sharply against her
clear, porcelain complexion.
   "Rebecca, do you remember me?"  I hunkered down to get eye-to-eye with
her.  She looked vaguely insulted.
   "Of course I do.  You gave me WINNIE THE POOH and THE HOUSE AT POOH
CORNER for Christmas.  I like Eeyore," she added with another shy smile.
I was a little relieved at the postscript; I thought for a moment I was
being addressed by a small adult in a kid suit.  This one was going to
have beauty *and* brains.  Besides, I'm a sucker for redheads.
   "I beg your pardon, Miss.  Do I still get a hug?"  I gave her my most
winning smile and was rewarded with a much more tidy kiss on the other
cheek.  Instead of flinging her arms around my neck, Rebecca set her hands
carefully on my shoulders.  Then she seemed to realize that this ladylike
approach didn't qualify as a "hug" and clasped her hands at the back of my
neck.  She gave me a grave smile, friendly but solemn.  Her precocious
self-possession was a bit unsettling.  I hugged her anyway, just as I had
her sister, and stood as Janet caught up to her daughters and greeted me
with a dazzling smile.
   My first impression was that she had gotten younger in the past few
years.  She had never been anything but slim, though two pregnancies had
left her unavoidably thickened in places.  But now she seemed as slender
and as fresh as when she was twenty.  For years, she had worn her hair
short for convenience; now it hung in waves to her shoulderblades, a
shimmering chestnut brown in the Georgia sun.
   She wore a shining white scoop-necked spandex body suit under an old
pair of jeans that hung on her hips as if they were a size too large.  She
was also rather red in the face; it appeared my sister-in-law had taken up
aerobics.
   We hugged and patted each other's backs, but when I went to kiss her
on the cheek she startled me by preemptively kissing me solidly on the
lips.  I enjoyed it, of course, but still,... it was unexpected.
   Janet hooked her arm through mine as we walked up to the front door.
I carried my duffel and the girls insisted on lugging my suit carrier
between them.  This was the first time I had seen their house and I was
impressed in spite of myself.  It was a large, two-story place, four
bedrooms at least, with a red tile roof.  The lot was probably three-
quarters of an acre, with lots of trees.  There was a year-old Volvo
station wagon in the drive, presumably Janet's.  I hadn't realized David
was so prosperous and I had to struggle a bit to smother a twinge of envy.
   I looked sidelong at Janet's flushed profile and guessed she had been
in the midst of exercising when I arrived.  Whatever program she was using
to strip off her extra pounds had also firmed up her muscles and flattened
her stomach, and she had regained her trim form.  Then she caught me
looking at her and raised an eyebrow.
   "Okay, ya got me," I laughed.  "I was feasting my eyes, Janet -- you
really look good."
   A few years ago, she would have blushed but now she looked pleased and
gave my arm a little squeeze.  None of these apparent changes in her had
come through in our telephone chats.  I wondered what else had changed.


   Rachel and Rebecca installed me upstairs in the guest room, just
across the hall from the master bedroom; their rooms were at the other end
of the hall, which I imagined gave everyone a little privacy.
   As Janet left me to unpack my stuff she said "Come over and watch me
finish my workout if you want.  If I stop in the middle, I'll get more
developed on one side than the other...."
   So I hung up my two sport coats and stepped across the hall.  Janet
had already shucked her jeans and was lying on her back in front of the
video player, ass in the air, doing bicycles with her bare legs.  She
obviously didn't want to bother with tights at home.  Her long hair was
spread in a puddle around her head and she was puffing rhythmically like a
Lamaze student.
   I sat down astride the chair at her dressing table and leaned on my
folded arms across the back to watch.  My sister-in-law has never been the
glamorous sort but I've always considered her very pretty.  Watching her
legs gleam with sweat as she pedaled her imaginary upside-down bike, I had
to admit she looked pretty sexy, too, for an old lady in her early 30s.
And my eyes kept wandering back to the snug crotch of her bodysuit, where
I thought I saw a few light brown hairs peeking out from beneath the
spandex.
   When the woman on the video -- who wasn't even breathing hard, I
noticed -- quit the bicycle routine, the 'END OF SESSION' message came on
and Janet's lower body hit the carpet with a muffled thud.  She was almost
gasping and her face was bright red.  I became concerned, hopped up from
the chair, and went over to kneel beside her sprawled body.
   "Hey -- are you okay?"  She tried to laugh and nodded her head.  As
her respiration slowed, I eased myself around to sit crosslegged.  There
was a hand towel on the floor nearby and I picked it up and mopped her
face and neck down to the edge of her neckline.  She has rather small
breasts with no significant cleavage, so I decided I'd better stop where
the material began.
   Janet smiled at me, still puffing a little, and raised her arm for
assistance.  I took it and helped her into a sitting position; she locked
her elbows and leaned back on her hands, her knees drawn up neatly
together.  The pose pushed her shoulders forward and made her seem even
younger, somehow.  I reached over and tucked her errant hair behind her
ears.
   "I get carried away and do more of that stuff than I should," she
said, her voice almost normal.  "It seems so easy when you're doing it --
but when you finally stop, you really pay for it...."  She reached out
absently and patted my arm.
   "Um, Janet,... you said there was something you wanted to talk
about...."
   Her expression shifted slightly and her face became more drawn.  "Yes
-- there is.  And I'm glad you're here, Mike.  But let me figure out how
to say what I want to say, okay?"
   "Of course; whenever you're ready, I'll be happy to listen.  And to
help, if I can."  That got me another squeeze on the arm.  And then we
were climbing to our feet, both of us unaccountably embarrassed.


   We had a relaxed supper that first evening: Cold fried chicken (the
best way) with smashed potatoes (skins included) and peppery cream gravy
of the sort every true Southerner craves at least once a week.  And, of
course, huge glasses of iced tea, which Rachel kept filled.
   Rachel, in fact, nearly monopolized the conversation, which seemed to
be okay with Rebecca.  Her mother started to scold her but I insisted I
wanted to hear everything she had to say.  Then I looked pointedly at
Rebecca and said tomorrow night's supper would be *her* turn.  Janet
covered a smile with her hand.
   The girls cleared the table afterward and loaded everything in the
dishwasher, then headed into the family room to watch TV.  Janet and I
nursed our iced tea and talked quietly about inconsequential things.  I
noticed that the subject of my brother never entered the conversation, but
I said nothing about it.
   And so to bed.


   The mattress in the guest room was newer and firmer than mine at home
and I stretched out in my boxer shorts with a comfortable crackle in my
joints and fell asleep within minutes.
   I'm a notoriously light sleeper, however.  If the noise of the air
conditioner changes pitch, I'll waken, quickly and completely.  So, when
my door opened silently an hour or two later, my internal alarm system
began prodding me to pay attention.  I opened one eye halfway and saw a
slender figure standing uncertainly in the gray darkness just inside the
door.  Then it started to leave again so I whispered "Janet...?"
   She paused, then came back in and closed the door quietly behind her.
She came and sat slowly on the side of my bed, near the foot.  I could see
now that she was wearing a short, crocheted nightgown.  Her head was down,
her face hidden by a curtain of hair, and her hands clasped and unclasped
in her lap.  I heard a sniffle.
   I slipped out from beneath the sheet and moved down to sit silently
beside her.  She seemed to shudder and I realized she had been crying and
was trying hard not to resume.  I wasn't sure what to do, so I let my hand
glide across the back of her shoulders and squeezed her arm lightly.
Comfort and reassurance was all I could offer so far.
   Janet raised her head and looked at me; the tear stains running down
her cheeks reflected what little light there was.  I wiped them away with
a forefinger -- and suddenly her face was buried in my neck, her hands
clutched at my back.  I felt her body shake with stifled sobs.  I've never
felt so helpless.
   I put my arms around her and stroked her head and simply held her for
a few minutes while she cried it out ... whatever "it" was.  I also felt a
bit awkward, sitting there in my underwear, holding a very attractive
woman in my arms, especially when I became aware that nothing separated
our bodies except the thin nightgown.  Each time her breasts shifted, my
attention focused on them.  I was trying to help but my hormones kept
getting in the way.
   Then she slowly sat up straight again and wiped her eyes and nose.
She touched my cheek gently with her fingertips and smiled her thanks.
And then she was up and gone.  The door shut behind her and I lay down
again and waited for sleep to return, but it never did.


   Janet was cheerful and laughing at breakfast the next morning and said
nothing about her nocturnal visit, so I didn't either.  But I'm afraid my
clients got shortchanged that first day: I was tired from lack of sleep
and distracted by concern about my sister-in-law.
   Rachel was at a friend's house for supper and videos that evening,
which put Rebecca on the spot.  She was bright, thoughtful, polite,
articulate when she had to be -- and very shy when she was the center of
attention.  At nine, she was at least as knowledgeable as her older sister
but she preferred to let Rachel front for her.  Janet was an old hand at
trying to get her youngest to carry on a conversation (usually
unsuccessfully) but, as a guest, I was able to play on my niece's sense of
duty as co-hostess.
   It was a struggle at first, but I discovered that asking Rebecca a
direct question and letting it hang in the air forced her to reply, just
to fill the uncomfortable dead space.  I already knew her abiding passion
and ambitions centered on space exploration, so I made a passing remark,
painfully inaccurate, about the Mars lander; after giving her engineer-
uncle an odd look (shouldn't I know this stuff?), she carefully corrected
me.
   I put on a puzzled frown and asked a follow-up question.  She replied.
Then she volunteered an opinion, which I agreed with -- and before she
knew it, she was deep in an actual conversation.  She really was a bright
kid and, once the barrier was breached, a delight to sit and talk with.
   When Rebecca finally ran down and went out to the kitchen for ice
cream, Janet got up from the table and moved around behind my chair.  I
leaned back and looked up to see what she was doing, and she put her hands
on my shoulders and kissed me on the forehead.  Her long hair brushed my
ears and left a tingle behind.
   "Mike, I can't believe you did that.  I've been trying to chip away at
that child for years.  You're the sweetest guy I know.  Thank you," she
added softly and kissed me again before going back to her seat.  The spot
on my forehead felt warm the rest of the evening.
   Tired as I was, I was in no hurry to go to bed, nor was Janet.  When
her daughter had been tucked away, she came back into the living room
carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses.  I was stretched out in a big
armchair.  When she sat on the sofa and put down the glasses, she smiled
and crooked a finger, and I got up and moved over next to her.
   She poured us each a glass and, without looking at me, said "I don't
know if I should apologize for last night,... but I appreciate the use of
your shoulder."
   "Anytime you need it," I replied, and picked up one of the glasses.
   "Well, then," she continued, "I guess I shouldn't put this off any
longer."  She flicked a glance at my face and then studied her own glass.
   "Things aren't going too well, Mike," she began in a low voice.  She
unconsciously touched her breast while she gathered her thoughts and I
felt a sudden jolt: My God, did she have breast cancer?
   "Janet--  Is this something ... medical?"  Jesus, that would be awful.
But she gave me a startled look and then, when she saw the concern in my
eyes, comprehension dawned.
   "What?  Oh--  Oh, no, Mike!  No, it's nothing like that.  God, I'm
healthy as a horse."  She touched my hand and I was greatly relieved.
   "No.  This is, um--  This has to do with my husband."  Not "David" or
"your brother": It was "my husband."  I sat back and waited.
   "He's..."  She cleared her throat and took a long sip of wine.  "He's
cheating on me.  With another woman.  She's a purchaser for the Defense
Department or something.  Can't be more than 25.  Very attractive, the one
time I saw her."  She took another long sip and turned the glass round and
round in her hands.
   Could I have heard her right?  My brother was a well-documented jerk,
smarmy and self-righteous, politically Neolithic, socially obtuse -- and
proud of all his shortcomings.  But I would never have suspected something
like this.  A terrific wife and two fantastic kids; what could he be
thinking of?
   "Well,..."  I had to respond somehow.  "I guess it would be stupid to
ask if you're sure about this.  Do you, uh, have any idea how long it's
been going on?"  Maybe it was just an idiot weekend indiscretion, I
thought.  Not really an "affair" at all, maybe.
   She looked up and stared at me unblinkingly.  "Almost two years.  I
found out about it when some mail was misdelivered.  And there were a
couple of strange phone messages.  So I started snooping around and people
told me things."  She didn't elaborate but I had the impression from her
tone that she could document every infidelity that had occurred.
   I felt a pang of unaccountable guilt.  Like I was responsible, just
because he was my brother.  Like I should have smothered him in his sleep
when we were kids.
   "Bastard," I muttered, and took another sip of wine.  I didn't mean
for her to hear that but she did.  A sad smile blinked on and off again.
I took a deep breath.
   "Janet, tell me what I can do."
   She seemed relieved.  Did she think I would defend my brother to her?
Especially in something like this?  I wanted to hold her hand, do
*something* to reassure her of my loyalty, but she appeared to have
herself under tight control and I didn't want to disturb that.  This
wasn't like last night.
   "That's easy enough," she said, and tried unsuccessfully to laugh.  "I
have *no* idea what I should do now.  The *best* thing to do, I mean.  I
had to talk to somebody -- and for this, there's really only you, Mike."
   I'm sure she meant it as a compliment but her apparent faith in my
advice was a little scary.  "Should I confront him with it?" she
continued.  "Pretend I don't know and just put up with it?  Demand a
divorce -- and then try to earn enough to support myself and the girls?
Dammit, I don't know!"  Her mouth was trembling.
   "Janet, you already know about it so you can't pretend you don't.
You'd crack eventually and say or do something, and that might make it
worse in the long run.  I'm not you; I can't tell you what you should do."
   I was getting angrier the longer I thought about my brother's
treasonous behavior.  I couldn't sit still so I got up and paced to the
big fireplace and back.  "If you're worried about money, don't be.  I do
pretty well.  I don't make as much as my shithead brother, obviously--"  I
gestured at the big room around me.  "--but it's more than enough."
   Without thinking, I went down on one knee so I could look my sister-
in-law in the eye.  I took her hand and held it tighter than I meant to;
she was regarding my agitation with some surprise.
   "I care about those girls," I said urgently.  "Janet, I *love* those
girls.  Anything you ever need for them, ask.  Anything *you* ever need,
ask."  That last was also unplanned, but I discovered as I said it that I
meant it.
   "When Beth and I got divorced, it was because we never should have
gotten married in the first place.  The decree said 'irreconcilable
differences' and that's what it was.  Just a lot of stuff that accumulated
over too many years.  I flirted with women I knew, but it was all in fun,
and they knew it and I knew it; just a game.  But I never, ever cheated on
my wife.  I'm absolutely sure she didn't cheat either," I admitted.  Janet
was nodding her head slowly.
   "Janet, divorce is no fun at all.  You saw us go through it.  But in
this kind of situation,..."  I suddenly noticed that my hand was shaking
and I carefully released her fingers and sat on the sofa again.
   I took another deep breath and tried to sound calm and objective.  "I
still can't tell you what you should do.  But I can't believe you want to
go on living with him, sharing a bed with him, knowing about this."
   Janet had already reached an inescapable decision, I think, but hadn't
wanted to face it.  Now she did and her control crumbled.  She continued
to look at me but her mouth twisted unhappily and the tears ran in streams
down her cheeks.  I felt awful.
   She made the smallest motion in my direction and I spread my arms and
gathered her in.  She clasped her hands under her chin and sobbed softly,
and I leaned back against the sofa and held her and stroked her head.  I
returned her forehead kiss and tried to radiate support and love through
my fingers.  It was like trying to comfort a grief-stricken widow.
   Then Janet pushed her hands up and around my neck and put her cheek
against mine and I squeezed her body gently.  The tears tapered off and
she kissed my cheek.  And kissed it again.  Somehow, we were nose-to-nose
and staring into each other's eyes.  I had to kiss her, I swear.
   She didn't protest or pull away.  Her arms tightened around my neck
and she kissed me back, hard.  It went on forever, I think.  Thoughts
crowded my mind that had never been there before ... or I had avoided
recognizing them.
   My shirt was coming unbuttoned under her fingers, so I unbuttoned her
blouse.  My shirt was off and I was unhooking her bra, which quickly
joined my shirt on the sofa.  We never broke the kiss.
   My hands squeezed her breasts and one of us moaned, I don't know who.
I had no idea where we were going with this unexpected development but we
were going there together.  I didn't want to think about what I was doing;
some more primitive need had fused my mind to hers.
   We stretched out on the sofa and she moved up my body until her lovely
breasts filled my view.  I sucked in her pink nipples one at a time and
she wound her fingers in my hair.  We didn't speak, not in words, but she
encouraged me to continue, and I did.
   After awhile, we were kneeling on the floor and she was fumbling with
my belt, my zipper, pushing my trousers downward.  I unfastened the side
of her slacks.  Then we were both standing, just long enough to discard
the rest of our clothing.  And we were back on the floor, lying on our
sides, frantically grasping at each other.
   I tried to move her onto her back, but she resisted and pushed me back
instead.  And moved quickly to straddle my hips.  I understood, dimly,
that Janet was asserting her decision to do this thing with me.
   She lowered herself onto my quivering erection and I almost shouted
with the pure, undistilled pleasure her moist, capturing warmth produced
in me.  I clutched at her hips, tight and smooth from exercise, and she
pressed herself downward as far as she could, eyes screwed tight.
   Then we began to move in the ancient rhythm, slowly, gasping as nerve
endings twanged, speeding up a little at a time, until her hands were
planted on either side of my head and her breasts were jiggling against my
collarbone.  My hands roamed over her flanks and up her sides, mapping the
geography of her surging body.
   When she came, it was with her eyes wide open, staring into mine --
and I followed her within seconds.  Then she collapsed on top of me and
her sweat mixed with mine as we began another feverish kiss.


   Later, cuddled up on the sofa together -- more or less clothed, in
case Rebecca woke and came downstairs -- we didn't try to explain or
apologize.  We could only accept what had happened and try to fit it into
the equation.  Janet would file for divorce, that much we both knew
without it being discussed further.
   I stroked her cheek and wondered how I had missed recognizing my
feelings for this woman for so long.  "They say two people in a crisis
together are apt to fall in love," I said.  "A mutual defense thing, or
something."
   Janet smiled at me in a way I had never seen before.  "Does it
matter?"  No, I thought.  Not really.

                             *  *  *  *  *

   David at least had the good grace not to contest the divorce; in fact,
the decree was granted in absentia.  I never learned the details, nor did
I particularly want to know, but Janet told her lawyer exactly what she
knew and how she knew it.  Her lawyer told his lawyer, and my brother
apparently decided to protect his career.
   Janet got custody of Rachel and Rebecca, of course, and took the house
and the Volvo as her share of the community property.  David kept their
extensive portfolio and volunteered a generous child support.  The house
was on the market within a month and sold quickly, for a very nice sum.
   Mother and daughters moved to Houston, where I helped them find a much
less lavish but quite acceptable house out in Katy, which had excellent
schools.  Janet was able to put down nearly half the total price and most
of the rest of her capital went into trust for the girls, for college.  A
few weeks later, I gave up my apartment and moved in with them.  Janet had
gotten the mortgage payments down so low that I had no trouble meeting
them.
   We slept separately for awhile, mostly to let the girls adjust to
having me around all the time -- but we found ourselves drifting into each
other's beds so often it seemed a little pointless.
   It was easier for Rachel and Rebecca than we had anticipated, but at
least they had known me all their lives.  Even the last name was the same.
I never pretended to be anything but their uncle and their friend, and
Janet explained very carefully why their father wouldn't be living with
them any longer.  It took a year and more, but kids are adaptable and
perceptive; they came to understand that I loved them as much as their
mother did.


   And now it will be even better: After fifteen months of waiting, Janet
and I will be married next week.  The second time for both of us, a
strange dance of relationships between two families, but it feels
absolutely right.  We've come to love each other a great deal, and Janet
has no more doubts about the depth of my feelings for her girls than they
have.
   I'm looking forward eagerly to the ceremony, even though we've been
living as husband and wife all this time; it's the formal, legal
recognition that I want, I guess.  Rachel and Rebecca, I'm happy to say,
are almost as excited about the nuptials as I am.
   I know it's unlikely that Janet will want to attempt to have another
child, hers and mine, but that's probably for the best at this point in
our lives.  I don't mind at all being a surrogate father to two kids as
terrific as our girls.  And it'll be great, having a family I can love.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyright 1993 by Michael K. Smith. Copies may be made and posted
elsewhere for personal enjoyment, but all commercial rights are reserved.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Michael Kalen Smith / Dallas, TX
Internet: [e-mail] / CompuServe: 73177,366
*** It doesn't TAKE all kinds; we just HAVE all kinds ***
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
--
I will ignore all requests for: reposts, e-mailing missing parts, archive
locations, ftp sites, gif sites, and subscription requests. These stories get
deleted immediately after they are posted. For more info on the ARCHIVE
postings, read the FAQ posted bi-monthly to a.s.s.d