What do you call the daughter of your third wife's first husband's first wife? I don't really know the answer, but "hot" is what came to mind when I first met her.
My wife had been her 'mother' during her turbulent teenage years and had remained in her life, while her father had not. She came to visit us for two weeks between jobs, and I had never seen her, though I had heard all about her wild promiscuity, her pregnancies, and the resulting abortions.
She also told me that Melissa was mixed race. To be exact, she was an octoroon. In the Old South women who were one-eighth black were called 'high yellow' or 'octoroon.' It generally was accepted that they had the best features of both races, though I know of nothing scientific that justifies the conclusion. My wife told me Melissa had mingled feelings about this, sometimes hiding her heritage, sometimes bragging about it. I didn't know what to expect.
I was not prepared for a tall olive skinned beauty with hair as black as India ink and eyes that were as playful as her smile. To say I was struck speechless is not too far off the mark. She hugged me, as a new 'in-law' but I was too focused on the breasts she pressed against me to really hear what she said.
She played the part of the worldly twenty-something, disparaging my dog as 'little and ugly,' and pointing out all the reasons her car was cooler than mine. She could have bitch-cussed me, as long as I could look at her, be in the same room with her, have an excuse to sit on the couch and smell her.
Yeah, I was thirty years older than she was, yeah 'could have been her father', but she was so smoking hot I felt like I was going to drool. That always impresses the young ones, when you drool.
After a couple of days, I was still laying in bed with a hard on thinking of her just down the hall. That's when my wife got sick. Turned out to have a ruptured appendix, and so she spent a week in the hospital. Melissa and I spent several hours in the ER until we knew the score, but then it was pointless for us to stay. She was sedated, prepped for surgery, in the staging area. It was 3am, and we took their advice and went home for the night.
We were both wired, so I suggested a glass of wine, and then another. She wound up with her head on my shoulder, sobbing about her love for my wife. I loved her too, but right then I had a throbbing boner, and it was doing the thinking. I kissed her on the cheek, and then we sort of turned into each other, and suddenly her tongue was in my mouth and all thought of my wife was gone.
She really knew how to kiss, and she worked me to a frenzy with her licking and sucking, and that was before I touched her. I hesitantly slid a hand up to cup one firm young tit, and I almost came then! She pulled her top off, and unsnapped her bra, and I was sucking on the darkest, hardest nipples I had tasted in years, if ever! Her skin was so smooth and warm. She started squirming and moaning, and I could smell her arousal.
"We can't, we can't," she murmured in my neck. "She's like my mother."
I pulled back an inch and turned her head so she was looking in my eyes.
"Melissa," I said, "I'm not your father. It's natural for you to feel overwhelmed with this. We don't have to progress to sex. (but oh, please God, let us!)"
"I feel like a fool," she said as she dropped her eyes, "no, a whore. I deal with everything by using sex."
"Well, I'm not going to take advantage of you. Why don't you come sleep in the bed with me, and we can cuddle together, but we won't do anymore kissing or fooling around. Just be together, ok?"
"You would really do that? You don't want to fuck me?"
"I'd love to give you pleasure, to make love to you a hundred ways, but not if you're going to feel like I used you."
She cried some more, and then meekly followed me to the bedroom where she stripped naked and crawled in beside me, while I remained in my briefs. I had to; my erection would have made lying near her impossible if it weren't restrained.
In a few minutes she was sleeping like a child (she IS a child, you old fool!) while I held her in my arms and smelled her womanly smells. I actually went to sleep sometime, because I woke up with her still there. She was awake, looking at me.
"Boy, you must be blind to look at me first thing in the morning," I said.
"I think you hair standing up like a cockatoo s cute," she pronounced. "Thanks for... well, you know. I'm such a slut!" Tears brimmed.
