Fallon rsquo s Ballet Lesson
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Forget All ThatChapter 4 free porn video
"That was the best time that I've spent in that house since the woman I love moved out," Bob said. We'd spent some awful times before then, too. "It's a shame that I got the respite, and you didn't."
"You're supposed to think of your daughter's welfare first."
"Would your going out to breast-feed her have been that much worse? You could have used the cape." Which keeps anybody from seeing anything at the cost of keeping The Kitten and me from seeing one another. I used the cape on the train, but not in church. On the other hand, most people in church were facing the other way. Which reminded me of the boy.
"That poor kid in church," I said, "he'll be traumatized for life."
"Damned voyeur, traumatization is the least of what he deserved." But we both chuckled.
"I'm glad that that's over for another year," he said.
"Or forever."
"You don't mean that."
"I mean it," I said. "The question is whether I will mean it next year. Dammit, we don't have the right to bring The Kitten into that situation."
"Well, your mother seems more hostile towards the world every year."
"Do you want me here, or away?" he asked when we got home. The Kitten wanted only Maman just then.
"Go eat," I told him. "We'll lie here on the couch." Messy diapers don't affect Bob's appetite at all, his fight with his father didn't seem to touch it. Two things diminish it. Colds reduce it to nil, and he eats very lightly at my parents' house. So he joins his family at their late supper afterwards. Usually I do too, though I don't eat much.
The Brennans were still at table when I put a sleeping Kitten on her quilt. I wandered into the kitchen and came back with a glass of milk. The family never seats more than four at the kitchen table, and that crowds it. After the first year of Bob's and my visits to my family, they moved the light supper that the three of them eat into the dining room to let Bob and me join them when we come back. "You know," I said, "I'll be happier with that in the past than with it in the future. I'm glad that our feast is after theirs. Discommodes you three, though."
"Not particularly," Bob's father said. "You know that we kept the schedule the year that you were stuck in Michigan."
"Sorry," I said, not for the first time.
"Don't be, dear," Katherine said, not for the first time. "You know that we missed you, and it was horrible that the man died, but you did your duty. You can't be sorry for that." I don't think that it had ever occurred to any Brennan that Bob could have come home without me.
"You know, dear," she continued, "The feast schedule is written in stone the moment that the turkey goes in. It's flexible now. I can't figure The Kitten's new schedule. Do you have any hints as to what time we should start eating." I looked at her for a minute and burst into tears. I ran for my room.
Up there, I bawled for an hour. My mother couldn't cuddle her grandchild on the grandchild's schedule. Bob's mother would schedule a day around The Kitten's schedule and mine. She didn't think of it as a choice, even. It was just a technical problem. Bob knocked and entered.
"Just remember that everybody in this house loves you," he said. "That goes especially for me. Do you want hugs or solitude?" Both really. I didn't answer. He came over to the bed and knelt there. He hugged me around the shoulders. I enjoy having him touch the sexy parts most of the time, but not touching them at all means that the hug is a gift for me.
After a few minutes, I answered his question. "I think I want solitude first." He kissed me on the temple, got up, and went out.
When I came down, everybody was in the living room. "I didn't mean..." Katherine started.
"All you did was express thoughtful concern," I said. "I just couldn't stand thoughtful concern just then. I haven't the foggiest idea what our schedule is right now. I don't know whether I can pull off another jar-feeding tonight. All I can tell you is that she will get cranky after four."
"We'll do it early, then. We can always turn off the oven but leave it in, dear." Which would mean a dry turkey. There wasn't one person in that room who wouldn't ruin the main dish of a feast to have me with them.
"If you say one more kind thing, I'll start bawling again."
"Sit down and shut up!" said Bob.
Saying that I didn't want kind didn't mean that I wanted nasty. He had broken the tension, though. I went over and plunked myself in his lap. He hugged me. A while later, I sidled off his lap and onto the couch. I leaned into his hug. When he wasn't talking, he occasionally kissed me very gently on my head. I unwound.
The conversation idled along. In the past year, the Senior Brennans had acquired a CD player and a CD of "A child's Christmas in Wales." Kathleen suggested that the first purchase was only to facilitate the second. "Now, we do have other recordings, dear. It's just that the old record was getting quite scratchy."
Memories led to memories. "I'll miss Aunt Amy," Kathleen said, "though not to the extent of wishing her back for a visit. I'll bet that we still have a ton of her inevitable home-made candles around the house."
"No, dear, Bob and Jeanette took most of them in their first years of marriage."
"Sorry now that I took yours, Kathleen," I said. "Candles provide a really romantic light for intimate meals and such." Especially such.
"Not wanting to nag, dear; but I hope you are careful with candles around The Kitten. I always worried about those candles. You don't ever want to fall asleep with one burning, it could start a fire." Damn! Was nothing secret?
Kathleen moved from the end of the sofa to another chair. I stretched out and lay with my head in Bob's lap. Junior stirred under me, and Bob played with my hair.
"Hello, dear," said Katherine. "I'll bet you're wet." Then somewhat later, "My! Do you like Grandma Brennan's necklace?"
"'Brennan' is unnecessary," I said. The bitterness of my tone shocked even me.
"Did I do something wrong. dear?"
"She only has one grandmother."
"Now, dear, that isn't correct. However you feel about the other one. Do you mind if I use the term I choose?" Put that way, how could I object.
"Use the term you choose."
Katherine's attention being mostly taken, the conversation was reduced to three Brennans. This being two more than strictly necessary, it rattled along. Junior was semi-hard under me, and I knew what Bob was thinking, though we looked innocent as The Kitten from anywhere in the room. I slowly rolled my head in Bob's lap, and felt delightfully lewd.
"Do you want me to feed The Kitten her baby food, dear?" Katherine asked. The rest of Bob stiffened under me. He didn't want me to get up just then.
"Please do," I said. She would do a better job than I would.
More time passed. Bob softened. Katherine returned. The conversation moved from Christmas to politics. "Weld and Lee may come to nothing," Bob said. "But in two cases the Senate was prevented from hearing material by fossil chairmen. I expect Republican Senate candidates to have to carry that baggage. It's one thing to vote no, it's another to not listen."
"Yes, dear, but will that fit inside a sound bite?"
"By not watching network news," his father said, "you have really cut yourself off from the political arena. If it hasn't happened on TV, it hasn't happened as far as political consequences go. Now, real-world consequences are another matter."
"Maybe, sir, but this is not my century, after all. TV is all telling the audience, and I'm rather past the stage of taking lecture courses. I teach seminars, now. Anyway, Jeanette has a take on TV."
"I figure that The Kitten will want one in a few years. She can ask for it and learn that it is a childish toy, not the center of adult life." Bob's father thought that as funny an idea as Bob had. I was perfectly serious.
"As both members of the firm have spoken," he said after he stopped chuckling, "I take it that this is a firm decision." There was a chorus of groans. "Let him who is without pun cast the first groan."
"Oooh," said The Kitten, as if on cue. We broke up.
"Mais non, mon enfant, dis 'Decembre, '" said Bob, a little late to claim any of the laughter as his.
"Dears," Katherine said, "are you really determined that we take the two of you as a unit?" Bob raised his hand off my forehead, and I opened my eyes to look. He was raising three fingers. "Now that is hardly fair, dear. On average, the three of you are incredibly cute and cuddly. I'm not going to change your pants if you mess in them."
"Been there," said Bob's father. "Done that."
Later in the conversation, The Kitten got fussy. Katherine tried changing her and enticing her with the necklace. Then she handed her over to me. The Kitten settled down on my stomach. Bob's stomach rumbled right next to my ear. They could have been talking Greek above me, I didn't care.
Then Bob's father put A Child's Christmas in Wales in the new CD player. Dylan Thomas's voice, marvelous on the old scratchy record, sent chills through us on the new digitized version. We listened to the silence for a few more minutes after it was over, but it was approaching Network News time. Kathleen stayed down to watch with her parents. I tore a sprig off the mistletoe before we three went upstairs.
By now, both my breasts were feeling full. I would have to express some -- not too much, throw it away, and feed The Kitten off the other breast. That was all to facilitate a visit to a woman who made less fuss over her grandchild than the strangers on the train had.
The hell with all that. I had a husband who cared for me. Bob would tolerate any experiment. "I'll go first," I said.
I came back from the bathroom clutching my robe around my nightgown with one hand and carrying all my clothes the other. "Your turn," I said. I found the sling in The Kitten's suitcase. I hung it over the back of the rocking chair.
Bob came back shaved. I think he didn't want the prickles to bother me that night. The Kitten was on her quilt, not looking very hungry. That was fine. "None of this may work," I said.
"The lovely thing about marriage is that there's always another chance." I had a philosopher in my bedroom. Not, however, the marquis's.
He came over and kissed my hairline. Sated with non-sexual comforting, I raised my face for a real kiss. Our mouths met in a sweet, still comforting, kiss. Then our tongues met, and the real kiss began. Bob kneaded my seat through robe and nightgown. I finally broke the kiss to say, "Don't all those layers of cloth impede your touch?"
He stepped back to remove my robe. "You've lost the belt somewhere," he said. No I hadn't.
"I'll look tomorrow."
"The nightgown?" he asked.
"Please." I lifted my arms and he drew the nightgown over my head until it was half off. At that point, he found the sash to my robe. It was around my waist and knotted low in front. The sprig of mistletoe was tied in the knot. Bob howled in laughter.
Farewell romance. I was standing there with a nightgown tangled in my arms and covering my face. My husband was doubled over laughing his fool head off. This roar of laughter filled the house, and probably the block.
Nobody pounded on the door asking what was so funny. I managed to untangle myself. A quick check on The Kitten showed her to be interested but unworried. She had heard papa laugh before.
She had seen maman naked before, as well. But the sight of my breasts might persuade her that she was hungry. I hurried over to the foot of the bed and dropped down. I flipped enough of the spread over me to hide me from The Kitten, and waited for Bob to quiet down. "Get the light when you're sober," I said.
He switched off the overhead light and dropped to the bed beside me. "You are," he said between gasps, "indubitably, ... the most lovely, ... luscious, ... lascivious, ... woman in ... all North America ... Love you, ... love every twist ... in your mind ... and every curve ... in your body. Let's make love!" That last is Bob's version of "All roads lead to Rome." His kiss was hot but brief. He still hadn't caught his breath, hadn't stopped laughing, really.
"I don't want to do anything serious until it's time for The Kitten to eat," I said.
"We can wait until after she's eaten," Bob said. He is patient, if not particularly attentive. "What is 'serious?'"
"Anything involving Junior. And stay away from my breasts."
"The Firm is growing already," he said. "There are three new members." It took me a minute to figure out that "The Firm" meant our family in distinction from the larger Brennan clan. Just as the "Senior Brennans" were his parents.
"The question isn't whether Junior is a member of The Firm," I said.
"But whether he is a firm member," Bob responded. "I love your mood tonight. Were you trying to embarrass me in front of my family?"
"Just returning a greeting from an old friend. If I were interested in embarrassing you, I would have gotten up."
"It would have been worth it," he said, "to have you in this bawdy mood. One more kiss above the mistletoe." We had that, and a warm, wet kiss it was too. He ended by gently sucking my tongue.
Then he clambered down and started on the inside of my right knee. Most of our intercourse is "missionary," and I have never understood the people who regard that as bland. A little more than half the rest is rear entry from the "spoon" position. This is also very satisfying from a physical perspective, but I think the emotional connections are more important to Bob. A couple of times a month (unless he's being assaulted by all the stored-up adolescent libido of his old room), Bob likes to add a little variety. He'll let me reject positions, and he makes a point of making these sessions special to me; most of the time, though, I would just as soon spend the time with my husband above me in the bed. When I feel otherwise, as I did this night, Bob is always eager to accommodate me.
Once upon a time, kissing me down there was one of the occasional variations. Since The Kitten's displacement of ton papa from my breasts, it has become more-or-less standard. Bob seems to love it, and I certainly enjoy it. It does extend the time of our love-making sessions, but I can afford the time as long as I don't have to go to an outside job in the mornings.
That is something that Bob will never tell his father; we don't watch TV because our family time is spent in love-play. I'm happy about that. Bob is ecstatic about that. The Kitten is around two very happy adults who have time for her. What we'll do when she gets old enough to figure out what papa is doing to maman is another question. Move to a two-bedroom apartment, we hope.
Anyway, when Bob began kissing my thighs, he was trying to put icing on a cake that we serve fairly frequently these days. Which is not to suggest that he failed in that task.
Without the impediment of The Kitten on me, I writhed as his ticklish tongue and lips crept upward on my thigh. When he reached his goal, he returned to the inside of the left knee. This trip seemed to take even longer. "This stage ends when The Kitten gets hungry," I warned him.
"It doesn't have to," he said. I sometimes have The Kitten's mouth on my top parts while Bob's is on my lower parts. She likes this less than the quiet times in the rocker, but much more than the times that I nurse her in the sling while doing the vacuuming.
"Oh yes it does." I had plans for my family tonight.
Bob kissed upwards a little faster. I grabbed a pillow just in case, but he slowed back down when he got the outer lips apart. He licked over the outsides of both inner ones. This teased me without getting me close to satisfaction. "Bob, please," I whispered. I was afraid of my voice carrying outside.
"I thought that I was pleasing," he said. Then he licked me open with one stroke of his tongue. This shot a thrill like an electric current right through me. I moaned and pulled the pillow over my mouth. He slowed again, taking what felt like five minutes to stroke his tongue up the inside of one lip, then what felt like ten minutes to stroke it down the other lip. He teased me so much that the first stroke over my clitoris tightened me in preparation. I let go of the pillow and grabbed his head.
As I pulled his mouth against me, he licked the entire length of my valley several times very slowly. Each time he reached the top, I stiffened further. "Bob," I called through the pillow as the stiffness became pain. Then fire shot through me. I writhed under his sweet mouth, threw my head from side to side, and moaned aloud without benefit of the pillow's muffling. I pulled him as tight against me as I could while I shook in ecstasy.
Then it was over.
He came up on the bed beside me. "My darling, my love," he said. "Oh wonderful girl, oh darling. I love you. You are so luscious. You are so fine. Wonderful Jeanette." He trailed off into a long string of "Love, love, love,..." When I think about it in the cold light of day, I sometimes wonder how his tonguing me to ecstasy becomes an accomplishment on my part. However, this was neither cold, light, nor day; and I luxuriated in his praise and his love.
Finally, I asked, "How is The Kitten doing?"
He raised himself quietly and looked at her in the night light. "I think that she has four toes in, but her whole foot won't fit." The Kitten can get her foot up to her mouth, but it doesn't quite fit inside. This leads to a certain amount of discussion about which parent is more prone to put their foot in their mouth. We weren't in the mood for that just then. I did look. She can be so cute.
"Do you think that you could change her just before she gets really hungry?"
"I can try." He tried after a while, and actually got her on the table before she emitted a cry. I had a dry baby in the sling and a willing husband in front of me. That was the easy part.
"Sit down in the rocker," I told him. "We are going to try something."
"I love you." He'd said that earlier. On the other hand, he certainly lusted after me. The fourth member of The Firm was a firm member.
I straddled him and adjusted the sling. The Kitten wasn't particularly happy, but she was in her first gluttonous phase. "Warn me before opening your legs," I said while I perched on his knees. He nodded. We weren't going to be able to kiss in this position, I could tell that already. We weren't going to be able to fit together, either. All my plans went for naught.
"Do you want to face the other way?" Bob asked.
"I thought that you might drain the right breast while she drains the left. Not all the way, but it is too full to last until her next feeding."
"Come sideways," Bob said. Well, that defeated one of my purposes, but not the other. I got up and Bob moved back a little. When I sat down on his legs, I could lie back on his left arm. Then he could reach my right breast. "Talk to your child," Bob said. The Kitten had been a bit disturbed, but she went back to her regular pattern of a few sucks and a pause. Bob's right hand moved over my legs.
"Ta maman t'aime," I said. "Ton papa t'aime, ... et ta maman aime ton papa..." When The Kitten paused, I spoke; when I spoke, Bob paused. He was licking and kissing my nipple very gently, not having yet drawn milk. I extended the love pairs to " ... et ton grand-pere t'aime, ... et ton grand-pere aime ton papa." Bob made no sign of disagreement. My seat was pressed against Bob's thigh. Every movement of the rocker brushed my outer lips very gently against that warm support. Meanwhile, Bob's hand was teasing my thighs apart.
I switched to English. "Your grandfather was patting you ... He recited a poem ... Maman thought that it was ... just like papa ... Maman said so ... Grand-pere said that, ... maman saying so ... was a great compliment, ... but that anyone saying so ... was a compliment ... Maman hadn't meant ... a compliment at all ... She thinks papa et grandpere ... were both being silly ... But she couldn't say so ... Now could she?"
With every cycle of the rocker, Bob was able to spread my legs a little further. This gave him greater access, but it also pressed my lips a little more firmly against his thigh. Bob was sucking harder now, and drawing tiny sips of milk. He had also got into The Kittens rhythm, anticipating her pauses.
"Ton papa veult ... recueillir les contes ... que ton grand- pere ... raconte..." I went on to tell her how tapes of those stories would give her access to his voice, and her children and her children's children access to his stories.
I had problems keeping my voice level. Bob's hand was on my mound, but the greater excitement was from the motion of my sensitive lips against his thigh.
Bob paused in the rocking for a moment and straightened, removing his mouth from my breast. He nearly lifted me with his supporting left arm while he spread his legs. When he relaxed, his hand was cupping me down there. "Je t'aime," he said before resuming his sweet sucking. Soon The Kitten's sucking, and Bob's, and the chair's motion, were all synchronized again.
His fingers began stroking me in the same rhythm, and the only thing keeping this rhythm together was my speech. Now I like to think that I am good at French, and nowise worse for speaking it several hours a day to my daughter. I was reaching a point, however, where even speaking coherent English was a problem. I settled on one English phrase.
The Kitten and Bob stopped sucking, almost together. "Oh love," I said, Bob's finger stroked down between my inner lips. The chair rocked forward. Bob sucked more milk out. The chair rocked back. The finger stroked slowly up my valley toward the magic spot. The Kitten resumed her lip play with my nipples. Bob's finger stopped a little too soon. The Kitten and Bob both stopped sucking. "Oh love," I said.
Then The Kitten took a long breather. She was almost done, but I wasn't. "Oh love," I said. I said it as Bob was still sucking. The tempo picked up.
"Oh love," I said more quickly. The chair moved more quickly, the finger moved more quickly, Bob sucked for shorter periods but with more force. As the rhythm grew I had to breathe when I should have been speaking. The chair rocked further forward; Bob's finger, moving more rapidly, didn't stop. A thrill shot through me. "Oh love!" I shouted.
I stiffened in his arms, and he kept up all the motions without waiting for my speech. I shuddered then as my passion flamed within me.
Then I sagged in the arms of my love. He had to remove his hand and use it to support the sling. The Kitten, who had been done a bit ago, decided that all that shaking was an attempt to starve her and clamped on again.
Now it was Bob's turn to say "Oh love." He said it over and over, very softly. The pillow was across the room; I suppose that the whole house knew what we had been doing. I couldn't manage much worry about that, I was mostly worried that I couldn't help Bob hold me up, much less The Kitten. Then I could, and straightened in his lap.
"Could you take The Kitten?" I asked.
"If you can support yourself." The Kitten, having discovered that her tummy was full after all, was finally finished. Bob got his right hand on her through the cloth of the sling and his left hand on her inside the sling and lifted. I removed the sling from around me, and Bob extricated The Kitten. I even managed to get up.
Bob put a spit-cloth on his shoulder and patted The Kitten to a minor burp. "Do we want the next feeding as late as possible?" Bob asked. When I nodded, he changed her again before turning the Kitten-goes-to-sleep tape on. Extraordinarily tired after that adventure, she dropped right off.
I looked at the rocker. We'd had enough adventures that night too. It was time for bed. "Put a piece of paper over the diaper in the wastebasket, will you?" I said.
"You know," Bob said. "It may simply have been that the position made me more conscious of swallowing, but I don't think I've ever had so much of your milk." I felt a little guilty. I tell Bob that his nursing on my breasts evens out The Kitten's demands. The truth is that sometimes I want the extra bit of love play, sometimes I want Bob in an extra state of arousal. Most of the time, my breasts are a little too sore for me to enjoy it. This was the first time that the amount of milk that he took mattered. Should I feel guilty for leading him on? I decided that I shouldn't. It's like having him assigned to dishes all the time. He would much rather be invited to suck my milk occasionally than be told that this bit of love-play doesn't interest me this night.
"You know," I said climbing into bed. "Your father missed the whole point. I'm grateful for what Bob-my-husband has done for me. He created an entire nurturing environment; he led me into the realm of passion and fulfillment. He taught me oh so much. He gave me a daughter. But it was Bob-my-boyfriend that saved my life." How was that for a nonsequitur? I'll be a real Brennan yet.
Bob climbed into bed after me. He cuddled me.
"I had a whole program," I continued, "of wild, passionate, sex planned. It didn't work out, and now I'm tired. It will have to wait."
"It can wait," said Bob, although Junior pressed hard and hot against my seat. His voice showed disappointment but not the slightest hint of resentment.
"Do you think that we could manage a little slow gentle love while we're waiting?" I asked.
"I love you," he said. I reached for the three Kleenexes that we would need. After what we had done that evening, I didn't need much foreplay. Bob needed none.
When I thought that I would break if he kept teasing me, I turned away from him. Our shoulders on opposite sides of the narrow bed, our loins meeting in the middle, we lay still as he made the necessary adjustments with his hand.
Then he slid into me slowly, sweetly, gently. He pressed forward until he was nearly enclosed, then I pressed backward until I was totally full. "Tell me!" I said while we rested that way.
"There in the forest," he began. He meant on one night in the middle of our camping-trip honeymoon. "I already loved you. I was already committed to you. I believed that there was no possible way that I could love you more. But, there in the forest, you responded to me in a new way. There in the forest, you gave me your passion while I was in you. There in the forest, I discovered a new depth of love." That is the story. He began moving.
I don't want to suggest that I lay there unmoving. I pushed back as he pushed in; I reached back to feel the hard muscles in his leg flex as they drove our connection. Still, most of the action was his. His hand roved continually over my side; his hips alternately pressed against me and receded, filling me with him and then almost leaving me. He was stroking me inside and out. Mostly I was receiving him, welcoming him, basking in his loving motions. And he, I could tell, enjoyed that welcome.
For a long while, his motions were slow. He would pause after every dozen strokes or so and let his hands provide all the stimulus. At first the motions were soothing sensuous pleasure. Inevitably, however, the time came when I wanted more. When I tightened his favorite muscle, he sped up. I grabbed his hand from where it was smoothing a path from my elbow to my thigh; I didn't even need to guide it. He caressed down my belly to my mound and between my already-spread legs. There, his finger ignited the fire that the slow loving had fueled. As he stroked within me faster and faster, his gentle touch doubled the sensation.
Our timing couldn't have been better. I felt him press against me, raising me to new heights. He groaned somewhere far behind me. I grabbed the pillow against my mouth. He drove in, filling me. Then he pulsed and spurted, filling me more. That spiraled me upward until I fell, quaking and moaning and glorying in the release.
I landed in his arms, as I had so often. As soon as I returned to my senses, I passed him one of the tissues. I held another between my legs as he came out. Getting the tissues ready beforehand isn't the most romantic preparation for sex; but we're stodgy parents now, not romantic honeymooners.
I clutched my robe around me as I dashed across the hall to the bathroom. Somehow I had lost the sash. Mostly I put on a nightgown before leaving the room when I am visiting the Senior Brennans and put on a robe over that. (Bob is horrified at the idea of my actually wearing a nightgown to bed. By this time, I'm not used to it either. My nightgowns and Bob's pajamas last a long time.) This morning I was in a hurry. Bladder empty, I decided that I might as well shower at that time. The Kitten hadn't awakened before me, which gave me a nice long time before she decided that she was famished.
Bob had put on his pajamas by the time I returned. The Kitten was on his shoulder getting a few more minutes of sleep. "There are now two diapers in the wastebasket above the paper," he said.
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