Single Mom - G-momma's Funeral free porn video

“Hey, baby,” sniffled Linda Perkins.
“Hey, mom! I missed your calls. I was seeing patients,” Rochelle explained.
“It’s okay. I was just calling to tell you G-momma passed away in the nursing home last night.”
“Oh my god! I’m so sorry, mama!”
The older woman sobbed, “Thank you! I’m workin’ on the arrangements with Paul and Dianne. I’ll let you know when the service is gonna be.”
“Okay! Take your time. Is Clarence around,” she inquired about her mother’s husband.
“He’s mowing the lawn.”
“Alright. I need to get back to work. I’ll call on my way home.”
“It’ll probably be next Saturday.”
“Alright, I’ll make plans. Take care, Love you!”
“Love you too! Bye bye.”

Rochelle tucked her phone back into the pocket of her lab coat. Today, she was working at St. Gregory General Hospital from 6:00 a.m. until 2:00 p.m. She had another hour to go. She wondered for only a moment why it would take a full nine days to bury G-momma. She remembered almost as quickly that there were a myriad of relatives that would have to travel more than 150 miles - a couple all the way in California. She also knew many of them would ‘need’ some financial assistance to make the trip. And of course, none of them could bear not saying goodbye to Auntie Bessie, G-momma, Mother Dear. or whatever they called ornery, old, battle axe.

Rochelle had never been especially close with the coarse woman who only seemed to like her older cousins that were the c***dren of her aunt, Carol Ann. The now deceased Bessie Walker gave birth to six c***dren, five of whom survived to adulthood. First was Carol Ann, then came Uncle Paul, Uncle James, Linda (Ro’s mom), Aunt Dianne, and Oscar, who died mere hours after being born.

Apparently, Carol Ann was always the apple of Bessie’s eye. And, her son, Albert the Third, and her daughter, Cecilie, held the same regard over everyone else. All the same Linda was a dutiful c***d taking care of Bessie through the years and forcing her k**s to have weekly Sunday dinner with the cranky lady. Everything anyone did was against her rules. Yet, and still, the woman was her grandmother and she would pay her last respects.

Rochelle usually spoke to the woman once every couple of months. If it was typically unpleasant before she transitioned from male-to-female, it was utterly nauseating after. Ro was determined to be the bigger person and sent a quarterly gift basket, not to mention birthday and Christmas cards with a present.

Rochelle completed her shift and administrative work then drove home in her white BMW. She drove quickly out of the city and into the suburbs where she resided with her two sons. She made it to Shand Lake Middle School with moments to spare. She was meeting with the school guidance counselor and Jeramiah’s literature and language arts teacher. The thirteen year-old was struggling in the early weeks of the school year and Rochelle saw no reason to let it get worse.

She walked into the office wearing her baby blue scrubs and bright yellow Crocs. Her short, permed hair was slicked down to her scalp. The occupants stood up. The counselor started, “Good afternoon!”

“Good afternoon Jack, Ms. Hamilton,” Rochelle smiled.
“Nice to see you again, Ms. Stewart,” the classroom teacher said.
“Dr. Stewart,” the former National Achievement Scholar hissed.
“My apologies,” mumbled the little white girl.
“To what do we owe the pleasure, Dr. Stewart?,” Jack checked.
“Jack, please call me Rochelle. First of all thanks for meeting me on short notice. I wanted to talk about my son’s academic performance thus far.”
“Okay. What’s going on?”
“Well, Jeramiah hasn’t gotten a grade of higher than a C-minus on any assignment.”
“Rochelle, it’s still earlier in the year,” he reminded her.
The teacher was emblazoned and chimed in, “There’s only been three graded assignments so far. He has plenty of time to make that up.:

“This is where we disagree. My son learns differently than most c***dren his age. I thought we were very clear when we meet near the end of the summer that ALL of his teachers would ensure he had additional time to complete tests and would also be given additional work as needed to help him master a topic. I’m not sure this happening or that the grading is equitable.”

“Now, Dr. Stewart let’s slow down here,” Jack cautioned.
“Don’t try to placate me, Jack. I would like a review of the graded assignments by his language arts teacher from last year. I know his work is at least a solid ‘B’. I check his homework and prep him for tests,” Rochelle shared.

“Sometimes, when a student is struggling, it can be because of issues at home. What is Jeramiah’s relationship with his father,” inquired the annoying tart.
“It’s virtually non-existent. His biological father is in prison for life. I adopted him and his brother out of foster care two years ago. Our home is stable. Jere has done very up to this point. He doesn’t seem to have the same struggles with science, math, or social studies.”
“Perhaps, participating in collaborative education for language arts…”
“No ma’am. My son WILL NOT be placed in a segregated room to be treated like chattel while a teacher attempts to teach all subject to thirty k**s at different grade levels.”

Jack cleared his throat, “I think it’s a great idea for us to take a second look at his work and adjust the grading if necessary.”
“Thank you!”

He quizzed Ms. Hamilton. “Have you been giving Mr. Stewart the agreed upon 75 minutes to complete exams?”
“I let him start earlier than the other students in a separate room while I do the pre-test review,” she admitted.
“So you’re prepping everyone, but my son. Come on, Jack,” Jerry’s mom protested

“Ms. Hamilton, how do you think we can rectify this?”
“I can keep him in the room while we review and if he hasn’t finished by the time class ends, I’ll make arrangements with teacher support to schedule the additional time.”
“I like that idea. Any thoughts, Rochelle?”
“I think that’s fair,” the physician agreed, I would still like another pair of eyes to look at his graded work.”
“Ms. Hamilton, please review the assignments and if you’re still certain they received the correct mark, we can get the department chair to take a gander.”
“Okay,” grumbled the defeated teacher.

Rochelle stood. “Thank you both for your time and your help! I look forward to working closely with both of you this academic year. My son has had many cards stacked against him his whole life. As his mother, it’s my duty to advocate for educational and learning needs. I intend for him to become a fully functional citizen and civic participation in society. I think you’ll agree, Jack, that he has improved each semester. I know he may not be a straight ‘A’ student, but he certainly has the wherewithal to achieve more than a C-minuses.”

They wished her a good day. Rochelle left without collecting her son since he had football practice after school. He played cornerback for the JV Mustangs. He was a good bit bigger than most of the other boys that could normally play his position. Rochelle was already shopping for him and big-and-tall stores, but it was still assumed that men were tall-and-slim or big-and-short - not actually big AND tall.

Her other son, Coree, also played football. But he was a wide receiver on the varsity team.

She made it home and jumped in the shower. It was her routine to wash her day away as soon as she got home. It gave her closure and solace. She put on a pastel tee and some athletic shorts. She lotioned her legs and arms with cocoa butter then went into the kitchen. The boys would be home around 5:15. Coach Owens, the father of Jeramiah’s best friend, agreed to drop the boys at home after practice each day. This was a huge help for the times when Rochelle worked 2:00 p.m. until 10:00 p.m.

Her meal plan for week indicated that tonight’s dinner was pork tenderloin, crispy garlic & rosemary new potatoes, and fresh-cut green beans. She set down all of her ingredients to begin meal prep. She called her mom. They talked for a few minutes before Carol Ann beeped in.

Rochelle heard the garage door open. They boys came through trekking mud. “Cleats,” she yelled.

“My bad,” Coree said stopping in tracks.
“Sorry,” Jeramiah begged.
“Coach needs to take a leak. I told him he could come in,” Coree advised her on his way to his room.
“Very well,” Rochelle relented.

Herron Owens emerged from the powder room. “Thanks for the relief, Ro!”
“No problem!”
“Care for something to drink,” she asked.
“Actually, I would. Got a cold beer?”
“Yep!” She pulled a bottle of Bud Light from the fridge. Bottle opener’s in the drawer to the right of the stove.”
“Don’t need one. Got one on my keychain,” he smirked.

“Okay, Coach Lush,” taunted Rochelle.
“Whatever. But I must say I’m pretty selective about what kind I drink.”
“Is that so. What do you like?”
“Cold beer,” he chuckled.
“Dad joke,” she winked.
“Still made you smile.”

“How’s Chara,” the homeowner directed the conversation to his wife.
“Good. Real good.” He took a gulp and sighed.
“Glad to hear. I’m sure she’s cooking something good tonight.”
“Whatever it is. She’ll have to put me a plate in the microwave. I gotta go back to the school to watch some film.”
“Oh my! Would you like a sandwich or something to go?”
“No. I can’t impose.”
“Suit yourself.”

“You know,” Herron moved closer. “If you ever needed any help around the house or yard work done, you can always call me.”
“Thanks,” she half-smiled. “I think the boys and I can manage.”
“You’re a great mom. And, I respect that, but those boys can’t fulfill all your needs. I gotta run. Thanks for the beer.”

The man set the empty bottle on the counter and saw himself to his truck.

Rochelle called the boys for dinner. They ate together in the nook and discussed their day. She cleared the dishes while they went back to doing homework.

Jeramiah came to her once he had completed his work. Rochelle looked over the work and pointed out a question she had on his math and also quizzed him a little on grammar & spelling. Overall, the work looked good - solid B. She talked him through some errors and had him rework those elements in front of her. He understood the concepts now. She beamed with pride. “Good job, son,” she lauded him.

“Thanks, ma,” Jere blushed.

At 10:15, Rochelle checked the e-Basket. It was where the boys were supposed to put their phones, tablets, and laptops at 10:00 each school night - everything was accounted for. They both were to bathe at night and be in bed by 10:30 with the lights out. She walked to their wing of the house and told them they’d be going to Bibi’s house next weekend for G-momma’s funeral. They offered sympathy. She told each good night and went to her own room.

Rochelle’s schedule for Friday and Saturday was 10:00 p.m. to 6:00 a,m. After that, she was off Sunday and Monday. She’d already alerted the managing partner and the H.R. admin of her grandmother’s death via email. She requested the allotted 72-hour bereavement time for the following Saturday, Sunday, and Thursday..

Rochelle was up and at it by 6:00. She boiled some eggs, heated up a pack of pre-cooked bacon, and toasted a few bagels and hashbrowns. The boys came to life slowly as usual. Coree stammered through the kitchen to retrieve his phone before disappearing again. Jere was already in the bathroom getting ready.

They emerged dressed casually with an almost urban flair. Rochelle placed plates in front of them. They scarfed down the food quickly. They heard the school bus and headed for the door. Rochelle reminded them to snag their insulated lunch bags that were filled with goodies.

She swept the floors and then vacuumed. She planned to putz around the house until 11:00 and then take a nap until the boys got back from school. They’d have dinner and she’d catch another two hours of snooze time before work.

She wondered who all would be at the funeral. And, who all she would see. She hadn’t talked to her c***dhood best friend, Monica, in over year. She knew her parents still lived there, but the big city national news producer rarely made it back home. It was not as if Rochelle returned often either. Rochelle last visit there was five months ago for her mother’s birthday. She’d run into Mr. Huntley, Monica’s dad. In the pharmacy. He was still as handsome as ever with silver traces in hair and moustache. They ended up fucking that evening. That’s when he told her his daughter was going through a messy divorce.

Rochelle thought back to Monica’s fifteenth birthday. Of course, she was Ricky back then. The two were very close, but only girls were allowed to sleepover. An exception was made for Ricky. George Huntley had offered to let the boy spend the night in the basement. In order to ensure there was no hanky panky, Moncia’s pops would also sleep down there.

At midnight, George told the girls it was time to get in their sleeping bags and that RIcky should head downstairs. His wife was had already been asleep for a couple hours having popped a couple of night time over-the-counter pain relievers. RIcky noticed the entertainment system complete with big screen TV, VCR, and stereo. He turned on the radio. It wa 1990 and Bell Biv Devoe was playing Ricky danced and sang along. Mr. Huntley entered the room and turned down the music. He remarked, “I see you got some good moves, k**!”

“Thanks,” Ricky smiled.
“Don’t stop on my account. I’m gonna fix a drink and put in a movie if you wanna watch.”
“What movie?”
“Pet Sematary.”
“Oh! I don’t like scary movies. I’m too much of a sissy,” Ricky giggled.
“I bet you are,” grinned the thirty-nine year-old, five-foot-eleven man with a 36-waist. “Uncle George’ll protect you.”
“Cool. I’ll watch it.”
“Want something? I have soda and Kool-aid.”
“Kool-aid please.”

George poured a cup for Ricky. He added some pineapple juice and a shot of vodka. He handed it to his guest and told him it was ‘special punch’. They sat on the couch as the movie started.

“This punch is really good, Mr. Huntley,” Ricky opined.
George nodded, “Good. Just let me know if you want some more.”

Ricky requested a refill and George took the opportunity to fix another tumber of Canadian Mist. He also took off his green polo revealing the A-shirt he’d been wearing underneath. He sat back on the opposite end of the couch and pulled down a blanket from the back of the sofa.

“This lets out into a bed,” Mr. Huntley shared. “ I can pause it and do that real quick. We’ll be able to sit up with the cushions behind us. What ya think?”
“Sounds good to me. I’m feeling a li’l warm\,” Ricky gushed.
“Me too. That’s why I took off my shirt. You can too.”
“Then I won’t have a top.”
“Hmmmm...If you really want one, I’m sure I can rustle up a tank top from the laundry room.”
“I think I’d like that,” the boi winked.

George finished setting up the sofa bed. He retrieved a lavender cami that was part of one his daughter’s pajama sets. “Here,” he tossed the garment at Ricky.

“Thank you,” the brilliant sophomore purred.
“You’re welcome, baby boi,” George consoled him verbally. “So why no girlfriend or do you have a crush on Monica.”
“Oh no. We’re simply B-F-Fs. I’m really focused on school right now. I don’t think my mom would be too pleased if I were chasing girls.”
“Smart young man. Women are too much trouble anyway.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, they nag you all the time. And always wanna talk about their feeling. Then when they’re mad at you, they won’t tell you why but expect you to already know what set them off.”
“Sounds tiring.”
“It is.”

The plant foreman yawned and asked, “Do you want to get under the covers?”
“Yeah,” Ricky confirmed scootin closer.
“Look I’ll sleep on the floor after the movie goes off.”
“Why? We could just share this bed. There’s enough space.”
“You know what? You’re absolutely right.”
“May I have some more punch.”

George obliged but put a smaller amount of vodka in the drink this time.

They watched. At intensely scary parts, Ricky would cringe and tuck his head in Mr. Huntley’s chest. George ended up wrapping his arm around the guest’s shoulders.

Ricky declared, “If somebody saw us they might think we were on a date.”
“They probably would. But nobody can get down here tonight.”
“Oh cool!”
“So, if it’s a date, then it’s just me and you. Uncle George and Sweetie Boi.”
“That’s cool.”
“Do you think you’d date someone like me when you get older?”
Ricky surprised himself saying, “Hell yeah! I’d date you right now if I could.”
“And what would we do?”
“Go to the movies. Go out to eat. Spend time in the park. Go swimming.”
“Anything else?”
“I guess we’d make out.”
“Oh really? Like how? You can show me.”

Ricky eased up and turned his body so that he was straddling George face-to-face. “Like this,” the boi giggled. He pressed his full, tender, pink lips to Mr. Huntley’s. He felt the coarse moustache scratch and tickle his skin. He enjoyed how Monica’s dad’s hands were roaming up and down his back. He loved that this man was kissing him back. Soon, they were in an all out tongue-wrestling match. This was so much more comfortable than when Buck or his friends made him do them favors.

George slid his mammoth hands down the back of Ricky’s sweatpants. He tapped the boi’s booty hole. “It’s nice and warm, baby,” he whispered.
“You got me all worked up, Mr. Huntley.”
“You want Uncle George to fuck his Sweetie Boi.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Take out my dick and let me see ya skills.”

Ricky swallowed the six-and-a-half-inch, super thick tool. His jaws were stretched to the max.

“That’s good, Sweetie Boi,” the man coaxed him.

Eventually, Uncle George lifted Sweetie Boi onto his lap. He’d been planning this encounter for a while now and reached down into the tub of Vaseline that was sitting on the floor next to the couch. He massaged it on his cock then eased Ricky down.

Sweetie Boi winced, “Ooh.”
“Take it slow, baby boi,” Uncle George informed him.

Once Ricky had the fat dick inside of him, he raised and lowered himself slowly. His young, tight pussy gripped the hell of the beer-can-esque member.

“Damn, this boipussy is good,” Mr. Huntley groaned.
“I love the way you fuck my little faggot pussy, Uncle George,” purred the high school sissy.
“Yeah, Sweetie Boi. Give Uncle George that cute, li’l faggit ass.”

Mr. Huntley pounded Ricky three times in total before they emerged from their lair. They joined the cackling girls in the kitchen where Mrs. Huntley was making pancakes and sausage links. The library assistant asked her husband, “Can you start the eggs, George?”

Ricky and Uncle George had sex with one another three to four times a week. Mrs. Huntley never found out, but may have been suspicious because she eventually turned from OTC sleeping meds to prescription d**gs.

That had been a world ago reflected Rochelle. She watched some daytime talk shows and drifted to sleep.

When the boys got home from practice, Coach Owens needed to use the restroom again. Rochelle smiled, but was annoyed. She wondered why he was incapable of urinating before he left the school. Nonetheless, he did not linger this day which made her happy. She checked to see how their day had been and told them that spaghettis & meatballs, garlic bread, and salad were ready whenever they wanted. She headed to bed so she could rise at 8:30 to check Jeramiah’s homework before her shift.

The next few days passed uneventfully. The only interesting thing was a cardiology fellow at St. George’s that was trying to catch her attention. His name was Hugo Haile Alazar. She ran into the mocha-complexioned, five-foot-eleven, slender, athletic doctor in the cafeteria. She was sitting alone eating blackened catfish, mushroom risotto, and green beans.

“Excuse me,” the man with the intoxicating smile said. “May I sit?”
“Be my guest,” Rochelle replied.
“I’m Hugo by the way. Pleased to meet you!”
“Likewise. I’m Rochelle.”
“That’s a nice French name.”
“Merci!”
“Mais oui! Parlez-vous francais?”
“Oh no...You’ve exhausted my command of the French language.”
“No worries. I’d be happy to teach you if you ever wanna learn.”
“Oh, you speak French,” she looked amazed.
Hugo cleared his throat, “Yep. Also, Amharic. And, obviously, English.”
“I’m impressed.”
“That’s good for me.”
“So how did you learn all that?”
“I’m a half-breed,” he joked badly. “My mother is French and my father is Ethiopian. But, I grew up in Toronto.”
“How neat.”

They continued making general conversation as they finished lunch. Hugo was having the Salisbury steak and the same risotto that she was having. He also had a small side salad that looked a little sad with only one tomato wedge, two cucumbers, and a miniscule amount of cheese.

Done eating, Hugo said, “I hope to run into you again.”
“I’m sure you will,” Rochelle replied.
“Good. Good. Good. You know what?”
“What?”
“I’ve only been here for three months and I don’t have any local friends yet. Would you join me for coffee tomorrow?”
“I can’t. I have to go out of town for a funeral tomorrow.”
“My condolences. I’ll keep that invitation on ice till you get back.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Could I get your number?”

Rochelle asked for his phone and keyed it in.

“Ro-shell,” Hugo said as he updated the contact info.

That evening at home, she prepared for the three-hour drive they would make the next morning. She had already informed the administration at each school about the death and missing Friday for travel. Rochelle did not want to encourage her sons missing classes, but she allowed an exception for this one day. She sat down and called her sister.

“Hey, Ro,” Melissa Stubberfield answered.
“Hiya, sis,” Rochelle beamed. “How are you?”
“Doing pretty good. And, you?”
“No complaints. Just getting ready to for the drive down tomorrow.”
“Cool! What time are you getting there?”
“Uhh...I told the boys we’d leave out by 7:30. We’ll stop and get some breakfast on the way. So probably a little before noon.”
“That’s great! I’ll be there by 2:00. Are you staying the Hampton Inn?”
“We are.”

“I need to book a room there,” Melissa thought aloud.
“You’re welcome to bunk with me,” the younger sister offered. “The boys are staying with mom and Mr. Clarence.”
“Thanks, dear! But I’m not gonna impose.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Are Julian and Zara coming?”
“No . I’m coming alone. Julian has to help with his dad. And, I don’t feel like dragging Z down there for this drama.”
“I get it. When are you leaving?”
“Sunday. As soon as I check out.”
“Wow!”
“I don’t know why you’re shocked G-momma didn’t like us. Our relationship was never strong. I’m just coming to support Mama.”
“I feel you!”

“So, I’ve invited Mama and Clarence to eat breakfast with me Sunday morning at the hotel. Then, I’m out,” the elementary school teacher stated.
“Nice! I guess we’ll join you guys. We’re going to leave after church service,” shared Rochelle.
“Sounds good!”
“Cool beans. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Love you, Ro!”
“Love ya back!”

Rochelle, Coree, and Jeramiah pulled reached the city limits at 11:37 a.m. They drove directly to Clarence & Linda Perkins’ address. Upon arrival at the 1500-square-foot, three-bedroom, two-bathroom, one-story house, they were greeted by the man of the house coming out of the garage.

“Hey y’all,” Clarence smiled broadly. “Your mom’s at the funeral home with Paul and Dianne.”
“Hi, Mr. Clarence,” Rochelle exchanged pleasantries.
“Papa Cee, wazzuuuuup,” Coree barked.
“Pape Cee,” exclaimed Jeramiah.
“How are my favorite grandsons,” the sixty-six-year-old inquired hugging the younger one then the older.”
“Good,” Jere shared.
“How’s football practice?”
“We got a good squad this year. I think we can take the regional championship with a good shot at winning state,” opined the high school sophomore.
“Nice and confident. I gotta check y’all out,” Papa Cee said.
“My team is pretty good. I’m ready to get on varsity though,” Jere declared.
“Don’t rush it, son. It’ll be here sooner than you think. Make sure I get a copy of the schedule. Bibi and I wanna come to the first home game.”
“We both have home games in two weeks. Jere on Thursday. Me on Friday night.”
“We’ll be there!”

They moved inside and unpacked. Clarence had been grilling a Boston butt and frying a turkey. Though he was preparing the meat for the repast, the Mount Olive MB Church missionary society had purchased it. He had thrown on a few wings as well. He offered them a plate. There was a veritable smorgasbord of casseroles, green & yellow veggies, and cakes. Jeramiah and Coree ate some of everything.

Linda returned home and hugged her daughter and grandsons. She informed Rochelle that the warden approved Buck for funeral leave. He would be transported to arrive an hour before so he could view the body privately. Then, he was allowed one-hour post service. Yes, he could change into a suit. No, he didn’t have one. Yes, there was cost involved - a total of $600.

“Who’s paying for it,” Rochelle asked.
“I am,” Linda proclaimed.
“Mom,” Rochelle protested. “And how much have you put on the funeral?”
“Five.”
“Thousand?!?!?”
“I mean I had that life insurance policy on mama just for this.”
“How much was it for?”
“Fifteen.”
“You’re giving away a third. How much is everyone else chipping in?”
“Paul got the volunteer fire department banquet hall for the repast. He and Dianne are splitting the headstone cost.”
“What about Carol Ann or Uncle James?”
“You know James don’t have no money really. And Carol Ann is just being her stingy self.”
“But I’m sure they both had to plenty to say about how the arrangements should be handled,” Rochelle hissed. “I don’t even wanna know if you offered to assist anybody to get here/ Please don’t spend another dime.”
“I’m not. I just gotta go get Buck a suit.”
“I’ll go with you and I’ll pay for it.”
“Thank you,” the woman now known as ‘Bibi’. “I’m gonna give each of the grandk**s $500. Then, I’m keeping the rest.”
“I’ll allow it,” the daughter sneered. “I still share Carol Ann should reimburse you a couple grand.”
“Hush now. Let it go!”

Linda rode in the passenger seat to men’s clothing retailer. She selected a navy wool-blend, two-button, slim-fit suit with a subtle tic pattern. It was by Perry Ellis and cost $129.99. She added a classic white dress shirt for $29.99, a wine-red striped skinny tie at $14.99, a 3-pack of charcoal socks priced at $9.99, and a pair of black square-toe dress shoes for $49.99.

The mother and daughter duo lugged the goods to the cashier. Rochelle handed the lady her American Express card to cover the tab.

“Thank you so much, baby,” Linda wept meekly.
“You’re welcome, mama. It’s okay to not do everything for everyone,” Rochelle comforted the woman.

Later that evening, Melissa had arrived and so had Randall. Surprisingly, Leah decided to join him on the trip and bring along their seven year-old daughter, Yasmin. Everyone was laughing and joking. Linda had called Mr. Clarence while on the way home from buying the suit to ask if he would throw some burgers and hot dogs on the grill. He suggested that they do pork tenderloin and then knock out some of the dishes the community brought for the bereaved family. He asked her to buy some boneless chicken breast so he could make tenders for Yasmin. She thought it was a grand idea so she assented.

Rochelle noticed that her mother looked almost content. She offered to get a room for the boys so Randall and his family could have more room at the small, but perfectly sized for empty-nesters, house. Linda protested as did Mr. Clarence. Randall chimed in that Leah and Yasmin would stay at the Hampton inn, while he and the boys would bunk at 1101 Applewood Road.

The morning of the funeral arrived. Linda had requested that none of her c***dren ride together in the procession. Any extra seats they had would be needed by relations without the use of a vehicle. The plan was to meet at Uncle Paul’s new modular, tiny house to line up the caravan. In the lead, were the Perkinses in Clarence’s metallic brown 4-door 2015 Ford F-150.. Rochelle was in the Cadillac SRX, of course. Melissa drove a platinum-colored 2014 Infiniti QX50, and Randall’s brood was in his black 2016 Toyota Avalon.

Only about a fourth of the people were there, Rochelle was curious to see the inside. It was 399 square-feet with a single bedroom and bathroom plus a sleeping loft. Not only cute, but totally functional, Rochelle loved it. The stragglers began to arrive. All in all, they left Uncle Paul’s tight at ten minutes behind schedule. ‘CPT’, she thought.

A great aunt and her two snot-nosed grandk**s piled in with Melissa. Randall carted a cousin, Errol, who had clearly been hitting the sauce this morning along with the man’s two biracial c***dren. His wife and c***d rode with Rochelle and the boys. Clarence carried one of Linda’s uncles and his wife along with Taylor, Buck’s daughter. Linda was in the stretch Chrysler C300 with her sibling and two brothers-in-law.

The Rev. Marshall WIlliams officiated the service while Linda’s first-cousin, Evangelist Beatrice Hall, visiting from Michigan, delivered a powerful eulogy. The teeny church was filled to the brim. Buck was already seated with a plain-clothed off-duty policeman standing beside him. Linda sat next to her oldest c***d. Acknowledgements were made. Resolutions read. And reflections given.

The processional headed to the cemetery for the committing of the body. Afterwards, it drove to the Varner Hill volunteer fire department for the repast. The congregations from Olivet Church of God in Christ and St. John African Methodist Episcopal Church partnered to cater the repast. There was the obligatory fried chicken plus the meats Clarence prepared. Green beans - plain and in casserole form, mashed potatoes, corn, field peas, collard greens, baked beans, mac and cheese, deviled eggs, candied yams, and baked pizza spaghetti casserole. The desserts included several cakes - caramel, red velvet, lemon pound, german chocolate - along with chocolate pie, lemon meringue pie, and egg custard pie.

The law enforcement officer broke protocol and allowed Buck to meet with his immediate family in a side room. He approached Mrs. Perkins while they stood in the serving line and said, “That was a lovely service. I think I can spare about fifteen minutes for some private family time. Just c***dren, parents, and siblings and their k**s.” Linda thanked him profusely. Corporal Lance Atkins stood observing respectfully from the corner.

Linda hugged Buck tightly. Followed by the rest of the family. His embrace with Ro lingered a moment. His daughter cried which made Linda do the same thing. He barely knew his niece, but she had colored him a picture. He told his family how happy he was to see them and his plans to transfer to work release within the next two months. The armed escort hinted that he needed to get on the road. They walked out back where the unmarked Dodge Charger Pursuit from Lewisville PD was parked.

Rochelle ate at a table with great-uncle, Ben, his wife, Etta, Uncle Paul’s son, Greg, Carol Ann, Cecilie and her dipwad husband, and Errol.

Auntie Etta stated, “The service was beautiful. And that eulogy just moved my spirit.
Uncle Ben smiled. Rochelle nodded.
Carol Ann mused, “We put mama away real nice. God rest her soul.”
Ro mumbled, “What do you mean “we”?”
“I didn’t hear you, Ricky,” the sadiddy woman glared.
“My name is Rochelle and I asked who is “we”.”
“Me and my siblings of course.”
“Oh you mean Linda put her away real nice then. With Paul and Dianne taking care of burial and headstone.”
“Well, I…”
“What,” she hissed.
“Rochelle, calm down,” Cecilie pleaded. She truly loved her cousin yet had to be loyal to her mom.
“No, Cecilie. I want your mother to be honest for once.”
The dipstick in-law interjected, “Ladies. Let’s all be civil.”

“Hey...Hey you,” slurred Errol. “Don’t talk to my cousins like that or I’ll take you out back.”
“Oh, Errol,” admonished Carol Ann.
He popped off, “Shut up Carol Ann. You think you better than the rest of us. But you just a miserable, selfish person.
“Errol,” gasped Cecilie.
“Dude, this isn’t the time or place,” exerted the unhelpful man.
“Nigga, shut yo’ muthfafuckin’ face ‘foe I whoop yo’ ass fah real,” Errol howled as he stood up.

Now, the room was quiet with all on the inebriated grandson of the deceased.

“Let’s just go,” huffed Carol Ann. “My family is still true to form. Country hood rats. Now that Mama is gone, I don’t have to subject myself to these shenanigans.”
“It’s not like you did when she was alive,” snarled Ro. “Cecilie, Fred, have a nice day!”

Carol Ann threw her Michael Kors hobo bag over and shoulder and stormed out. Her daughter and son-in-law tucked their tails following her.

Eventually, the meal resumed amid whispers and light tension.

Linda chided her daughter when they returned home, but Melissa and Randall defended their sister.

Later, at the hotel, Rochelle readied herself for company. George Huntley knocked on the door. She invited him and before they touched the bed they were making out with unabated passion.

George pulled off her negligee and set her on the pillowtop mattress. He took out his dick stuffing it into her mouth. She gagged as he face fucked her. Slobber ran down her cheeks and onto the sheets.

Mr. Huntley belted, “Get on your back, faggit!”
Rochelle turned over, “Yes, Uncle George.”
“That’s right,” he spanked her rotund booty.

The b**st began thrusting his hard cock in and out of her soft, warm asspussy.

“Fuck me, Uncle George! Fuck me,” she wailed.
“Take this dick, pussyboi! Gimme that good ass pussy,” howled George.

They fucked until George came on her luscious fake tits. He had to get home to his wife, but it was just the release Rochelle needed.