The Boo of Ruth: Doing Ruth

Author's note: This episode of an extended romantic memoir includes mature and group sex, and cheating, and incest, and tragedy. The tale is probably fairly fictional. All sexual acts involve conscious humans of age 18+. Views expressed are not necessarily the author's.

You do not NEED to read the previous two episodes (BEFORE RUTH and COMING FAST), but it will not hurt. Your feedback is appreciated.

*****

- 1984 - summer in Santa Monica

Katia raised herself nearly off my hard cock and then slammed down again.

We groaned together. I raised my hips to meet her thrusts. We moved in rhythm, Katia riding me like an expert equestrian, her beautiful naturally-tan boobs swaying joyously with her buckaroo bouncing, her

caballera

cunt clutching and corrading my red-hot cock. Just watching her jounce atop me was an evil delight.

"Nnnnph... ah ah ah... oh fuck oh oh..." Katia moaned incoherently.

The only other sounds came from her labored athletic breathing and the slap of her bubbly cheeks on my straining thighs. My firm hands on her hourglass hips steadied her as we slammed together.

Katia paused on an upstroke, her eyes scrunched shut in a tight grimace, then slowly slid down my cock - and wailed! And thrashed, almost epileptic in her violent twitchings.

My orgasm had been waiting in the wings for this moment. It's SHOWTIME, folks! My ejaculation took the spotlight in center stage and metaphorically chewed the scenery. My cock ranted and raved and ripped! I exploded inside Katia, quaked (magnitude 11) under her, unleashed a tantric tsunami into her tight cleft.

My bellow was not quite as loud as her scream. Not quite.

Katia rolled off me. We collapsed together, gasping, sweating, thoroughly sated. She pulled my face to hers and kissed me, giving me the last of her breath until she murmured, "Thanks, Randy. That was great. I really love being with you."

"You're pretty great too. Give me a few minutes and we can have at it again."

"Okay, for YOU, I'll wait a little bit. But don't you go to sleep or anything!"

I was twenty-four now. Getting old. Slowing down. Difficult to keep up with eighteen-year-old Katia. If her ex-classmate and best friend Ruth were here with us, would I be any more energetic? Well, maybe if I drank some espresso, and the girls drank wine...

Only a month had passed since that beach run where I reconnected with Ruth Shapiro and met Katia Fernandez. I promised Ruth a good get-together; all she had to do was call me. (See THE BOOK OF RUTH: COMING FAST for details.) But she never called. Katia called instead. We hooked up. We had lots of fun in those weeks.

Katia had opened up on our first 'date', a Mandarin take-out at my kitchen table followed by a few hours of sexual calisthenics is my oversize bed. As we shared mu shu pork and honey almond prawns and Almaden chablis, I memorized her classic Mixtec face, and she told me about Ruth.

"Y'know Ran, Ruth was really pissed at you, the way you teased her and left her. She was about ready to sneak up to your car and pour sugar in your gas tank, y'know, to, like, ruin your engine."

"Yeah? So what stopped her? By the way, to really fuck with someone's car, you don't use sugar. You drop a ping-pong ball into the gas tank. It doesn't do any damage. But the suction on the gas line pulls the ball over to block the outlet. Then the car engine dies, and the suction stops, the ball falls away, and the engine can start again, no problem. But a few minutes of run-time later, the ball blocks the outlet again, and the engine dies again. The owner probably takes it to a mechanic many times but they'll never find what's wrong. The only way to fix it is to pull the gas tank and cut it open. Fun fun fun, hey?" I chuckled.

"Oh fuck, that's nasty. I'd go crazy! But you wanna know what stopped Ruth? It was her father. She thought she'd have all summer around here, maybe go up into the Sierras for cool fun. What, you didn't know she likes hiking and swimming? Well, sure.

"Then her dad all-of-a-sudden decided that he wanted her away from here. Maybe he'd heard about her parties? Yeah, she was a little wild. Anyway, he sent her to stay with her great-aunt. In fucking Miami. In July! For the rest of the summer! Most miserable time of the fucking year!

"Ruth just about went ballistic when they gave her the plane ticket. But it's not like she had a choice. If she wants into Cal Arts, she has to play her dad's game. That means playing nice with them, and with the old bat. Ruth says

Tante

Sylvia is straight from 'Noo Joisy' with a voice like a cement mixer. Oh shit, Ruth was SO fucking pissed!

"Ruth told me a story about this great-aunt. Sylvia and her poor husband Lew, a small-time real estate broker, were on vacation in Hong Kong. More exciting than Hackensack, I guess. Anyway, they're on a street that's all jewelry stores, and Sylvia is, like, shopping heavily. And Lew is on his knees in the middle of the street shouting, 'Sylvia, Sylvia! You're killing me! You're KILLING me!' And Sylvia is in a doorway and she yells back, 'Well before you die, throw me your wallet!' Damn, what a cold bitch!"

I laughed. "Hey, she sounds like a good customer to me!"

Katia stuck out her tongue. I nipped at it but she backed away too fast.

"So Ruth's in purgatory for the summer, and she's pissed at everyone, even me, probably because you kissed me better than her. So I get no call, no postcards, no nothing. Maybe she'll cool off when school starts. Maybe not.

"But enough of Ruth. Are you ready to fuck again? You can get on top this time." Katia stroked my cock to illustrate her interest. I responded quickly. Hey, I ain't THAT old yet!

We really rocked the bed, here in the family home I shared with my sister and our mother. The home I would soon be forced to leave.

I made the most of my time while I was here. I certainly showed Katia a good time here. And Elena. And Tran. And Billi. And Katia's stepmother Juanita - well, that is another story. But Katia was special. I would miss her. Except when I was back in town. Then, more rocking!

- 1984 - Thanksgiving (USA) Weekend

The worst part of being a "successful businessman" was not having my gorgeous sister and mother for sleep, love, and sex, not nearly often enough. Was this part of growing up?

My boss / muse / lover / big sister Jill and I ran a specialized commodities firm. Sure, it was officially 35% mine, but it was still 100% hers. I was really only her tool.

Jill had a very clear goal.

"I want to have enough money to buy Scotland."

"What?" I was dumbfounded. "What the fuck would you do with Scotland?"

"Oh, I don't want to OWN it, dummy. Then I'd have to run it. No, I just want to be ABLE to buy Scotland. I'd probably rather buy Bermuda. It would be cheaper to own and operate. Nicer weather, too."

Okay, Jill. Whaever you say.

Our "home office" was really just that, built over the garage behind the house we had grown up in with our mother Nina. (Our dad had abandoned us long ago to run off with a Thai waitress. Fuck'em.) Anyway, we now had little branch offices scattered around.

Let me introduce us again. Jill and I are tall and slim, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. She is almost six feet high; I have a few inches on her, and a few pounds, and better body strength. I am now twenty-four. Jill is two years older.

We are told we are good-looking: taut muscles, sharp features, high cheekbones, dimpled chins, good teeth, and full-body tans. Jill has superb firm tits and I do not, so we're easy to distinguish. Her hair is longer, too. She looks like our mom Nina minus eighteen years. In other words, just fucking gorgeous. We all stay very fit - got to, else we would crumble.

We kids had been raised naked. We did not wear clothes inside our home. We had slept together naked all our lives, Jill and I, and often with Mom. And now we shared physical love, ever since we 'kids' reached adulthood. We had a nice stable life - except when Jill introduced the usual excitement. Like tearing us apart and sending me away.

Jill assigned me to take over Eastern North America operations of our (her) company. I felt like I was being kicked out of the (love) nest. What, move out of our comfortable home? What, no more home-style hot-and-cold running sex? Fucking BUMMER, man...

Thanksgiving and Black Friday 1984 had just passed. Jill and I were on the homeward leg of our usual early-morning run down the beach from our Santa Monica home to the Venice West pier and back. This was a good time for chats, before the smog got too thick. And it was a good time for Jill to issue directives - I had less breath to argue with.

"So quit bitching, kid. This is a promotion! Here, enjoy your new status."

Jill pulled a slightly sweat-soggy business card from her nicely-filled sports bra.

"Here's your new identity, little brother. Cherish it, or else!"

I sniffed the card, leered at Jill, and read:

THUNDERBIRD INTERNATIONAL

Minerals, Metals, Materials

Randall O. van Ronk

President (East)

TELEX: 853742 TBIDC WSH

All printed under our elongated Thunderbird logo.

I stuffed the card into the pocket of my running shorts. I tried not to sound too impressed with myself.

"Yeah, so it looks good, but we know what it really means. It means I'm on go-fer duty 25/8. I'm your full-time slave on detached assignment. Why not just put a silver toque on my neck? Then it'll be easy to hook a leash on me."

"Whine, whine, whine," Jill laughed sardonically. "Anyway, you deserve at least a gold slave collar, y'know, to show off your executive status. Then everyone will know you're a high-class slave."

"Sure, and then if you get a good offer, you'll sell me off, sell me down the river. I just KNOW you have some evil fate planned for me."

"Oh, shut up, crybaby. I'll suck your dick when we get back home. For now, just think about what a glorious future you have in store. Money! Women! Negotiations! Expense accounts! Frequent flier miles! Tattoos! Ocelots! As long as you do exactly what I say, it's all yours!"

Yeah, the same old promises. I reached over and swatted her firm ass as we trotted along, then took off at a faster pace.

"Hey, slow down, slave! You don't get to run away from your owner!"

We got home, showered, fucked noisily, showered again, and dressed for the day: nothing. It is GOOD to work at home! Especially with our backyard pool, hot-tub, and speakerphones. (And big cushioned chaises, perfect for love.)

Sure, it was a weekend here, but we did business worldwide now, with telexes and faxes and voice calls coming in from suppliers and customers and agents all over, at all hours. Lots of the weekend traffic would be rerouted on Monday to our little office near UCLA, staffed by hungry, ambitious business majors. We mostly just finessed policy and stroked customers on weekends. And fucked.

Jill had developed a primitive but effective strategy for dealing with me.

First, she induced (ordered, threatened, bribed, deceived, etc) me to do something I did not much like.

Then, she let me rant, bitch, moan, whine, and otherwise complain - an exercise in futility.

And then, she blew me. I find it very difficult to remain angry with my big sister when my cock is all the way down her throat, tickling her epiglottis.

This always led to more. Sometimes we were frenzied, sure. But we also spent much time in long, slow, lazy fucks - Jill's only laziness, just about. We loved to lie together on our sides, Jill's legs wrapped around my waist, my mouth and hands busy with her lovely breasts while we slowly ground together.

Our lovemaking sessions were thus "business meetings." And tax deductible!

Running our business, which primarily entailed my being manipulated and exploited by Jill, fell into an interesting pattern - often frustrating or explosive, and always satisfying.

But I would have to face the world on my own from now on. Bummer...

-

That week after Thanksgiving was my last as a full-timer in California. I bid passionate farewell to Katia. And Elena. And Tran. And Billi and Beth, together, yummy. I planned to return regularly. (The Katia-plus-Juanita sessions came later.)

Jill sent me East at the beginning of December. I arrived on a dry and blustery Saturday, just so symbolically perfect for being dumped in cold-hearted Washington D.C.

My bumpy flight from LAX finally landed at National Airport and I crawled to the arrivals lounge. I saw my office manager / personal assistant / sexytary Gabrielle aka Gabby waiting for me. I knew Gabby from my prior stops in D.C.

Tall shapely black Gabby wore a jogging suit and a tired smile. She shook my hand; we were not on a hugging basis, let alone kissing or sex. Sure, Jill and I had a firm policy: Do not fuck the paid staff. Never ever. Of course, independent contractors were another matter...

We were pretty informal. We tried to keep something of a California vibe, not the old uptight East Coast chain-of-command anal-broomstick formality. Among ourselves, anyway. To deal with locals, we had to be just as much assholes at they were. Politicians set a high standard here.

So did crabby Gabby.

"Hey boss, it's about time you got here. Why did you have to arrive today? I lost my damn afternoon off to pick you up! And I don't make fucking overtime." Gabby was not happy.

"Ah well, you know Jill, always cutting costs to the bone. She figured that flying today was cheaper than Friday or Monday, and your time is already paid for, so you're cheaper than a taxi."

Yes indeed, we ran a VERY lean operation. No fancy spaces in luxury locales; no banks of drones in tiny-cubicle office buildings; no corporate limos; nothing like that. I picked my two bags off the luggage carousel and plopped them in the company minivan - bought used and fully depreciated, of course.

Our D.C. office filled a small Victorian rowhouse off Wisconsin Ave not far from Georgetown University. I was gifted with the top-floor's apartment as the boss' quarters - a nice easy commute, at least for the days I was actually in the office. I shared the rooms with Jill when she was in town. Visiting managers were put here if neither Jill nor I was in. No need to rent fancy hotel suites when only a comfortable (and paid-for) sleepover would work just fine.

We wended through easy traffic from National to Georgetown. Gabby smelled angry. She drove agressively and bypassed small talk.

"Okay boss, let's talk about the new regime. That's you, in case you ain't figured it out yet. Meet the new boss, same as the old boss - except now, you'll be bothering us more. Fuck that. You may run Eastern Operations, but

*I*

run the office, every damn thing that happens here, inside or outside the office, totally. And I run

your

business life too. You stick to your patch and don't mess with me, we'll get along just fine, y'hear?"

Hmmm, I did not notice any deference or "Whatever you say, sir," in that word stream.

"I hear you just fine, Oh my goddess. I'll worship you and you won't hit me with thunderbolts and plagues of dysentery. That's about it, right?" I put a note of pleading in my voice.

"That's exactly right, and don't you forget it! I don't care that you own the place. You're still just a kid and you need adult supervision."

Adult. Right. Gabby was a year older than Jill and three years older than me. But she

knew

her shit. She perfectly ran her office crew, mostly lean and hungry business majors from Georgetown U. They were pushed hard, and they performed. They worked cheap too.

I was firmly put into my place. Fine with me. I was not about to interfere with finance, marketing, lobbying (bribery), communications, personnel, routine admin, any of that. My mission was to ensure that we meshed well with customers, suppliers, agents - and to look for new opportunities. More about that later.

We arrived in Georgetown. Gabby dropped me at the front door. I would schlep my few bags upstairs myself. Maybe I got to stay in the penthouse, but I was still my own porter.

"You've been here before, kid - you can get settled-in on your own. Don't mess up the place too much, and be in my office at eight sharp on Monday. I'll have tasklists for you. Now get the fuck out and let me go back home. Shit, what I do for a paycheck here..."

"Yes, yes, Oh my goddess, I hear and obey and bow at your feet. Say hi to your submissives for me, okay?"

Gabby smirked and gave me a limp good-bye wave, more of a dismissal. I grinned back. We would do just fine, so long as I behaved.

The flight left me a bit too tired to look for hot fun that Saturday night. I rounded the corner to a local bistro for a sandwich (roast turkey with trimmings and slaw) and suds. Too bad avocados and Anchor Steam Beer had not yet arrived in D.C. What a fucking primitive place!

-

Time passed. I worked my 'territory' from Winnipeg to Montreal to Halifax, Kansas City to Memphis to D.C, Dallas to New Orleans to Miami, Jamaica to San Juan to Trinidad. Girls in every port, sure, but I still got back to Santa Monica as often as I could devise excuses. Sex with my sister and our mother was still the best. Well, Katia and her step-mom were not bad either.

We reluctantly shifted the D.C. office from Georgetown to a larger, more commercial space downtown near George Washington University a year after I arrived. We brought with us some of the Georgetown students or their clones and added a few GWU'ers. Our co-op building had offices downstairs and apartments on the upper levels, and we owned our part of it. I thus retained my short stairway commute - when I was around.

What did our company do?

THUNDERBIRD INTERNATIONAL: Minerals, Metals and Materials

(TBI) was the name, and that is what we handled.

Jill started TBI by importing silver body-art from Taxco (TOSS-koh) Mexico to sell to the surfer-hodad-student scene around Santa Monica, then throughout greater Los Angeles with a vendor network in street-corners and parks. This grew into dealing in various materials for such jewelry: precious metals, precious and semi-precious stones, decorative fittings, etc.

(Our 'importing' started with Jill and I in Taxco stuffing silverwork, jade and amber into secret compartments in her smuggler's VW Bug to avoid

banditos

and

federales

and nosy customs inspectors. Good thing the statute of limitations has expired now! See the first episode, THE BOOK OF RUTH: BEFORE RUTH for details.)

Then Jill tracked down odd needs and sources, brokering exchanges of money and materials - alloys from here to there, stranded ore shipments, medical and scientific radioisotopes, metallurgical experiments, industrial and synthetic gems, rare earths, custom fabrications, semiconductors, leftovers, whatever.

Jill's genius: her network-building skills, starting with those street vendors around L.A. She could sniff-out deals, and more importantly, she could sniff-out people who could FIND deals and buyers and supplies. She now ran a worldwide web of commission-hungry agents linked to us by phone, fax, telex, shortwave, satellite, and probably carrier pigeons in some of the more remote locations. I thought I saw dovecotes behind our Mogadishu office.

Yes, even though my 'official' domain was eastern North America and environs, I made occasional runs to Asia, Africa, Europe, and Latin America. I usually accompanied Jill. Sometimes she was just lonely, starved for a good brother-fuck (and some muscle), and sometimes she actually needed my expertise. My Geography degree from UCLA did indeed come in handy.

I was quite happy with all this, except for the usual assholes. Life is like that.

-

Gentle Readers: You are probably impatient by now. You wonder, "Where's Ruth? Aren't these stories supposed to be about her?" She has only made, what, about three cameo appearances so far? And hasn't been fucked yet? Okay, okay, get ready. RUTH IS BACK TO STAY! Until she leaves, anyway.