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Julie By Waldo([email protected]) All rights reserved by the Author. This may be posted on web sites or BBS where stories are distributed for free; just send me an e-mail telling me where you've posted it. It's an adult story. Author's Note: Some of you might recognize some of this story. This was started about three years ago and even partially released to a list of readers where it had been stopped at a point. It then sat while other things were worked on. However, it bugged me because there was a little more that could be done with this plot. I think I do everything morally wrong in here except shoot the President. I break all of the 10 commandants a couple of hundred times. But overall, I think that you'll find it interesting. To those that have read it before, I did some voice changes to give it a little more interest and also added a little plot to the original document. Then I added about 50 pages to what I turned loose before to change the flow. It also caused me to do the old "shall I hold onto this a little longer while I finish it" routine. I decided to turn it loose at this point because it's got about another 120-150 pages in my desired story line. So I picked an interesting point to break it off, trying to create a sort of "Who shot JR" type of ending. As usual, this story is intended for adults and may be distributed on any site where free distribution of stories is permitted by the management. Just send me an e-mail to let me know where. Have a good day. Waldo ****** Chapter 1 - Nirvana The concept of Nirvana means different things to different people. To me, it means being in my Florida apartment with Julie Harris; my girlfriend and future wife. Aside from being with her, all I need from life is a breath of fresh air, a slice of bread and a sip of water. She is my everything; my reason for living. She knows that I love her and she constantly uses that knowledge against me; in a very loving and teasing manner. I can't deny her anything that she requests from me. All she has to do is to simply crinkle her nose a little as she smiles her beautiful little smile, revealing that delightful dimple, and send me a gleaming tinkle from her deep ocean-blue eyes. That is all it takes for me to become her very willing slave. It also helps when she applauds my efforts to be a poet, knowing that I want to make my living by being a poet someday. I love to see the magic in everyday occurrences and to use words to pass along that same magic to my readers. She is the inspiration for some of my best verses, such as this delightful little verse: Her beautiful, perky nipples are like ice cream, Anytime that I look at her bod, I want to scream, Staring at her full sweater, I can only dream, Thinking about her fills my shorts with cream. So everyone but me knows that most of my writing sucks. That's why I am an unemployed writer. I survive by working as a waiter in the evening and as a lifeguard during the day at a hotel's pool. That's where I met Julie. She used to work in the hotel's gift shop as a stock clerk and cashier. Her first day of employment at the hotel, was the day that I fell in love with her. After all, she had all of the natural prerequisites; a vivacious personality, short natural blonde hair, a perky nose, full voluptuous lips, twinkling blue eyes, and a natural cleavage that a plastic surgeon's silicone can't emulate. I can write a novel about her luscious, perfect boobs. She claim's it's because I'm a boob man. But a set of 37C pert tits on a five-foot two-inch body that weighs only one hundred and nine pounds, is more than enough to keep my cock flying at full erection all night. The rest of her twenty-one year old body isn't bad either. The rest of her body can be described as a perfectly rounded ass free of cellulite, narrow waist, and gorgeous legs. If I wasn't a tit fanatic, I would be a leg man. After all, shapely legs not only look good but also provide a very delightful sensation when properly wrapped around either my neck or hips. Both of us consider ourselves to be orphans although she knows that her parents are still alive. She's got an abusive stepfather and an alcoholic mother who is too afraid of her husband to protect her daughter from his drunken rampages. But they don't know where Julie is or care where she is. My darling Julie ran away from her home three years ago when her stepfather unzipped his trousers one time too many times. The hard plastic of a nearby telephone connecting with his equally hard head, resulted in a quick opportunity for her to immediately escape his clutches. Since then, she's lived on her own; doing whatever it takes to put food on her table; sometimes holding down two or three jobs. Only once did she sell her body and she vowed never to do that again; preferring the honor of working as a waitress in a fast food restaurant at minimum wage to the disgrace of knowing that she had lost her self respect. She's got a lot of pride in herself and just wants to find the right man. I'm hoping that's me. I'm two years older - twenty-three and everyone tells me that I'm extremely handsome for a man; even Pete, the limp-wrist manager of the restaurant where I work as a waiter. But that's another story that I don't want to get into at this time. I'm six foot one, one hundred and eighty pounds of basketball developed muscle, short-cropped dark hair and could probably make my living as a model. You know, a model is one of those guys who let their picture be taken while leaning against a wall wearing nothing but their undershorts and a gold twinkling earring. I don't wear an earring because I don't believe in that sissy stuff. My only shortcoming is my big nose but Julie pooh-poohs my concerns by claiming that it adds ruggedness and more masculinity to my classic handsome face. And my name is John Kimball, Junior. But calling me John or Junior is close to being fighting words for me. I hate that name because it brings up too many painful memories of my father, John Kimball Senior. So I answer to the nickname given me many years ago which is Johnny or JJ. I prefer Johnny because it creates a youthful, sexy image. Like Julie, I'm an orphan, but my parents ran away from me and may still be alive somewhere. Yes, they really did abandon me. I don't remember much about my parents because they traveled a lot when I was little, leaving me with different nannies for several weeks at a time. I was a late-in-life baby, being born when my parents were in their late thirties. It was an accident because neither of my parents wanted children and they both thought that my mother was beyond the age where she could get pregnant. When they found out different, it was too late in the pregnancy and my mother was too far along for any doctor to abort the fetus - me - that she was carrying. Then when I was seven, they didn't come back after one of their frequent trips. Or call. Or write. That nanny eventually went to the police but my parent's lawyer showed the police some paperwork. I didn't find out until years later that the mysterious paperwork appointed the lawyer as my guardian. So from the time that I was seven until I turned eighteen, I lived with whatever nanny or baby-sitter that the lawyer hired to meet the state laws. At eighteen, I was on my own so I left. I don't know what really happened to my parents or actually care at this advanced stage in my life. They didn't care enough about me to be there when I needed them all those years or to even send me a rubber-stamped Christmas card. Every year the lawyer came by the house on my birthday with his secretary de jour, a birthday cake, a child's gift for me, and a card supposedly from my parents. The birthday card signatures never matched an old letter from my parents so I always suspected that it was the secretary's handwriting where she forged their signature. Then on my sixteenth birthday, the lawyer and his current plastic- surgeon-augmented secretary came by to wish me happy birthday. The lawyer's present to me that year was that he left the typically short birthday party very early, leaving his voluptuous secretary who christened my manhood and explained many of the life's mysteries that a young man needs to know, in that one wonderful night. My life or my cock was never the same after that unforgettable all-night birthday party. The loss of my virginity was my best present - ever! My seventeenth and eighteenth birthday gifts were the same, except that the lawyer gave me the remains of my trust, three thousand dollars, and bade me farewell on my eighteenth. I was on my own. Thanks to that secretary's birthday gift, I discovered that pussy was one of those mysterious sensational delights that you can't get enough of. Half of the people on earth have a pussy and the other half spend all of their time trying to find some pussy. Well, nine-tenths of the other half are trying to find pussy. My restaurant boss falls into that one-tenth category. Pete goes out of his way to avoid pussy, "preferring to lick the sticky lollypop instead of probing the honeypot" to quote one of his more common gay expressions. I like Pete and although he jokingly hits on me a lot, we have a mutual understanding; he drools over me and I ignore him. But in return for listening to his constant sexually explicit innuendoes, and not filing a sexual harassment complaint against him, I get to work the schedule that blends in with my other job and love life. He admits that he's gay and wants to indoctrinate me into "the seductive mysteries of life that a mere cunt can never provide" - another of his common expressions. I have enough confidence in my manhood so that I can listen to him and not feel threatened by his sexually barbed suggestions. The first couple of weeks that I knew Pete, some of the things that he said shook me up a little bit at first but eventually I began to enjoy his witty repartee, discovering that he had a sense of humor similar to my humor. And that his comments were only joking comments to keep both of us from going crazy and were never serious suggestions. As an example of his humor, whenever an above-average attractive couple was in the restaurant, Pete would whisper that he'd take the man on, if I'll find someway to keep the man's wife busy. Or dare me to spill soup in the man's lap so that Pete could wipe him clean with his towel. Pete and I have a sort of friendship because of the many hours that we spend every week, serving the people that wander through the restaurant. After my best friend moved away, Pete stepped into that spot, even though we have some serious basic philosophic differences and very different sexual orientation. We don't bar hop together, but have plenty of time to sit around talking almost every night as we wait for that last customer to leave. I tell him as much about my experiences at eating pussy as he tells me about his experiences in sucking cock. I feel the same revulsion about having a cock in my mouth as he has, for using a pussy as God intended. Pete is the only person that Julie doesn't get along with because of Pete's obvious desires for my body. I love Julie's pussy - it's so sweet and creamy. We have an arrangement whereby we make love whenever the other one wants it - no matter where we are. We've made love in the floor of her closed gift shop's cashier booth (her suggestion), in the back seat of an old abandoned Volkswagen bug, on a surfboard (my suggestion) floating out beyond the breakers, and in a couple of different janitor closets. That's in addition to our normal at-home sex. We share a very small studio apartment where the couch is also our bed at night. The neighbors on the floor below have complained a couple of times about the late night movements of our couch across the floor as we release our passions for each other. And she loves my cock. Whether she's sucking me or riding me, she can't get enough. She's constantly coming back for seconds and thirds. Because of our work schedules, we don't have much free time together and spend all of our time in our little apartment. As soon as we walk through our small apartment's door, both of us strip out of the work clothes that we hate; my waiter's suit for me and her "official" dress and change into our "comfortable" clothes. Julie's ideal job would be one that would permit her to wear shorts and a halter-top; instead of having to sashay around her job at a gift shop as if she were a model prancing down a fashion runway. For someone that looks as good as she does when she's all dolled up in a dress, it's amazing that she hates dressing up; preferring to be seen in public wearing shorts, a loose sweat shirt and sandals. She would love to be shipwrecked on an island where she didn't have to ever put on makeup, a bra, a dress, or wear those most abominable high heels again. Her job requires her to wear a some-what revealing dress and two-inch heels. A combination which I've suggested, might be grounds for a sex discrimination lawsuit. One night, when she was lying naked on top of me; her warm matted pussy hair rubbing against me as we enjoyed the mutual rosy afterglow of a mutual orgasm, she told me about her misadventures at work earlier that day. She whispered to me about how her manager constantly stared at her butt as she walked around the store. I whispered back that she had the most beautiful butt in the world and every man watched her butt; excluding Pete. She whispered back that the only reason that her job required her to wear high heels, was because it made her butt stick up more and looked more feminine. My response was "So?" which didn't go over too good with her current feminist attitude. The following morning, she made me prance around the apartment with some two-inch high wooden blocks taped to the bottom of my shoes. She tried to force my big feet into her smaller shoes first and when that didn't work, she taped the blocks to my shoes to show me what it was like to walk in heels. I can see why she doesn't like them but I wouldn't admit it to her because I also enjoy watching her walk around in her heels. But she proved her point. I don't want to walk around in high heels either. Julie is the woman that I considered to be the world's most perfect woman. She has a beautiful face, a vivacious personality, a Centerfold's body, and she saved it all for me. So you see why my life is nirvana. Or it was until I got the letter from my mother. ****** I came home after a hard night at work, feeling tired from working as a waiter for a large late-hours party, to find that Julie is still awake. She is busy, as usual working with one of her hobbies, making a flower arrangement to give a friend as a gift. Her favorite hobby is working with flowers and she wants to own a flower ship someday. As usual, she is dressed in her favorite raggedy jeans, comfortable sweatshirt and her hair is pulled back into a `out-of-my-eyes' ponytail. After she gives me a quick peck on the cheek because she's too deeply engrossed in the flower arrangement to abandon her project, she tells me that I have some mail in a thick brown envelope on the television set. The registered letter had a South American postmark on it. I open it to discover the following letter neatly typed on some lawyer's letterhead: My son, Every muscle on my body tightens with dread as those words sink in. I know that a letter or any communication from my not-lost-long-enough parents can't be good news after this many years of zero contact from them. Feeling my knees grow weak, I sit down quickly and re-started reading the letter. My son, I trust that this letter finds you in good health. I know that we haven't been too close over the last several years but your father wasn't ready to settle down to the type of normal family environment required to raise a child. So it was a difficult choice of losing either my husband who is my life-long love, or my only child. Now that you're old enough to understand life a little better, I hope that you can forgive me for making the most difficult choice of my life. I regret to inform you that your father's dead. He died last year and his mortal remains are stored in a nearby South American crypt. When we left our home that last time so many years ago, I followed him to South America where he wanted to search for the Fountain of Youth that the ancient explorer Ponce DeLeon also spent his life searching for. Yes, that's why we left you. It was your father's life-long dream and his dream quickly became my dream because of our love for each other. As we aged over the subsequent years and experienced failure after failure in our searches, he became more determined to find his ultimate destiny. As for myself, I began to realize that we were on a fool's errand and begged him to return with me, to our home in America and to the dear little boy that we left home for his own safety. He insisted that he was getting closer and promised that we would give it up after one more try; which was the expedition where he died. After his death, I cried a lot. For him, for us, for the three of us and for the life that the three of us never had. I mourned his death and considered joining him. With him gone, I had no reason to live. For months, I sat in my room and cried - for him, for the son that I abandoned, and for the home life that I had forsaken. Then my priest suggested that I should try to find you, to ask for your forgiveness, and to try to use the small time that I have left on this earth. I hired an investigator to find you and to send me some secretly taken pictures of you. I hope that you don't mind, but I had to see what a fine young man you've grown up to be. You're as handsome as I expected you to be. And you have a beautiful girlfriend. I live on a South American ranch. I own it; all five thousand acres and I make a very comfortable living from my agriculture business. It's a beautiful place but since the death of John Senior, it means nothing to me. The ranch is yours, if you want it. All you have to do, is take the two attached tickets and fly here to see me. The other ticket is for your girlfriend. I want you to come here so that I can see you in person. I want you to come here to let me apologize to you for being a fool so many years ago. I'll admit that I was only a fool in love with her man and I followed him as he searched for his place in the sun. As soon as you spend one week on the ranch, it automatically becomes yours. I've filled out the appropriate papers and government lawyers will transfer ownership to you if you do three things: The first of the three things are that you and your girlfriend must fly down here within the next three months. I want your girlfriend to come with you. If you're anything like your late father, you have a temper and you'll need someone that you trust, to talk to you, to help you listen to reason. I insist upon three months because that gives you time to get your affairs in order before visiting me and I don't have much time left. My health is .. not good. The second of the three things is that you and your girlfriend must live on my ranch with me for one week. And the third thing is that you must give me the opportunity to meet you. I want to try to explain why I did the stupid things that I did. I want to apologize for not being there with you when you needed your mother and most of all, I want to try to start being your mother again. I love you. Your mother Lynne Kimball ****** It is a good thing that Julie is at home with me after I finished reading the letter. I flew into an uncontrollable rage, throwing the letter and tickets into the garbage. An uncontrollable rage takes control of me and I almost destroy our few meager household possessions. I kick or hit every wall, door, and chair in our small apartment as Julie hangs onto me trying to calm my uncontrollable anger. Finally my anger is spent and I collapse on the floor like a ragdoll, crying for the first time in over fourteen years. While I'm lying on the floor bawling like a damn fool, she pulls the crumpled-up letter out of the garbage and reads it; immediately understanding my frustration over this very late contact in life with my mother. I am still sobbing as she sits on the floor and holds my head in her lap while she talks to me, trying to console me. With my head buried in her lap, I cried, I whimpered, I murmured, I stammered, I yelled, I gnashed my teeth and did a thousand other things as I vented my years of pent- up anger and frustration. Years ago, I gave up on my parents; giving up on them just as they gave up on me, and now my mother wants to come back into my life. And my mother wants me to drag Julie into my long-lost family life. That night is the first night in five straight months of living with Julie, that we don't have sex. Julie is willing as usual but I am so damn ashamed about the way that I made a fucking fool of myself (so I keep telling myself) but it is really because I can't think of nothing but that damn letter from my mother. Why can't she leave me alone? Why after all these years? Why does she want me to bring Julie? Why didn't my mother die also? ****** It takes Julie three weeks to finally convince me that I should consider my mother's offer. I am still feeling the deep anger for the first couple of days after getting the letter so we don't discuss it until after I cooled down a little. She knew that there was a boiling cauldron within me, waiting to explode. When I get to the point where I can discuss my mother's letter without my knuckles turning white or my voice raising in anger, she hinted that I should go visit my mother. We don't have sex for another three days after her recommendation. For the first time since she moved in with me, she isn't willing to have sex with me. She is using her body to weaken my resolve to ignore my mother's request. Then on the fourth night, she gives in to me. Oh, wow, does she ever give in and it seems that we tried to make up for the three days of missed sex. After a steamy, bone jarring, mutual orgasm session, I always become so mellow that nothing that Julie says or does for the next several hours, can anger me. She uses that magical moment to cajole me into promising that I will discuss the trip with her later. She sweetens her request with a wonderful squeeze of her vagina muscles around my still sensitive cock as she nibbles on my neck, reminding me of my promise to discuss the travel with her the next day. The next day after my mellow mood has worn off, we discuss my mother's letter as two rational adults. Using my vast command of the English language, I say "FUCK NO, I'M NOT GOING!!!" in an appropriate adult manner and she comes up with an appropriate bribe "if you ever want any more pussy from me, you'll do it." Being a man that is willing to listen to reason, I considered the valid points that she uses as her argument. Later when we cool down and curl up in each other's arms where we could talk sensibly again, she insists that I have to go. Not because my mother wants it; but because it is something that will bother me for the rest of my life if I don't go. She tells me that I have to go, that I have to see my mother, and then I can walk away afterwards if I want to. But I have to face my fears and anger. I have to see if I can forgive my mother. So I give in. On the condition that Julie accompanies me and that we will leave as quickly as possible if I am too uncomfortable being around my mother. Julie agrees and laughs as she jokes "It will be difficult for both of us. After all, we're not married and mother's have a tendency to treat girlfriends differently from wives. I'm willing to bet that when we get there, that your mother follows her old- fashioned beliefs and puts us in separate bedrooms." So I call the lawyer's number listed on my mother's letter and tell the old fart that we will be there next week. Chapter 2 - Eden I've never been out of Florida before, much less America. So boarding an airliner destined to South America is a thrill for me. It is easy for us to pack up and leave our rented apartment. All of our personal belongings fits into her suitcase, my duffel bag, and a backpack. Julie has a couple of small trunks of work clothes that we've left with Pete. She fills them with clothes that she really prefers to burn, but she anticipates that we might want to come back to our old jobs someday and will need the clothes. She doesn't want to spend more money on clothes that she hates. She did celebrate breaking the heels off of her former job's mandatory high heel shoes, promising herself that it will be a long time before she wears anything that chauvinistic again. She destroys the heels because we asked the hotel for a joint leave of absence and the hotel manager fired both of us, because hotel employees aren't supposed to become involved with other hotel employees. There's some damn security policy about fraternization. Destroying the heels is a symbolic "fuck you" statement for her and a firm statement that she won't go back to work at that place when we return. As for Johnny's restaurant job, Pete tells me that he'll welcome me "back with open arms and a big kiss." Our travel arrangements are three separate parts. We fly to Rio, spend a night, then fly in a jungle cargo plane into a remote section of the Venezuela jungle, and then take a combination of truck and boat to the ranch. Four days to get there, one week to live up to the terms of the "gift", then four days to come back out of South America if things don't work out between me and my mother. The Rio stopover is a vacation for us. It is the start of the Carnival season and the town is full of partygoers. Neither of us have ever seen anything like it. It is like a big fraternity party, only wilder and bigger and wilder. Booze, dope, and naked, jiggling tits are all over the place. So many women are parading around topless that I can't even describe the visual affect. I thought that I'd seen every possible set of hooters before, but that one night's Carnival was a college education for me in the various tit sizes and shapes that women have. I tried to get Julie to strip down to her waist, telling her that she has the best looking and perkiest set of boobs in town. But she shyly demurred, saying that she is more comfortable with just going braless under her T-shirt. That is a major concession for her because she really doesn't like the male attention that her jiggling boobs normally attract. Climbing into the back of an ancient "puddle-hopper" cargo plane the next morning with me having a terrific hangover, is the most dangerous thing that either one of us has ever done in our total life. I puked my guts out on the back of the plane, but none of the other six passengers noticed my sick-smelling puke. Probably because the caged chickens, the crates of pigs and the strong animal odor from the caged cargo somewhat covered up the smell of my sickness. We had to suffer through four landings and take-offs at small jungle towns before we arrived at their destination; a river front jungle town called Taiz. Taiz has about four thousand inhabitants, but they are typically all jungle people that are still in their first few years of civilization. I joke to Julie that "Any town where it's acceptable practice to pee from the front porch into the street, still has a long way to go in my book." Taiz's major claim to local fame is its hospital; a combination emergency and surgical center that serves the surrounding jungle and related small villages. Julie points out that the hospital also lists its services as a mental institute and a leper colony. Our hotel, which is the best hotel in town, is nothing more than a two-story building with some cots in rooms. Included in the room rent is a daily lunch and dinner meal of "jungle stew". Because of its raunchy taste, I swear that it has to contain a mixture of dog meat, fish, and some other type of meat that reminded me of well-worn leather boots, smothered in beer captured from a man-made yellow puddle in front of the hotel. We both agree that the food is horrible and makes McDonalds food look like a five star restaurant by comparison. Pushing my half-eaten bowl away, I groan "No wonder my father died." The next morning, Juan Lopez strolls into our lives. Juan is a short, swarthy, rotund lawyer who wears the same white suit, white shirt, thin black tie and Panama hat every day. His round face, pencil thin mustache, and constant day-old beard make him look like an unprosperous drug smuggler. It is Juan's job to verify my arrival at the ranch and my subsequent residence for one week; then to submit the paperwork transferring ownership of the ranch from my mother to me. One of the hotel regulars tells Julie that Juan is a former lawyer that's been disbarred because of his unorthodox practice of law. Since his disbarment, he's made his living by providing any type of legal assistance that doesn't require a license to practice law. Because of the horrible food and Julie's subsequent dysentery and diarrhea from her sampling of the hotel food, I'm not too enthused about going any further until she feels a lot better. But neither of us doesn't want to waste Juan's valuable (ha!) time, so the morning after meeting Juan, I carry our small baggage down to the riverboat that will take us up to the ranch. It is possible to drive there, but the drive is a two-day trip and it only takes five hours by boat. Our new `lawyer' meets us at the boat. Even as sick as Julie is, she notices that Juan is wearing the same suit, and from the multi-layered food stains on his white shirt, the same shirt as the day before. He doesn't have any luggage, just a small briefcase with his toothbrush stored between his legal papers. The small boat trip is a nightmare for Julie. She is still sick and I shield her from view as much as possible as she frequently sits on the boat's stern, her naked butt hanging over the water as everything instantly goes through her. But thank goodness that she begins to feel a lot better about an hour before we reach the ranch. When the boat turns the last bend before the ranch- landing site, the boat captain blows his horn, informing the ranch occupants of our impending arrival. Trying to look presentable, Julie runs a brush through her hair and freshens her lipstick, which just makes her face look even paler from her sickness. As the boat nears the landing, I can see my mother standing at the top of the landing, waiting for us to land. I know it is her although it is more than sixteen years since I last saw her. As the boat eases next to the dock, I keep it to myself that I can see that the years and the jungle living have been rough on her. My last memory of her is when I was seven. I remember her as being forty-seven old then, with a full head of dark hair, a vibrant personality that became more vibrant after she drank her daily gin martini, and a slim trim figure. The woman standing on the dock has a full mane of white hair, framing a tanned wrinkled face that has been exposed to too much jungle sun over the years. And this woman is much smaller than the way that I remember my mother. But after all, when a kid is seven years old, a five- foot two-inch mother with a paddle seems mighty big. Standing on the dock waiting for the boat to land, she reminds me of the feisty and very matronly Barbara Stanwyck character on the old Big Valley television show. My mother and I stare into each other's eyes, not saying a word or moving as the boat docks. When the boat is secured to the landing, Julie breaks my immovable trance- like state by whispering "Go to her." Turning to her, I respond in a hoarse whisper "I have to do it my way." Julie whispers back "Then remember your manners and introduce me." as she smiles at my mother. Holding Julie by the hand, I help her on the dock so that that we are standing only a few feet from my long-lost mother. My mother and I lock eyes again as I announce "Julie, this is Lynne Kimball..the woman that conceived me in her womb. Lynne, this is the woman that I love and am going to marry someday, Julie Harris." At close distance, it is easy to see that my mother is still a pretty woman, even with the wrinkles and skin that has evidently been exposed to too much sun over the years. Her gray eyes are just as sharp as ever as she listens to me, nodding to my introduction to Julie. Still staring at me, she asks, "Do I get a hug?" her voice an elderly woman's slightly quaking voice that I don't recognize after all the years as being the way that I remember my mother's vibrant voice. Julie is holding my hand and she knowing gives my hand a slight squeeze as she drops my hand, gently pushing me to accept my mother's request. Staring at the woman who had borne me so many years before, I declare in a very calm voice "I made it clear to your lawyer that there aren't any emotional bonds between us and that I preferred to keep it that way. I'm here to listen to you, to hear what you have to say, and then to make my mind up as to our future relationship. I also prefer to call you Lynne instead of Mother. Can we go to the house and get Julie out of the sun? She's not feeling too well after eating some local food." Hiding her anger at my harsh remarks, Julie brushes by me and moves forward to hug my mother as Julie loudly proclaims and apologizes for my actions "Your son can be such an asshole at times. I'm so glad to meet you, Mother Lynne." They hug each other while I stand in the same spot on the dock, making sure that I stay aloof from her as I continue to stare at my mother's face who is busy welcoming Julie. I find it difficult for me to relax my guard as I try to ignore the way the hair on the back of my neck stands up when I look at my mother. For some unknown damn reason, I sense danger. Everyone's attention is distracted by the lawyer, who is still sitting in the same boat chair where he spend all morning with his hat covering his face as he slept. He pushes the hat back on his head, releasing a small noise that sounds somewhat like a fart as he stands up and proclaims "Mrs. Kimball, I'm Juan Lopez. I've been commissioned to verify that this is your son, that you are willing to sign over your estate to him if he stays here one week and to verify that he actually stays here one week. The clock starts now if you verify that this is your son." She stares into my eyes as her voice softly admits "Yes, my son, John Kimball Junior, has grown up to be this man." "Don't call me that. My name's Johnny.", I gushed out loud, not knowing why I suddenly felt afraid again. Laughing out loud as if she is embarrassed, she breaks eye contact with me as she looks around at everyone. Speaking to the small assembled group, she proudly proclaims "Welcome Juan, Julie, and especially you, Johnny. If it will make you feel more comfortable, please call me Lynne. I gave up my rights to the title mother a long time ago." Three jeeps are waiting for us at the end of the dock. We quickly load the few items from the boat into one of jeeps and then climb into the other two jeeps. Lynne's ancient knees pop very loudly as she climbs into the jeep, informing me that her outward healthy appearance might be very misleading. For the first time, I notice that her hands are crippled and gnarled from arthritis. Julie and I ride in Lynne's jeep. It is a somewhat silent ride for me because I am too wrapped up in the weird feelings that I am experiencing, but Lynne talks and carries on as if it is only yesterday that she had last seen me. She points out some of the different crops that she grows on the ranch - bananas, corn, coconuts, spices, cattle, and other assorted agriculture products. The ranch hacienda is a long flat building about two miles from the river, in a cleared field with several outlying buildings. Several servants come running out to unload the jeeps and to welcome the new arrivals. From the looks of the ranch and number of people working on the ranch, my mother is a very prosperous rancher. Lynne is the proper hostess as she shows her guests the ranch hacienda's main hall and assigns Julie to one bedroom and me to an adjoining bedroom; politely suggesting that we will probably sleep better in separate bedrooms until Julie is over her sickness. Julie greets that suggestion with a quick wink to me to remind me that she forecast that my mother would old-fashionably assign us to separate bedrooms. While Lynne is showing Juan to his room, I follow Julie into her bedroom, carrying her suitcase. After I drop her suitcase on her bed, Julie stands on her tiptoes and kisses me as she suggests "Let's go spend some quality time with her," adding a last minute barbed challenge to tease me into relaxing a little "after all, she's still your mother." Holding hands as we walk up the hallway, we discover that Juan has made himself at home and is mixing a large pitcher of martinis as we enter the main living room. Pouring each of us a drink, he insists "I'll leave the pitcher with you while I enjoy the coolness of the front porch with my filled glass. You'll probably need the rest of the pitcher more than me." I sit on the couch across from Lynne who is sitting in an easy chair. I silently watch her as she light's a cigarette with her crippled hands fumbling slightly with the lighter. Something about the image of her smoking doesn't seem right to me, so I ask, "I don't remember you smoking when I was a kid?" Running her free hand through her mane of white hair, she replies in the shaky voice that I have quickly become accustomed to hearing from her lips "Your father was the chain smoker. He either had a pipe, a cigar or half a dozen lit cigarettes in the ashtrays. His favorite smoke was a cigar but he would smoke a pipe or cigarette whenever he was someplace where cigars were prohibited. I smoked only when I was drinking - and I still limit myself." "Yeah, I remember that Dad used to smell like an ashtray all the time. He used to smoke a very stinky cigar that would smell up the whole house. I haven't smelled a cigar that bad since he left." I mummer in a low voice; my body almost shuddering with the still vivid memory of my father's favorite cigar's horrible smell. She cackles in a crackling ancient woman's voice that I find hard to believe is now her normal voice "Purerto Blanco. That was his favorite cigar and I also hated the smell, so he only smoked one a week when he was at home. If he went by himself on a business trip, he would smoke two to three of those damn things a day. I still have some of them in his humidor." Julie shakes her head as a frown fills her face. Scrunching her face to display her displeasure, Julie injects "Cigars!!! UGHHH. I hate the smell of them and the way that I can't get the thick smell out of my clothes. I've been a non-smoker all of my life and have never been able to understand how anyone can tolerate something that stinks so badly." Winking quickly at Julie to signal to her that I feel the same way about cigars, I ask my mother "He smoked a lot of cigarettes also, didn't he?" "Your father had two habits that were his trademarks. He was a chain smoker that had to either have a cigar or cigarette in his mouth at all times and he was also the most vain man that I ever met in my life. He was the most meticulous man about his appearance that I ever saw. He always had to look his best and wear his best clothes. He would change into his finest suit for dinner when it was just the three of us in our own home and he would spend more time fixing his hair than I spent on my own hair. No matter where he was or what he was doing, he took the time to ensure that he always looked the best at all times. I could get ready to go out in half an hour but it usually took him two to three hours just to make sure that his appearance was absolutely perfect. At times I used to think that both of us were born the wrong sex because of the way that he primped and fussed about his appearance while I didn't really care how bad I looked. I used to get your father slightly angry at me because I would want to wear a simple pant suit to church while he expected me to wear a long flowing dress with all the jewelry accoutrements. He usually won by promising me that he would help me put my makeup on or would brush my hair for me. Your father could have been a hairstylist if he wanted to." Julie's laugh reveals that Juan's martinis are making her feel more relaxed "Mother Lynne....", she coos in an dragged out accent that I recognize is her signal to me that I should also address my mother the same way. "..you and I are a lot alike. I know that I could make a lot of money by going into the fashion business as a model because I'm young, have a decent body...well, Johnny likes women with slightly larger boobs...and I think that I have a pretty face. But I don't like to put on the makeup and fix my hair into the latest Paris hairstyle. I like to be me. I like to wear my jeans and old sweatshirt. I don't like strutting around, having men gawk at me; and I'm very happy that Johnny likes me the way that I am." I want to remark that I think that Julie's boobs are perfect for her and that I wouldn't suggest that she change one single thing about her but I feel slightly awkward discussing my girlfriend's breasts and my personal preferences in front of my mother. I'm trying to think of a graceful way to change the subject so that it doesn't appear that I'm changing the subject or embarrassed by the very personal topic. But I notice that my mother's eyes have become sharper and are almost glinting as she stares at Julie's chest as if she's able to see through Julie's shirt. With her cigarette dangling from her lips, my mother talks directly to Julie, acting as if I'm not even in the room "All men like bigger boobs on their women. If they had discovered the surgical techniques back when I was a young piece of tail, my husband would've probably tried to talk me into getting my breasts augmented for his personal pleasure. Back then, I was young and stupid enough to have been willing to go through with it just to keep him happy. But now, I'm very glad that I never had large breasts. Please don't get me wrong by thinking that I don't like large breasts. I do like them on other women, not on myself. I like to see young healthy women who have bodies that look like they have a woman's curvy body instead of a man's ramrod straight body. I think that you look great now and would look even better if your breasts were just a little bigger. You have the face and the general body structure where you could easily transform yourself into a sexy woman that would outshine any of the current Hollywood sex symbols. Oh, dear me, now you're going to think that I'm one of those lezzies. It's the martinis that's talking. Please forgive me, dearie." Julie's very brief eye contact with me, asks the silent question "did you hear your mother?" but she quickly returns to smiling politely to my mother as she tries to defuse the awkward situation "Nonsense. Thank you for your compliment but I'm very happy with the way that I look and your son had better be happy with it too, because I'm not changing for any man." For a couple of minutes, my mother and I make small talk about the old days. Then out of the blue, I ask the question that has been on my mind ever since I opened that registered letter. "Why did you get in touch with me...after all those years. Why now?" , I ask getting a quick dirty look from Julie. Lynne's face is very calm as she looks at me while she kills a little time, sipping on her drink. Then she responds "One of the men that helped carry in your bags, had a white lab coat on. He's my resident doctor, Doctor Garcia. He's here for the servants and also to be my personal doctor. He didn't want me to let you come here. He's afraid that I can't take the strain. Since your father died, I've had two nervous breakdowns and once spent thirty days in the Taiz Hospital's Mental Wing. I've had some very rough days and it doesn't take much stress to set me off. I frequently suffer from hallucinations and delusions of grandeur. If it wasn't for my good doctor's medicine and skill, I wouldn't be here now. I wanted to see you while I still had some common sense left." Julie pipes up "Mother Lynne, that surprises me. You look so great and healthy." Nodding to her comment, Lynne continues "My doctor thinks that my mental facilities are leaving me. It's something similar to Alzheimer's Disease where I progressively loose my mental ability. Notice how my hand is trembling slightly...it's because I'm having to concentrate so hard on maintaining my...shall I say..mental balance? I know who I am, where I'm at, and who you are. But I also feel a strong urge today that I'm the...don't laugh because it's not a laughing matter to me...I feel that I'm two people today...the Queen of England and Lynne Kimball. Because you're here in front of me, I know that I'm not the Queen. But if you weren't here to give me something solid to focus on, I would find it difficult to deny that I'm not the Queen Mother." She pauses a moment looking at both of us, before continuing "A couple of days ago, I thought that I was Roger Willoby. Roger is a man from my past before I met your father. He was a car salesman that I used to date when I was a teenage girl. The time that I spent thirty days in the local hospital, I thought..", she pauses a long pause staring at me with eyes that seem to darken and glaze over slightly as she stares at me. Then she continues "I thought that I was John Kimball, Junior. Only I believed that I was you when you were age fourteen and going through male puberty. They committed me to the hospital because of that." Julie almost drops her glass as Lynne's unexpected admissions startled her. I continue to stare into Lynne's dark eyes, watching them seemingly change color from being dark to her more normal gray color. Without either of us saying anything, she continues "I honestly thought that I was you. I answered all of the doctor's questions as if I was a fourteen-year-old boy. The doctors pointed out to me that I had a sixty-year old woman's body and it threw me into a rage. I attacked them, fought them until they restrained me and drugged me. Even with their medicine dulling my senses, I still thought that I was you for over a week. Then the medicine began to work and I realized that I couldn't be you, that I had to be me. By the end of the month, I was able to answer their questions and prove that my temporary insanity was under control." "Why did you think that you were me?" "The doctor's think that it's because I think so much about you.that I frequently wonder about you. When my thinking started getting screwed up the last time, I was seriously thinking about finding you and bringing you here." "So why did you bring me here?" "I don't have much time left. I wanted to see you while I still had some brains left. I wanted to meet you..to meet your pretty girlfriend..and maybe to encourage you two young people to give me a grandson while I can still hold him in my frail arms. I want you and Julie to stay with me...until I'm gone forever. The ranch is yours, no matter what if you just give me a week to get to see you..and talk to you. Speaking of the ranch, you need to see how wonderful it is. I've arranged for you to tour the ranch tomorrow. I suggest that Julie stay here with me while you're touring because of her still weak stomach while you're looking at Eden." "Eden? Isn't that a little presumptuous to name a ranch?" "Eden is a paradise where two people..a man and a woman...started their own world. This was your father's and my paradise. After you've had time to look at it a little closer, you'll know why we chose to call this little piece of jungle Eden." ****** Lynne runs me out of bed at four in the morning, and sits with me at the breakfast table while the cook fills my belly with pancakes. When breakfast is over, she sends me off with her ranch foreman in one of the jeeps. The foreman drives for a couple of hours, then we ride horseback for another three hours before we reach the top of a plateau where we can see the whole ranch. I can see the main river that we came in on and several small rivers that criss- crossed Eden before feeding into the main river. The view from the plateau is stupendous and I can easily see why my parents fell in love with the place. Then the foreman escorts me through most of the fields so that I can see the crops and the different farm crews at work. Five thousand acres and four hundred full time employees isn't a bad little spread. As I get out of the jeep at the hacienda, Julie comes running out of the house. I can tell from her expression that something is terribly wrong. She runs into my arms and I tightly hold her as she groans "It was horrible. Your mother and I were sitting on the couch talking. She was smoking and something happened to her. Her eyes glazed over before her eyes lost focus and she dropped her cigarette in the couch. She didn't bother to get it so I jumped up and grabbed it, seeing that it had already burnt a hole in the couch. Before I could put it out, she grabs my arm and throws me to the ground. The fall knocked the breath out of me and then she jumped on my back and began pulling my hair and calling me names. I don't know much Spanish, but she was calling me all sorts of dirty names while she slapped me and held me down. I fought with her but couldn't push her off of me. I yelled for help and the doctor came running with some of the servants. She kept insisting that she was someone named Ramone. The doctor told me later that about five years ago, a field hand named Ramone raped your mother and your father killed him. He also told me that your mother has hallucinated before that she was him.that she goes in cycles about who she thinks she is." Julie's eyes are coated with tears as she recounts the terrible day that she just experienced. I hold her as she continues "It was horrible. She fought us as if she was the devil, kicking, biting and cursing in Spanish. She kept insisting that she was Ramone until she fell asleep from the doctor's injection." "Where is she now?" "Sleeping. Johnny, I'm scared. She scares me. You weren't there today to see her. Don't leave me with her again!" she asks, her voice dropping to a low plaintive whimper that I find hard to ignore. ****** The woman sitting with us at the next morning's table is Lynne. But it is a very different Lynne from the Lynne that greeted us the day we arrived. The doctor's medication makes her so mellow and withdrawn that she is more like a zombie than a friendly relative. She eats when commanded to eat and sits where the male nurse tells her to sit. Her eyes are glazed over and she stares at us as if we don't exist. Doctor Garcia apologizes for her actions, explaining that he has experimentally reduced her morning's medication dosage to see whose personality is in control. If it is still Ramone's personality then she will stay doped up for a couple of days. While Julie and I observe, the doctor questions Lynne. She answers the questions as if she is Lynne. The doctor suggests that we get the cook to pack us a picnic lunch, grab one of the jeeps, and explore the ranch on our own while he watchs Lynne, decreasing the dosages of medicine that he has been giving her. Agreeing with his suggestion, we get the hell out of there. We spend the day down by one of the rivers. The foreman gave us a map showing the good places to swim, so we find a clear pool where we can skinny-dip and soak up the sun on a river sandbar, enjoying the sun, the soothing jungle noises, and the river. And we also share a little loving. By the time that we drive back to the ranch, the sunset is creating a very romantic backdrop to the hacienda. Lynne is sitting on the porch talking to Juan; both of them are sipping martinis and smoking as if everything is normal. After we park the jeep, Juan stands up and excuses himself as Lynne says, "They tell me that I made a fool of myself yesterday. I'm sorry if I scared you, Julie. I can't help myself. But you don't have anything to worry about because my hallucinations typically don't re-occur for several days." "Why don't you go see a specialist?" I ask, my voice gruff as I try to come to grips with how I should treat this woman who is obviously sick. The old woman shrugs, "I have. My local doctors sent me to Rio. The doctors in Rio sent me to doctors in Baltimore and London and also to Sidney. The specialists are familiar with my symptoms but don't have any encouraging solutions. One solution is to do a lobotomy, which will remove my remaining personality and memory. The left- over personality would be similar to a zombie but I would be cured according to the so-called specialists." We talk some more and I begin to recall additional memory's about her from my childhood years. I remember the way that her mouth crinkles when she laughs, the way that her eyebrows arch as she makes a statement, and the way that she sometimes rolls her tongue up as she thinks about something. And I also remember her smoking habit; how she would bend her elbow and hold the hand holding the cigarette straight up. By the time that we turned in for the night, the three of us are laughing and enjoying each other's company a little better. Some of the strain of meeting each other and Lynne's attack, are quickly forgotten as we are charmed by the older woman's strong personality. ****** The next morning, Julie's stomach is giving her some more problems and Lynne suggests that I accompany her on a horseback riding jaunt while Julie rests. The doctor seconds the suggestion, reminding me that Lynne probably won't have another medical problem for several days; and that the outdoor ride with me will do her some good. I ride a big bay and Lynne rides a small sorrel that is more suited to her smaller size. Lynne leads us across several fields, and down to one of the tributary rivers. We follow the riverbank until we cross over the river at a crossing. Then she follows some old trails through some rough looking jungle terrain until she finds the ravine that she's searching for. We dismount and lead the horses down into the ravine, then ride them slowly for about half a mile through the various ravine branches before she stops her horse again. Dismounting, she stares up at me as with a weird half smile on her face as she proclaims "This is also your land. We don't farm it but we own it and keep the natives off of it. Come with me and I'll show you why I really wanted you to come here. It's the secret of Eden and our wealth." I climb off my horse, being very glad for the opportunity to stretch my legs which aren't used to horseback riding. Lynne walks down a small gully about thirty feet then points at the vine covered wall. I look at where she is pointing but don't see anything. She walks straight toward the vines, parts a couple of vines with her hands and steps through them, disappearing from sight. Startled by her sudden disappearance, I stop to stare, not sure if I want to proceed or not. Her voice echoes slightly from behind the vines as she calls out "Come on and see the secret of Eden." I part the vines where Lynne disappeared and see an opening in the cliff face behind the vines. Pushing the hanging vines aside, I follow her into the opening. She is standing about ten feet inside the cave opening which turns into a man-made tunnel deeper inside the cliff. I watch fascinated as she lights a couple of old kerosene lanterns with her cigarette lighter. She hands me a lantern while explaining "Your father's research led him all over the jungle until he found this hidden place. We used the last of our money to buy this ranch and set up the farm so that we would have an excuse for being way out here in the general vicinity of this tunnel. Then we would sneak over here and continue our research. Just John and me. Follow me and watch your head. The natives that dug this tunnel over eight hundred years ago were smaller than me." I follow her deep into the tunnel, which starts going downhill quickly. As we go deeper, I smell the slightest trace of sulfur in the air. There are steps carved into the stone in a couple of steep places and there is one very steep place where we climb down a forty-foot ladder. After ten minutes of scrambling through the small tunnel carved into the rock, we arrive at a small cavern. In the center of the cavern is the long-dead but well-preserved body of my father resting on a stone altar. Chapter 3 - The cave I almost shit in my britches. It is definitely my dead father lying there on the rock alter. The body is an much older version of the man that I barely remember, but I know that it is clearly the same fucking son-of-a-bitch that ran off so many long years ago to chase a dream, ignoring his only son - me. His cloth-wrapped body is lying on a long flat rock in the center of the room, reminding me somewhat of the old biblical resurrection stories. After my initial shock of seeing my father's body, I notice that there isn't any sign of decay on his body. His body looks as if he just died within the last few minutes. I turn to stare at Lynne who is silently watching me. Knowing that I have thousands of questions whirling though my mind, she walks toward the body. She is whispering, but the whispers loudly echo around the cave's large chamber as if her lips are only an inch from my ear "This is where he wanted to spend eternity. This room and that rock were used by the old Indian's as a sacrificial altar. The top and base of the altar are coated with layers of ancient dried blood. When he unexpectedly died, I brought him here by myself, dragging him and carrying him until I got him down here. Then I performed the ritual that he wanted - an old Indian ritual that he had recently personally translated and documented. When I came back a month later, there wasn't any change in his body. It's been two years now and as you can see, there's not a bit of decay. I think it's partially because of the ritual and partially because of the chemicals in the cave's air. Under the cloth, he's completely naked. And he's got a magnificent hard-on. If he'd had something as hard as his current erection occasionally when he was alive, you'd have several younger brothers and sisters. When I hold his cock in my hand, I can almost feel his pulse throbbing in his magnificent erection. Would you like to feel it?" A shudder goes through me as I feel revulsion at the horrible thought of just touching my dead father, much less holding my father's two-year-old dead cock in my bare hand. Stunned by her question, I find myself thinking about what my old friend Pete would say or do if he was in this situation. Ignoring her repugnant suggestion, I ask, "I thought that he was buried in the city." "There's a grave and headstone there to resolve some of the legal problems, but the casket is empty. If I'd buried him there, he'd be a putrid mess of bones and wormy flesh now. Instead, he's perfectly preserved." I slowly walk toward my father's body, staring at my father's perfectly preserved face in the dim light of the lanterns. I am drawn to look at the dead man because I know that I will never, ever, come back into this damn cave. I stand close to the rock altar, holding up my lantern so that it casts its light so that I can clearly see the face that I spent so much of my youth trying to forget. Looking at the dead man's face brings back a lot of old memories that I was able to successfully forget. Until now, that is. As I stare at my father, I feel my mother take the lantern from my hand for some unstated reason and hang the lantern on a nearby hook. I surrender it without question because I am really stunned by the turn of events that brings me to this cave to see my father for the last time. As I continue to stare at my father's face with my mind full of memories that I don't want to remember; my peripheral vision barely sees the rapidly moving shadow of a club descending toward the back of my head. ****** The first thing that I know as I awaken is that my head hurts. My neck hurts. Every part of my body hurts. HURTS! Slowly I open my eyes, trying to shake off the painful and leaden feel of my hurting body. As my barely focusing eyes stare at the cavern's roof, I remember where I am and faintly recall the last few seconds of consciousness just before the club hit me. I try to move but discover that I'm tightly restrained to something solid with several layers of well-placed ropes. Turning my head to look around the cave, I see that several torches have been lit around the cave's perimeter while I was knocked out. I immediately discover that I'm naked, tied to the sacrificial stone altar that my father's dead body was resting on, and a grubby blanket is placed under my head to serve as a pillow. Turning my head as far as my tightly restraining ropes will permit it, I stare into the dim recesses of the huge dark cavern trying to understand why I'm tied up like this. And one of the most puzzling questions rushing through my still dazed mind is "where is Lynne????" "I'm sorry that I had to hit you, but I didn't think that you would be willing to undress and lie down on the altar for me." Lynne's quaky grandmotherly voice echoes around the cavern's walls. I turn my head in the direction of the voice, seeing only the dim outline of someone standing in the shadows. As I look at the faintly visible outline, the shadowy outline moves forward into the light cast by the multiple torches, confirming the shadowy person's identity. It is Lynne that is slowly moving toward me from out of the shadows but it certainly isn't the Lynne that I ever expected to see. She is completely naked. Her `naked as a newborn baby' pale-white grandmotherly body is covered with a myriad mixture of native paint symbols that you would expect to see only on the pages of a National Geographic magazine article about African native tribes. Her small slender body shows the same aged wrinkled appearance as her face. As expected for any woman that is sixty years old, her breasts are sagging. A comparative thought momentary fills my very confused mind as I decide that I saw semi-naked twenty year old women back in Rio whose heavy breasts sagged more than my mother's sixty-plus-year old firm-looking breasts sag. Although she is my mother and a naked senior citizen, I notice that her slender body appears to be quite firm and still somewhat shapely for her age. After five full seconds of staring at her painted symbol- coated naked body which is slowly walking toward me, I recover enough from the mind-numbing shock of my situation so that I recognize that I need to quickly find some way to escape from my restraining ropes. Tugging mightily, I strain as I try to use brute strength to break free from my ropes. For several seconds, only my head moves as I strain and flex every muscle on my body to try to break free. About the same time that my face turns beet red from my exertion, I finally decide that my normal strength can't budge the tightly tied ropes. Recognizing that Lynne is now standing close by the alter, I turn my face to stare up at her sardonically smiling face. The evil gleam twinkling in her eyes and the devilish smile on her lips causes a faint shudder to roar through my body. A cold chill raises every hair on my body as I realize that it is my mother who is responsible for this terrible predicament. For most of my life, I've imagined my mother to be a terrible ogre because of her childhood abandonment of me. In the last few days, I've tried to forget that image and to think of her as a kindly grandmotherly type. But now with her standing naked over my tightly restrained body and seeing the evil grin on her smiling face, I know that my childhood impressions of my mother are frightenly correct. Terrified by my