Shirley Gets A Fucking From Steve
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Shirley JeanChapter 18 free porn video
March came in like a lion, dumping almost two feet of snow on the city in less than forty-eight hours. The wind howled for two days, then the sun came out. We dug ourselves out and continued going to work.
The three of us attended Katy's birthday party March 3rd, and Donna and Ryan seemed to get along better than ever. The two of them disappeared for a while after the cake and ice cream, and I smiled as I imagined them kissing. Ryan didn't blush constantly when he was around her, and she was sharpening her femininity. All part of growing up, I thought.
Libby started going out with Tanner Kluksdahl, leaving Yvonne and Donna on their own. Sometimes, Yvonne would drop off Donna just in time for supper after one of their study sessions at Yvonne's house. I considered them to be best friends, but I wondered if their relationship had progressed to physical intimacy. When I dropped a few indirect hints that I'd like to know more, Donna remained tight-lipped and secretive, blushing and shaking her head.
The atmosphere in the house grew strained as the date for the final hearing neared. We'd received a notice in the mail that the hearing was scheduled on April 10th, five days shy of Connie's birthday. Donna wrote her new name all over her schoolbook covers, along with unicorns and initials inside hearts. "DSM" and "YMB" were most common, but there were a few others. I kept forgetting ingredients in my recipes, and Connie was quiet and withdrawn. Sex between Connie and me was good, but infrequent.
Michael and Terri kept us thinking positively; there were no negative comments in the Social Services file, and we'd come through all the monthly visits with flying colors. It just seemed unreal to me that our dream was about to become true or be destroyed.
On the day of the hearing, Judge Reinhardt guided us into his chambers, a small room behind the courtroom. Michael and Terri were there, along with Clara and the court stenographer.
Judge Reinhardt asked me, "You don't mind if this is informal, do you? All those busybodies out there don't need to know everybody's business."
I knew he was referring to the usual swarm of hangers-on and reporters that lurked around the courtroom every day, looking for stories.
I said, "Thank you."
He said, "You're welcome," and then added, "Okay everyone, find a seat and we can begin."
An hour later, all of us were celebrating with a late lunch in the back room of Jack's Steakhouse. Everyone except Donna had something alcoholic in his or her hand, and the steaks were delicious. The judge and Michael had their heads together, discussing something privately, and Donna reminded me to get her a new student ID card. Clara and Terri were chatting about previous cases and smiling at us.
I looked at Connie and smiled. "Is it true, or am I dreaming?"
Connie said, "It's true. We're a family."
That evening, Donna spent hours on the phone, telling all her friends about the hearing. Supper was a fruit and veggie plate, with Italian bread and wine. The relief was palpable. I fell asleep on the couch with my head on Connie's shoulder.
On Connie's birthday, the three of us went to Nona's for dinner, then Connie and I went dancing until the wee hours. Donna happily went to Yvonne's for the weekend. Connie and I made love almost non-stop for two days, elated at our good fortune.
We asked Donna what she wanted for her fifteenth birthday, and she was undecided. She wasn't old enough for a permit to drive, and she was too old (according to her) for a new bicycle. Allowing her to ride to and from school with Yvonne and attend Driver Education classes in her sophomore year seemed to be a good compromise, and we agreed. There would also be the normal gifts of CDs and money, and perhaps some new clothes. She took eight friends, including one boy, to the Midway Lanes Bowling Center for her birthday. A few days later, school ended for the year and we got prepared for summer.
I shifted to my summer work schedule and started getting up early every day. It's nice to be able to work in your pajamas, especially since it never took more than two or three hours. When the work was done I weeded the garden or mowed the side yard; the rest of the property was under contract to a lawn service, which came once a week.
One day I was doing laundry, and stopped in Donna's room to empty her hamper. I dumped her clothes into the basket at my feet and glanced around the room for any stray panties or nighties. Donna was a neat girl, but sometimes not everything found its way to where it belonged.
An oversize, framed sketch hung on the wall near her computer monitor, and I stepped closer to take a look. It was about 18 by 24, with the long dimension horizontal, and showed a reclining nude. Done in pencil and in the same immaculate detail she'd used for ours, I recognized Yvonne as the model. The girl had tiny breasts, a flat stomach and plentiful pubic hair, with just a hint of the crease between her legs. She was shown partway on her side, eating an apple. An indolent, almost bored expression was on her face. The couch was unfamiliar, and I assumed the drawing had been done at Yvonne's house.
The question of Donna's sexual activity with Yvonne became clearer: it was no longer if, but how long they'd been doing it. I studied the drawing, drinking in the fine detail. Yvonne's ankles were crossed, and her knees were slightly bent. I noticed her toenails, her belly button and the wisps of hair peeking from under her arms.
There was no doubt Donna was a very accomplished artist, and I had no complaint with the subject matter. What bothered me was the fact that I thought Donna was hiding something. I'd told her I wanted her to come to me with questions; did she feel confident enough to start a relationship on her own?
About that time, my common sense surfaced and I laughed. I hadn't told my mother anything at all; she'd caught me in bed with my lover. I hung the picture back on the wall and continued with the laundry, developing a plan in my mind that might work.
My plan was put on temporary hold a few days later. Connie came home at the usual time, but she had a companion, Donna. I looked at the bruises on her legs and the cast on her arm, but she wouldn't meet my eyes.
"What happened, sweetie?" I asked.
Connie answered for her. "She was riding her bike with Yvonne and fell."
"Where were you?" I asked. She'd gotten specific limits on where she could go on her bike. The fact she had called Connie to come and get her instead of me spoke volumes.
"By Divide Avenue, at the bowling alley," she said quietly.
"You know that's out-of-bounds on your bike, don't you?" I said.
She mumbled, "Mmm-hmm."
"When did this happen?" I asked.
Connie said, "About noon or a little after. She called me and I took her to the hospital. Her right arm has a hairline fracture, just below her elbow. She'll keep the cast for six weeks."
I looked at Donna and said, "Just think; no swimming for six weeks, and in the heat of summer, too."
Donna burst into tears and ran for her room.
Connie said, "I wouldn't be too hard on her. Losing her swimming is harsh enough punishment, don't you think?"
I said, "Yes, but if she'd been hit by a car we wouldn't think it was so funny."
If you've ever had a cast on your arm, you know it's fairly difficult to take a shower. Donna had one of the newer fiberglass casts, but she wasn't supposed to get it wet. We tried using a bread bag and a rubber band, and the results were not that good. After two unsuccessful tries with the bag, I offered to give her a bath.
I put about six inches of warm water into the tub and called her. She walked in, dressed in her panties and a lacy undershirt. She was wearing a bra, and I turned her around to pull the shirt over her head and unhook it. As the bra fell away, she blushed.
"What's the matter, honey? I've seen you naked before. We're both girls, you don't need to be shy."
"I'm embarrassed. My mom has to wash me, like I'm a baby or something."
"I broke my arm when I was about your age. My mom had to wash me, too."
I pulled her panties off and helped her over the edge of the tub. She held her right arm up in the air, and I began soaping up a washcloth. I started with her back, then I did her feet while she was sitting. I had her stand up so I could get her legs and stomach—her knees were filthy—and handed her the washcloth.
"You can do the rest, can't you?" I asked.
She nodded, using her left hand to wash herself. Her body had grown since the last time I'd seen her nude; I'd be buying bigger bras in the very near future. Her nipples were still pink, and her pubic hair, although sparse, had grown a little bit. Her vagina still had its youthful appearance, but the top of her clit hood now separated the upper third of her very plump outer lips.
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