MyFirstSexTeacher Ariella Ferrera Diamond Jackson 22569
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When Alana and I left Santa Fe, we wanted to avoid the airport in Albuquerque, so I chartered a plane to fly us to Jackson Hole from Santa Fe's Municipal Airport, an airport that provided no commercial flights. So, my reunion with my parents happened when Alana and I stepped out of the secure area of the Albuquerque airport. It was a joyful reunion.
When Mom hugged me, she gushed, "Wow, Eric, you're turning into a hunk. How many pounds have you gained?"
"Thirty, thereabouts," I said.
"And it's all muscle," Alana said, beaming.
I'd kept in close touch with my parents via cell phone during our stay in Jackson Hole. Dad managed to sell his landscaping maintenance business. He didn't get much for it, but his customers didn't suffer like they would if he'd just closed up shop. He was happy, so I was happy. He'd also sat for and passed the test to become a landscape contractor. And Dad and Maureen had found the acreage for our new home, a five-acre parcel with an older home already built on the land. We paid $650,000 for the property, and with a 50% down payment, the seller carried back the balance for five years with equal annual payments plus 8% interest with no prepayment penalty. The closing took place two weeks ago, and Dad and Maureen had moved into the house. Anticipating the move, they'd also sold both of their trailers.
With help from the real estate agent handling the sale of the acreage, Dad e-mailed the plot plan, floor plan, and photographs of the house to me in Jackson Hole, and I'd been doodling with how the property could be best utilized considering our requirements. I'd get serious about that effort after Alana and I were settled in our temporary quarters with my parents.
I think Alana's beauty stunned my father. I could hardly wait to show him the nudes I'd rendered of her in pastels. Would he get a hard-on? Then I chastised myself for the thought. It had just popped into my mind. Damn you, Erin Persohn, for putting it there.
Alana had been worried that my parents wouldn't accept her. Maureen put those worries to rest before we arrived back in Santa Fe. I sat up front with Dad in my Honda Accord. He drove. And Maureen and Alana sat in the back. The ladies talked clothes and shopping. They talked makeup. They talked food and cooking and decorating. Alana answered question after question Maureen posed about our time in Jackson Hole, and Alana asked questions about the house and land that would become her new home.
The old house had a double master suite layout with the living area in between the two bedrooms. After some remodeling, Dad and Maureen said the house would fit their needs, but we wouldn't remodel the old house until my home was ready for occupancy. We'd build my studio and Maureen's, and Dad's office facility and warehouse at the same time as construction proceeded on my house.
"Eric, tomorrow without fail, you must call a woman named Paula Rittenhouse," Dad said. "She's your case worker with the Family Court. She wants to schedule a drug test and get you going on the 100 hours of community service. I have her phone number at home. She's a little irritated with the delays because you were out of town."
"All right," I said. I'd frankly forgotten about both items. "What kind of community service does she have in mind for me?"
"Don't know," he said.
"Did UPS deliver my packages to the house today?"
"Not before we left," he said. "What's in the packages?"
"My art equipment and supplies, two portfolio cases with my finished artwork, and some clothing and other items we bought in Jackson Hole. As it was, I still had to pay extra for our luggage," I said. "I'm amazed how many more clothes, shoes, whatever, that women must have than men."
"That's for sure," Dad said.
"I heard that, Johannes," Maureen said.
Dad laughed and said, "Tell us we're wrong."
"I can't," Maureen said, "but it isn't nice to bring it up."
After a quick tour of the house, Alana and I put our things in our bedroom suite. It was a letdown after our residence in the Four Seasons in Jackson Hole, but we'd make do until we could build our own home. The Four Seasons would be a letdown after we lived in the architecture I'd design for my house.
"Put on some shoes that can take some damage, and let's stomp around the acreage," I said. "We'll pick out the site for our house."
She smiled and said, "I'm up for that. Your mother likes me; I'm not so sure about your dad."
"My father wants nothing more than my happiness. You make me happy, Alana. He'll see that, and he will love you for it."
"It's that simple, huh?" she said as she started to strip off her clothes.
"Yes. What are you doing?"
"Changing clothes. I can't wear hiking boots in a dress, silly."
I grunted. That she made sense was scary. "I'll meet you in the kitchen," I said.
"Afraid to stay and watch me change clothes, huh?"
"You betcha. Now is not the time for some sexual shenanigans."
She laughed. "Anytime is the time for sexual shenanigans when we're in these rooms, buckaroo."
I groaned. She'd picked up on Erin's nickname for me.
Mother was in the kitchen. "Iced tea?" she said.
"Sounds good. Alana and I are going to walk around the acreage, possibly to pick out the site for our home, and maybe the sites for the other outbuildings."
"May your father and I join you?"
"Sure," I said as she handed me a glass of iced tea.
"I'll go change clothes."
I chuckled as she hurried from the room. Ice clicked in an empty glass when Dad walked into the kitchen.
"Maureen said you were going to pick out the site for your home," he said as he poured a glass of tea for himself, motioned with the pitcher, and after I nodded, he filled my glass again.
It was time for me to drop another bombshell of yet another skill set Hector gave me from on high. "Yes," I said. "Dad, I will do the preliminary architectural design work for our improvements to this acreage."
Instead of looking surprised, he chuckled and said, "Fine by me. Besides art, you think you're also an architect, huh?"
"You betcha," I said.
"I'll want involvement with the landscaping plan," he said. "I figure the compound will become an example of the quality of work Kleiner Landscaping Company can provide. I'll also want to give you input on my offices and warehouse. I've been thinking about what I want out of life, Eric." He chuckled. "Being around you makes a man dream big dreams. Besides being a landscape contractor, I want to own a nursery, so I folded a nursery into my long-term goals. The nursery will be a wholesale operation to service other landscape contractors but will also have a small, quality retail operation for the general public. With this in mind, I don't want a large warehouse on this property, and the office space won't be my permanent office, more a home office than a place to do business."
"Dad! That's a great idea!" I exclaimed.
He cocked his head and said, "It means another year of poker playing for you."
"No problem," I said. "I told you that I'd support you to become all you can be. This is fantastic! I'm very pleased."
"Thanks," he said. "That girl of yours, she's a beauty."
"Yes she is. I love her a lot, Dad."
"I could see that. I could also see that as much as you love her she loves you more. I'm happy for you, Son."
I stood on the site of my new home and looked to the east toward the blue and purple Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Sunrise would be a sight to behold.
"We'll build our home here, Alana," I said and hugged her waist with my right arm. "We'll do tai chi at sunrise and watch the light of a new sun march across the high desert and warm the earth."
"Yes, we will," Alana said.
"This area is a little steep," Dad said.
"The entrance will be at ground level and it will have a walk-out basement," I said. "We'll mold the house so it fits the environment around it, so it flows with the land." I pointed to the left, down slop from where we were standing. "And I'll build my studio there."
"Where will we build the barn and stables?" Alana asked.
"Barn? Stables?" Dad said.
"Yes," I said. "Alana and I enjoy horses and riding. Besides a small barn and stables for four horses, we'll use some of the land for a dressage arena. And with your help, we'll turn some of the acreage into pasture. Horses are like children. They need room to run and play."
"Pastures use a lot of water," he said.
"Use drought resistant native grasses," I said.
He nodded and said, "I can do that."
I pointed to the right and said, "The horse facilities will be situated in that direction, far enough away from our home that the smells won't intrude, but close enough so we don't have to go on a hike to take care of the horses. Mom, your studio can adjoin mine, one building, two spaces. We'll share some of the facilities, like a bathroom and small kitchen and lounge area."
"I like that, Eric," Maureen said. "You don't know, but I got a job working with a potter, sort of an apprenticeship. I start working for him the first of the month. I figured if I wanted to be a potter, I'd learn quicker under the direction of a professional potter."
"Mom! That's great! And I think you're right about how to learn the art."
"I don't know if I'd call Greg Randolph an artist. Most of the pottery he sells comes from molds, but I'll learn the basics if nothing else," she said.
"Yes, you will. Dad, with your reduced need for warehouse space, let's make it part of the garage structure."
He shrugged and said, "Fine by me."
"And if your office space will eventually become a home office, we'll do an addition to your house when we remodel that building for your offices. That way you'll have access to your home office without leaving your house."
"I like the sound of that," he said, grinning. "It gets cold here in the winter."
I rubbed my hands together. "Good. I'll go shopping tomorrow."
"Shopping?" Alana and Maureen said at the same time.
"For architectural equipment and supplies, not clothes," I said. They looked disappointed. "I'll also search for a temporary studio for both my art and my architectural work."
"Don't forget to call Paula Rittenhouse," Dad said.
Paula Rittenhouse was a bitter overweight woman in her late twenties or early thirties. I suppose working with drug addicts can make you bitter, but I think Ms. Rittenhouse was born sour and grew more bad-tempered and disagreeable as she aged. She took an immediate dislike to me, and she didn't trust me. She drove me to the drug testing facility and by ordering a male lab technician to watch me pee in the cup made sure I couldn't defraud the test.
On the drive back to her office, she said, "If you fail a drug test, I'll have you back in court so fast your head will spin."
"I won't fail a drug test," I said.
"We'll see," she said.
"What do you have in mind for my community service?" I asked.
"I'll leave that to you, but I want the 100 hours completed by the first of September, and don't select a community service that involves drugs in any manner, like volunteering at a halfway house for addicts."
"While surfing the internet last night, I was impressed with what St. Elizabeth Shelter is doing for the homeless. They accept volunteers. I suppose some of the Shelter's homeless are involved with drugs, but..."
"Volunteering at St. Elizabeth Shelter is acceptable," she said. "When we get back to my office, I'll give you a form to give them. They'll report your progress to me."
"When will you have the results of the blood test?"
"Tomorrow," she said. "Don't call me. If you don't hear from me, you passed. If you didn't pass, it'll be back to court for you."
"When will you want me to test again?" I asked.
"At a time of my choosing," she said.
I figured I'd better find my temporary studio before buying the equipment for the architectural work on the compound. To that end, I bought a newspaper and searched through the classifieds while I ate my lunch.
The first two possibilities didn't pan out, but the third, although not perfect, would do nicely. It was a warehouse-like space with an overhead door, a people door, and a loft. The lower level had a freestanding double stainless steel sink, and the loft was configured into a studio apartment. I asked for a one-year lease, giving the real estate agent my Aspects, LLC, business card.
"E-mail the lease to me this afternoon, if possible; I'll have my attorney review it. If it's acceptable, my father will sign the lease tomorrow. I'll call you when it's signed, and I'll give you a check for the security deposit and the first's month's rent when you pick up the signed document. When will I given the keys?"
"As soon as the owner signs the lease. If you don't make any changes to the lease, you'll have the keys and your copy of a fully executed lease the day after you turn over the signed lease and check to me. As I said, the utilities are your responsibility. They're turned on now, but the owner will order them turned off a day or two after you take occupancy, so call the water, gas and electric company to put the utilities in your name."
By then it was late afternoon. I hoped my attorney was still in her office. I had not met her. I'd hired her via the telephone to create the LLC while I was in Jackson Hole, and Dad had used her to form Kleiner Landscaping Company. Before I turned anymore work over to her, I wanted to meet her. She was still at her office when I called, and she said she'd be happy to meet me.
Nancy Spiker, Attorney at Law, looked like Paula Rittenhouse at first glance. She was in her late twenties or early thirties and she was overweight. That's where the resemblance ended. Mrs. Spiker was a happy woman with a can-do personality. I liked her immediately.
I told her about the studio lease and the forthcoming contract from my artist's agent. She said she'd review both documents promptly and call me with any problems. We chatted briefly. She was married and had a little boy. Her husband, Dennis, was also an attorney, except he handled criminal cases, and he was a partner in a medium-sized local firm.
When I landed back at the house and hooked up my computer, the lease was in my inbox. I forwarded it to Nancy, printed it, and then read it carefully. I didn't see any problems.
My art equipment and supplies had arrived along with the other boxes I'd shipped from Jackson Hole.
"Are you going to show your parents your paintings?" Alana asked.
"Yes, but not for a few days. I'll show them in my studio. They'll have more impact there than here in the house. The studio has track lighting and lots of wall space."
She giggled nervously. "I hope your father won't think ill of me for posing nude for you."
"I don't believe Johannes Kleiner is a prude," I said.
The next day, I signed up for volunteer work at the St. Elizabeth Shelter. They operated two shelters: the emergency shelter, and the overflow shelter. The overflow shelter was open every night from November to March for anyone in need of a safe, warm place to spend the night. No one was turned away. At 7,000 feet elevation, Santa Fe gets cold during the winter months and sleeping outdoors can become life threatening. They also offered some housing programs, sort of halfway houses where the homeless paid partial rents, and a unique service they called Street Homeless Companion Animal Assistance. For many homeless individuals, pets are their only family. St. Elizabeth, like most shelters, does not allow guests to bring their animals inside with them, so many homeless men and women choose to continue living on the streets rather than abandon their pets. The Companion Animal program assists these individuals to properly care for their animals, while enhancing their sense of responsibility and connection to society. The program provides leashes, harnesses, registration tags, and licenses, and pays for vaccinations, spaying and neutering, and emergency medical care. I hoped that I'd be assigned to work in the Companion Animal program.
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