The Neighborhood MILF Gloria
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ChristinaChapter 3 free porn video
I woke up to the smell of frying bacon, an alien smell that my sleep-fogged mind took a few seconds to parse. I sat up. From my vantage in bed at one end of the trailer I could see all the way to the other end, and there in the middle, at the stove, was Tina, fiddling with a skillet on the stove. I guess she caught my movement.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," she chirped. "I hope grits and bacon and eggs is good for breakfast."
"Oops," I said. "I woke up in the wrong trailer."
"Whaaaat?" she giggled.
"Do you know that there's NEVER been a meal cooked in the trailer that I didn't cook myself?"
"Then get used to it. I think I like to cook every now and then."
"Me too," I said. "But cooking for one? Kind of a drag."
"So is cooking for people who couldn't give a shit," she said. "But I thought I'd try with you. Make up for the breakfast you didn't finish Saturday. I saw this stuff in the fridge. I figured that since you brought it, it was stuff you like."
"Well it smells good enough. Lemme get dressed."
"I won't peek," she said.
I slid out of my pajamas and into a clean pair of pants and a pullover shirt, grabbed a pair of socks and headed toward her. I noticed the bacon was cooking to perfection and the grits were happily bubbling on a rear burner.
"How do you like your eggs?" she asked.
"Can you do "over easy"?"
"Piece of cake," she laughed. "Grandma showed me. I practiced."
Soon we were seated opposite one another in the little dining booth, eating.
"So how'd I do?"
"Very good. I figured burnt bacon and crunchy eggs."
"Why?"
"Because pretty teen girls aren't supposed to know how to cook," I said.
"I'm NOT pretty," she said.
"Hah. I think you are."
"Thanks," she said. "You don't have to say that, you know."
"You're right," I said. "But it's true, and it should make you happy to hear somebody say it."
"Okay. Thank you."
"I'm sorry, Tina. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just meant that you ... Oh, never mind..." Inwardly I kicked myself. This was a sticky situation, and I was still trying to figure out how there could be a good outcome.
"No, I'm sorry, Alan. You were just trying to be nice. I'm not used to having people be nice, not the last few months."
"Tina," I said, getting up from my now empty plate and gathering hers, "if we're going to exist in this trailer, we need to get along."
"I know," she said. "But Alan," she continued, "you gotta understand how it was, living with Mom and a stream of trash she brought home. I mean, guys that came home with Mom, they'd hit on me in a second if she left the room. They thought if she was easy, then I was easy. And I'm NOT easy."
"I understand, Tina," I said. "You want coffee?"
"Yeah. Lemme watch you make it. People are particular about their coffee, so I didn't try." She watched as I threw a little drip pot together and put water on to boil.
"You are NOT my maid, Tina."
"Yeah, yeah..." she said. "But two people. Little trailer. If we don't share the work..."
"I know. Can't leave anything out of place, or it gets cluttered fast."
"And we're in a tight space, so we need to NOT be sensitive. You've known me, what this is the third day? I am NOT an asshole unless somebody deserves it. YOU don't deserve it. Therefore, please don't consider me to be an asshole."
"I'm SORRY!" she said, "I just REACTED, okay?"
"That's not the point, Tina. We can make this whole thing work, but WE need to be nice to one another. And that means that I don't suspect you of ulterior motives, and you treat me the same."
The kettle whistled, thankfully giving me a stopping point. I poured the water into the drip pot, took out two mugs, the sugar canister and a little carton of half and half. I poured two mugs. "Fix yours," I said. "I don't know how you want it."
"Two spoons of sugar, and cream like you put in yours."
"How do you know I put cream in my coffee?"
"Hah. First, you got it out today, AFTER you brought it with the other stuff. So I figured you used it. Second, you put some in your cup every time I saw you drink coffee the last two days. So I trust you to put cream in my coffee." She did that little smirk thing I'd noticed several times before.
With a clinking of spoon against cup, I handed her a mug. She sipped. "Perfect!"
I sat down opposite her again. "Well, good. I did something right."
"Oh, Alan, I don't mean to be like that. Just..."
"Just a lot of changes in three days."
"In nine months," she sighed. "And things, uh, they looked so bad ... with Mom."
"You're past that, Tina. If we can figure this all out." I sipped my savory brown liquid, gazing at her face.
She shook her head, flaring her hair and letting it fall in place. Her hand went up and brushed it off her collar. "Uh, Alan, how ... I mean, am I askin' too much to get my hair trimmed?"
"No. Is it too long?" It touched her collar. Auburn, shiny, a little curl at the ends, it framed her face nicely.
"Uh, I like it shorter. Needs an inch or so cut off. But ... I ... money."
"Not a problem. I don't know how you want to do it, but find a place, and we'll get it done." I drained my mug and got up to start washing dishes.
She shoved me out of the way. "Lemme do that."
"Okay, boss," I said. I gathered clothes and started filling the little washer. "I'll do the laundry."
With dishes washed and stacked to dry, and a load of laundry in mid-cycle, we headed out of the park with the address of the jobsite on the GPS. It wasn't too long a drive through the countryside. I found what I expected, a site consisting of several acres, cleared from the surrounding woodlands, a new railroad spur and pipeline going in, and huge amounts of bare dirt and rock with curiously shaped trenches and holes and interesting formations of concrete and steel rising out of them. And a complex of temporary office trailers. In one of them was my new office, but today wasn't the day to look at it.
"So that's where you work," Tina commented.
"Yeah. They all start out as a big mess like that. In six months we ought to be ready to make stuff. Or at least I'll have the electricity on."
We drove towards the county seat. I was looking for the school board office. Nine AM. I guessed that government employees should be at work by nine. I punched up the phone number from the search the night before. I got a menu. I navigated until I got a human. "Hi, I said, "I'm Alan Addison. I need to talk to somebody about enrolling a student in your high school."
The female voice said, "Yessir. Let me connect you with Mister Jenkins."
Click. A male voice. "Dan Jenkins. Can I help you?"
"Yessir, Mister Jenkins. I'm Alan Addison. I have a student who needs to enroll. We just moved here."
"Easy enough," he said. "I'll just need the information from her last school. You wouldn't happen to have transcripts with you?"
"Nossir," I said.
"Didn't figure you did, but I thought I'd ask. We can get those. What grade?"
"Uh, that's the problem. Hey. We're on the road. Can we come by and talk to you in person?"
"Sure," he said. He gave me the address. "Just tell the lady at the front desk that you're here to see me."
"Looks like we'll see you in twenty minutes or so."
"Okay, Mister Addison," he said. "I'll be waiting."
"So we're going to see him?" Tina asked. "I'm not dressed."
"Uh, Miss Tina," I stated, "you're dressed quite nicely." She was. Jeans, athletic shoes, a conservative blouse that accented that head of hair.
"I get nervous."
"You have nothing to get nervous about. We're just trying to get you back in school. These are the people that will help us do that." I pulled into the parking lot and maneuvered the big pickup into a slot and we got out.
Walking into the office, we met the receptionist, a nicely dressed black lady who directed us down the hall after she notified Mr. Jenkins of our arrival. I knocked on the office door and heard a "Come in!" I ushered Tina in ahead of me.
"You're Mister Jenkins?" I asked, extending my hand.
He shook it. "And you're Alan Addison. And this is..." he asked, looking at Tina.
"This is Tina, uh, Miss Christina Johnson. She's needing to be in school."
"Hello, Miss Tina," he said. "You folks can sit down."
We sat.
"So what's the deal? You're her, uh ... relation?"
"None," I said. "She's, well, I don't know how to categorize..."
His eyebrow raised almost imperceptibly.
"No," I said. "Not like that. Like "foster home"."
"Sir," Tina interrupted, "I have no living relatives who aren't in jail. Mister Alan has provided me a place to stay and has offered to get me back in school."
"Okay," he said. "We'll leave that as it is. Mister Addison, what is your legal relationship? Guardian? Something that says you're 'in loco parentis', legally able to sign for her? I'm assuming she's still a minor."
"Seventeen, sir," said Tina.
"Uh, yes. Minor," said Mr. Jenkins. "Sir," he said, looking at me, "I'm afraid that you need something to say that you have legal standing to make decisions concerning her life."
"I understand," I said.
"I DON'T!!!" hissed Tina. "Two days ago this man saved my life. From that, my mom and her boyfriend went to jail. I don't HAVE anybody else to make decisions. He's the one."
"I'm sorry, Miss Tina," he said. "But that's what the law says."
My head was full of spinning gears. They lined up and clicked. "Uh, Mister Jenkins, can I make a cellphone call? I don't want to be rude."
"No," he said. "If we can get this straightened out."
"Tina," I said. "Let me have Deputy Hurley's number."
As she opened her purse I said to Mr. Jenkins, "This guy might be able to help us out."
"Yeah?" he said. "Then use my phone. Here!" He turned it around. "Punch this button if you want to use speaker. Dial nine to get an outside line."
"Thanks," I said, punching buttons. I put us on the speaker.
"I'm really trying to help," he said.
The phone rang. I wasn't sure of success on Hurley's office phone, but we were surprised to hear "Sheriff's office. Deputy Hurley. Can I help you?"
Here goes nothing, I thought. "Uh, Deputy Hurley. Alan Addison. From Saturday morning at the diner?"
"Hello, Mister Addison," He said. "What can I do for you?" His voice sounded a tad apprehensive.
"Uh. I'm here in Tennessee with Miss Tina and uh, Mister Jenkins of the school board. We're trying to get Tina back in high school."
"Oh, really?" His tone took a definite upward turn. "That's great! She doin' okay?"
"Yeah, so far."
"Hi, Deputy Hurley," Tina piped in.
"Hi, Miss Tina," he said. "How can I help you?"
I said, "Mr. Jenkins here says I ... we need some sort of legal document saying that I have some standing to sign for her to get in school. Can you help us? I mean, you know the situation and all."
"I dunno exactly how that's gonna work," he said. "Tell you what, lemme call my uncle. He's the district judge. He'll know."
Mr. Jenkins injected, "How long might that take?"
Hurley came back, "I'll get off the phone with you and call 'im. Call you back in ten minutes. Gimme a number."
Jenkins read him off one.
"I'll call you back in ten minutes, fifteen, tops."
"Okay, thanks, man! We appreciate the help."
"Don't thank me yet," Hurley said. "I haven't done anything."
"We trust you," Tina said.
"'Kay. Bye, ya'll." Click.
I looked at Mr. Jenkins. "Okay, we're working on it."
"Saturday? At the diner?" He looked interested.
"You want the story?"
"Sure," he said.
"You don't mind, do you, Tina?" I asked.
"Certainly not. We lived through it."
So I told the story, aided ably by Tina. "And," I said, "That's how a forty year old engineer ended up with a teenaged girl in Tennessee."
"Okay," he said. "Let's assume that we get something going that lets you sign for Miss Tina." He turned to Tina. "What grade are you in?"
"I dropped out in the eleventh grade," Tina said. "I was a 3.8 student. Then I moved in with Mom when Grandma died. And I dropped out."
"Hmmm," he said. "That changes things a bit."
"How so?" I asked.
"We have to do a placement test. To see where she starts back. Pretty standard thing."
Uh, okay? When? Where?"
"We can do it here. Uh, tomorrow if you get us something to fix things. Or later this week."
I eyeballed the diploma on his wall. A picture of a happy Jenkins with a pretty, if somewhat chunky wife and two kids, maybe eight and ten. And to go with the conservative haircut, a framed honorable discharge certificate from the Marines.
"Marine?" I said.
"Oh, yeah," he said. "You?"
"Army. Combat engineers."
"Chopper pilot."
"Really?!?" I said. "Gulf War?"
"Yeah. You?"
"Uh-huh. Blew one of the minefields to cut the army loose into Iraq."
"Small world, ain't it? I flew into Kuwait."
"Hah!" We laughed together. Tina was alternating her gaze between the two of us.
Jenkins saw her expression. "Sorry, Miss Tina, we're not ignoring you."
"Oh, don't worry about me, Mister Jenkins. I'm learning stuff every day. About him."
The phone rang. Jenkins answered, then punched the speaker button. "Okay, Deputy, uhhh, Hurley, is it? We're all here. So what's the good news."
Hurley's voice was tinny on the speaker. "Hi, folks! Hizzoner Judge Hurley, my dear uncle, says that I need for you two to fax me copies of your drivers' licenses so he can get the paperwork done up properly. I can overnight it to you. You both sign. Overnight it back. The judge signs. And it's back to you. We can get it done by Friday that way."
Mr. Jenkins asked, "So this is a hundred percent? No questions?"
"Nope," the tinny voice said. "Hundred percent."
"Great," said Mr. Jenkins.
"The fax number on your card works?" I asked.
"No," Hurley said. "Use this one. It's the judge's law office. And you owe me seventy-five bucks. Court costs." He gave me a fax number. Tina was already pulling out her drivers' license.
"Tell your uncle that his name goes on the list of good people," Tina said.
"Uh, Deputy Hurley, Let me give you an address for the deliveries." I gave him the RV park. Made a mental note to make arrangements for them to watch for me and call when things came in.
"I'll do that, Miss Tina," Hurley said. "I'll call 'im back and tell 'im to expect the fax."
"Hey, Deputy Hurley," I said.
"Yeah."
"Can your uncle fax me back a copy of the document. A draft? So Mister Jenkins will have something in his hand pretty quick?"
"Yeah. I can do that."
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- 21.07.2021
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