A Change of Heart
"Uncle Shawn?" I hear Becky say as I step over the threshold into the kitchen.
With the hardwood now beneath my bare feet, I question, "Yes?"
"I've changed my mind, Uncle Shawn...if that's allowed."
"Hafta go," Jessie says as he rushed by headed for the door.
Becky's cousin takes his leave giving Becky the pause required to relay her message clearly and completely and gauge my feelings with regard to her change of heart. I have made it crystal clear to the young man what my response will be if he violated the rules of the house. He is smart enough not to listen for a retelling of those rules.
There is also no need for Becky to expound for the sweet soulful sound of my niece's groans came to my ear while I muddled mint for the Mohitos we are enjoying in the sitting room where first cousins were just taking each other's temperature and sampling each other's saliva. I've heard that sound from a distance on several occasions when Becky chanced a test of the boundaries of the protection afforded during her summer adventure on Lake Chautauqua before the start of the semester. Under my watch third base was unattainable though Becky and Jessie doubled on a number of occasions over the last three days of our stay at Bemus Point.
The throaty sound of an engine, a big V-8 comes by the window screen. I hear Becky damn Jessie as he flees. He is not willing to deal with the crazy uncle. Tomorrow Becky and I will return to the city.
My sister refers to Becky, the eldest of Clare's clutch of five as her wild child.
Like mother like daughter is my usual response to the moniker my sister lays on her daughter. Being the oldest at nineteen, Becky has witnessed more of her mother's antic than any of her four siblings. I, also being the eldest of five am privy to many of the wicked nasties my sister Clare had participated in starting at nineteen.
Like I said, like mother like daughter.
At nineteen Clare gave her virginity to one of the three Deacons who fucked her in the sacristy of the church where the family has paid pew-rent for more than thirty years. As the story told by the three Deacons goes there was no force needed to subdue Clare. She just raised the hem of her summer cotton dress, removed her underpants and demanded the three have at it. The blending of they and she created the wild child Clare spawned eight and a half months later. Clare named the beautiful child Becky. Mom begged Clare to give the child up for adoption but Clare would have none of it.
During the summer Clare turned twenty she once again chanced fate. On one particularly star brightened Saturday night in June a girlish giggle pulled me from a restless slumber to the screened window of my bedroom shortly after midnight. As I looked down from the window that overlooks our back yard I watched Clare attempt to satisfy neighbor Bobby Leonard with her mouth. Mr. Leonard was nearer our father's age than Clare's but she didn't seem to have a problem with the age difference nor did she seem troubled by the fact the man was married and the father of two of Clare's girlfriends. After a fifteen minute try at oral it was plain to see there had to be another way. At her direction Mr. Leonard leaned back onto the fresh mowed lawn. Clare snaked her way over his thighs and took hold of the biggest cock I'd ever seen. Face to face Clare grunted as she sat in his lap and the cock vanished into her body. She whimpered a sad song all the while, the entire fifteen minutes she rode Mr. Leonard. The ride took both to their satisfactions. I believe I heard both howl as passion laid claim to their senses.
The following March Clare birthed a second daughter she named April. There is a tale told in the neighborhood that Mr. Leonard still provides for the child.
The grand two-story Tudor on Wilkinson Blvd. in Cleveland became known as the home for unwed mothers when at twenty-two my sister birthed her a third daughter. We, the family never learned the identity of Geraldine's father and I am quite sure Clare was not sure either. Unfortunately the location of the conception is well known to too many, many who had the pleasure of my sister in the back room of a tavern on Virginia Place in the Elmwood section of the city.
Clare might have been in trouble given her attire. But it was trouble she was interested in as she dressed in a semi see through blouse and a skirt too-short for the venue. She gave underwear a thought in passing and ignored the thought.
No instructions were given at the start of the merriment after Patrick Weston locked up Bedford's for the night. Clare being the only female left behind, the group of six that remained was drawn to my sister's heat. Clare understood the look in their eyes. She kicked off her sandals and undressed. Armed with bellies full of beer and reassured by the smile on her mouth the guys dragged Clare down. Not a whimper was heard. Not a tear shed. Disappointment was not in the cards Clare dealt that night.
Within ten minutes the six removed any doubts as to the direction the night was headed and every stitch of clothing.
"I have to piss before we get started," Patrick said. Being the manager of Bedford's he assumed the role of quasi leader of the pack.
Clare sat up and brushed away the two of the unnamed who were busy sucking her tits.
"Don't waste that," Becky said.
The challenge made, Patrick pulled a plastic table cloth from one of the tables and cleared a place on the floor. With Clare's help Patrick spread the table cloth on the floor at the center of the back room.
"Okay?" someone asked.
And Clare answered, "Fine," as Patrick helped her down onto the plastic cloth.
