This is the twenty-eighth chapter of “The Jennings Family.” As we have stated in earlier chapters, the story contains bisexuality and sexual acts involving adults and under-age minors, both related and non-related, in accordance with the shared story preferences of the authors. If any of this is objectionable to you, you might like to leave and go to another story.
As was the case regarding the earlier stories that this team has produced and the previous chapters of this story, the reader should realize that the usual disclaimer applies about how this is purely fictional and none of the actions, persons, and places in the story really exist. Nothing in this story should be read as anything but fictional.
Feedback, which is desired and appreciated, can be sent to “Brad Gillespie” at the address RBZ followed by the digits 3141 at gmail.com. Please put the story title in the subject line. But don't be surprised if the name on the responses is different. That e-mail account is under a different pseudonym than the one I used to write this story.
Feedback to “Tucson Daddy” can be sent to lannyr99 at yahoo.com.
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Jeff was gone, his home empty of life, and Tim was sitting in his dorm room holding the phone. Lifting it, his heart filled with dread, he pressed CALL, and waited while it rang once, twice, thrice, then Jeff's voice came on the line. “Tim, thank you for calling. I only have a few minutes, so let me give you some information for further contacts.”
“Jeff. All this mystery. Right out of a spy novel.”
“It is, and there's more. I'm sorry I had to leave so abruptly, without a hint of my leaving.”
“I wondered about that. It hurt that you'd abandon me so abruptly without a word of explanation.”
“Which I deeply regret. You are more than some casual affair, but there is danger in this subterfuge. There is an element that does not want this project to succeed. A dangerous and committed element. I want to shield you from them.”
“Them?” Tim asked aghast at the hint of danger.
“Yes, at this point I have done what I can, but they are resourceful. Be aware of men you don't know joining you for coffee, who will casually direct the conversation to physics. They will be clever. I ask that you be alert for such men.”
The silence stretched between them.
Jeff broke it by saying, “Please write down this email address. In my home, you'll find a small, portable computer. You know the one. Use it to communicate with me. Only call on this phone when I tell you to. Have you got that?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.” He was silent for a moment. “Will I see you again?”
“My dear sweet one, my love. Yes, but I cannot say when,” came the soft, whispered answer before he hung up, leaving Tim holding a dead phone with a dial tone.
For one brief instant he was connected with a man who had come to mean a great deal to him. Jeff was his mentor, his friend, his lover.
Now he was gone!
Vanished just as surely as he had never existed. For some, merely the replacement of one bishop for a knight on the chess board of politics. For Tim, a young man who had come to trust the one person on campus who would always be there, it was like the death of one very dear. He clicked the button to end the hum of an open circuit.
For a moment, Tim stared at the instrument in his hand. This… thing… just a piece of plastic, microchips, and wire. This… thing… that connected him with his lover. This… thing… was keeping them apart. How dare it. He gripped it tightly, hoping to throttle it, make it die. For one brief instant, his urge was to throw it against the wall! Smash it!
As he usually did when frustrated, he held the phone on his lap and took three deep breaths.
Then he sat, thinking calming thoughts, transported mentally to walk on a warm, white sand beach, far away. He did this until the urge diminished and his thinking returned to normal. Well, almost normal, but not quite. Powerful emotions were still strong within him.
A single tear rolled down his cheek.
Two weeks had passed, and he had just finished all his preparations for Belle's visit. Standing back, he surveyed his room. It was nothing special; a typical place for two people to share living space. With only him living here, it looked larger. Standing at the door, he saw what the first impression would be. It was OK.
He wanted this to be better than OK. Though his skills at presentation were many, he had only this room to work with. Even so, he'd managed to make this limited abode seem better than life, but not as well as a fancy restaurant could do, or even an average one.
The first thing his lovely date would see was the small table with a white cloth draped over it, the excess cloth hanging down a stylish halfway. The candle in the center was just right, not new, with just an inch burned down. Wax from previous uses had melted and run down the side in three places, giving it an almost artistic look.
It was mounted in a base which he had borrowed from home, anticipating times when he might want a more romantic setting. It was perfect. Not too large, but sufficiently so to make it right for this special time.
The two wine glasses, washed and wiped dry, leaving no trace of hard water sheen to diminish their clarity. They were set across the table from each other.
The light next to his bed was left on for when the time came to lead Belle to his bed. He'd snuff out the candle, and the lamp would allow some modicum of light to see their way. And he didn't want to let it burn completely out.
Depending on Belle's mood, he anticipated drinking two glasses each, or even finishing the entire bottle.
Dan and his mom had cautioned him about the differences between men and women when it came to sex. Guys were like the microwave, quick to heat up. Women were of the pressure cooker breed, needing lots of warm up time to bring them to full heat.
When done properly, foreplay for her would begin with a warm kiss; he'd then bring her to the table, pour the wine, leave the bottle there within easy reach. “We'll talk,” he hypothesized. Belle had many life experiences that he'd only heard second hand from Jacob; they would sound fresh from her lips.
The sound at the door startled him. God, but he was jumpy. Taking a second to light the candle, he blew out the match, and shook it to cool it. Dropping it on the table, it would not scorch the cloth. Turning, he took several steps to the door, and opened it.
Belle was standing there. She was smiling, in the way he'd seen her smile before.
The dress she wore clung to her body. A soft shiny red material that seemed to flow over her contours, emphasizing every curve. She wasn't wearing a bra; her hard nipples made their own impressions through the soft cloth. The scoop neckline hung low enough to cover her breasts, yet stopping short of exposing too much. The skirt hung to just above her knees, showing off her nice legs.
Her face was beautiful! Warm, the glow of youth. Eyes shining. He was suddenly lost in her. Neither spoke, but both simply stood silently. A few feet apart from each other. Her breasts rose and fell slowly, with each breath tantalizing his mind of what lay beneath.
All this passed through his mind in a fraction of a second.
“Hello,” he said, finally.
“Hello,” she said back.
“Please come in,” was his formal reply.
“Thank you,” she answered, stepping in and looking around as though she'd never seen his room before, playing the charade. “You have a nice place.”
“Thank you; it's not much but it's home,” he said, closing the door. He cringed at his use of such a cliché, though she didn't take notice. Fortunately.
The click of the lock was barely audible. He didn't want visitors barging in tonight.
Walking up behind her, he put his hands on her bare shoulders and kissed her lightly on her neck. She sighed, tilting her head to give him access for more of her warm flesh, needing his touch to calm her.
“Mmm…” she purred, in that throaty way that gave him shivers.
He kissed her neck again, his lips lingering longer this time. Again the purr of satisfaction.
“I'm so glad you came,” he said softly. “I've thought about you for days.”
She turned and looked him in the eyes, as her arms closed around his neck. “I almost didn't,” she said. Then, smiling, she went on, “But I've thought about you, about tonight. We'll be different afterwards.” She paused for a heartbeat. “You're the only other man I've allowed to touch me the way you're going to.”
He was staring into those dark pools which seemed to exude mystery. “I know. Jacob told me.”
Her fingers pressed against his lips, silencing him.
“Shh…,” she said. “Let tonight be about us. You and me.” Her lips met his in a soft kiss, lightly caressing. Yet he could taste her mouth through the lipstick she wore, and her warm breath. The subtle scent of her perfume caressed his nose. It seemed he could feel her heart beating.
Her very being was assaulting all his senses. He wanted her! The shiver that briefly gripped him was the only outward sign of his craving. He'd felt such desperate need before, many times, holding her like this. He knew to control it, and did.
His cock was rock hard. She could doubtless tell, with her body pressing so against him so. This was the time…
…to say, “Let's have some wine.”
She heard him, but continued to stay against him, pressing, teasing, reminding him of her. After a few more heartbeats, she stepped back slightly, smiled, and nodded.
“Let's,” she agreed, pulling herself slowly away from their embrace, though her hand still touched his shoulder. Taking a few steps away, her hand trailed down the length of his arm as she moved. Until only her fingers rested on his.
She was teasing him! Making him want her, yet knowing he was strong enough to take things slowly.
Their eyes held each other for a moment before Tim took her hand and led her to the table. He stepped behind the chair and pulled it away until she had enough room. Bending her body to sit, she ran her hand under her bottom and beneath her thighs, smoothing her dress. God, but how he wanted his fingers to do that! He longed, for a second, wondering how her body would feel, his hands on her like that. Oh how he wanted to. Instead, his passions calmed, he pushed the chair forward to just the right place. Not too far from the table, nor too close. Just right.
He went to the counter, lifted the already-opened bottle by its neck, and carried it to the table. Picking up her glass, he poured, filling it to just the right place, ten ounces of dark red Cabernet, the kind Jacob had told him she liked. Placing it before her, she smiled up at him and said, “Thank you, Tim.”
“You're welcome,” he replied, then taking his glass, he filled it. Holding it up to the light, admiring the clarity. “It's…” he began.
“Cabernet,” she finished for him. He looked back at her holding her glass, inhaling the aroma. “2012?” she asked, with a slight smile.
“Yes. When I asked the clerk at the wine shop what I should buy for a date, who is beautiful, smart, and…” he paused. “…a wine connoisseur, he recommended this. I bought a second, just in case.”
“Oh, Tim!” she said, giggling.
Sitting down in his chair opposite her, he raised his glass and said, “let's toast…”
She raised hers and said, “…To a night made unforgettable.”
They clinked glasses lightly, then sipped, then sipped again, holding them as though anticipating a second toast.
“I'm very nervous, you know,” she said. “Thank you for making this easier than I expected.”
“Me too, Belle. I want this to be memorable for you as it is for me.”
“Can you tell me something personal?” she asked, her hand moving over the table to rest atop his.
“Yes. You can ask me anything.”
“You must have had lovers. Lovers of both…” she stopped, uncertain if she should continue. Taking a breath, and shaking her head, she continued, “It seems so odd to ask this of a man.”
“What? That I can appreciate the intimate side of a man or a woman?”
She nodded, and frowned. “But isn't it difficult to go from one to the other without, uhm, without seeing, sensing the difference in, well, our bodies?”
“Hmm…, he observed thoughtfully. “I never gave a thought to that. For me, making love, I know where to touch, how to touch, when it's right, and when I'm pushing some limit.” Now it was his turn to hesitate. “You've never been with a woman, have you?”
She blushed and lowered her eyes. “No. Almost, once, but… now… after all the years, I regret it.”
Tim was surprised. “Regret? Why?”
“Mom warned me, well, maybe not warned me, but certainly emphasized that women don't do that with women. They do it with men.” She laughed nervously, and went on, “Although she never stated exactly what it was. I knew.” Her eyes, so beautiful, gazed into his as she spoke. This was very personal. She laughed lightly with a shrug. “Too late to go back now, isn't it.” Her fingers closed around his.
She took another swallow of wine. “When I watched you make love to my… my Jacob, I marveled at how somehow it seemed right. My mother's words came back, and I told her to get lost!”
They sat, across the table from each other, silent for a moment.
“Can I ask you a question, personal too,” he said.
“Sure, what the hell. We're being so open here.”
“If a situation happened again, where you could make the choice with a woman, what would you do?”
Her face hardened as though struck, then softened. He sensed old prohibitions intruding.
“First, I'd not put myself into such a ‘situation,’ as you put it. I won't delude myself thinking it just happened, that I had no choice. I'll always have choice.” Then she nodded in agreement. “Look at what I'm faced with today. I never had the slightest inkling that Jacob had a gay side. He is so calm, quiet, accepting about his affair with you. Maybe I have one too. Does it mean I am willing to test it?” She smiled that enigmatic tilt of her lips. “I can't honestly say.”
Then continued, “Let's say that she is a woman I'm attracted to, perhaps. Unlike you, with a man, I've just never felt, uhm, sexy with a female.” She took another swallow of wine, tilting her head back to drain the glass. “Could I have another?” she asked holding her it out to him.
“There's no rush, Belle. Don't need to slug it down.” Nonetheless he lifted the bottle and tilted it carefully, for the wine was affecting him too. It splashed into her glass, making her giggle, not stopping until it filled the glass almost to the brim. He left it standing there on the table, topped out, ready to spill. When she took hold of the stem, she pulled it cautiously back across the table, and leaned down to put her lips on the brim, to drink from it without lifting it, and lowering the level.
“Hey, sailor, don't tell me how to drink!” She took another swallow, then another, until her glass was drained. Tim followed her lead, finishing his.
He was reaching for the bottle, when Belle touched his hand and said softly a suggestive tone to her voice., “Hey, sailor.”
He raised his eyes to hers expectantly. She had risen from her chair, standing above him, looking so vulnerable.
“Take me to bed. Make love to me.”