Chapter 2
My story begins growing up in the picturesque village of Cape Bonita, a small beach town, sometimes known as Bonita Pines, because of the southern live oaks that populate the surrounding hills that run down to our world-class beaches and popular surf spots.
Cape Bonita is filled with friendly, local store owners, safe, pleasant neighborhoods, and parks and attractions. There is natural beauty everywhere: lush vegetation like colorful Lantana flowers, the eye-catching beautyberry, the coral honeysuckle known for its red flowers, our ubiquitous palm trees, and many others, all joining the southern live oak from which it gets its nickname. We're surrounded by the natural beauty of mountains to the east and crystal clear ocean waters to the west, and what's called "sugar sand" beaches that seem to stretch for miles. And it's a welcoming community with open arms and families of all kinds, including ours.
For years it had been dad and me living by ourselves and doing fine in the suburban paradise of Cape Bonita in our three bedroom house on the cul-de-sac with the ping-pong table in the basement, the pool in the back, and our golden retriever, Brownie, my closest and best friend, by my side.
Mom died in a head-on crash when I was only five, killed by a drunk driver who walked away from the wreck with barely a scratch and no prison time, even though I was sentenced to a lifetime without my mother's love.
Despite that, Dad and I had a great life together. He owned his own business, and it was large enough that we could spend quality time together but not so big that he had to be in the office every moment of the day. Most nights, we had dinner together, dad always found the time to coach my Little League teams, and we had many memorable trips together. I loved the beach and was learning to surf, but my favorite was the tent camping trips in the state parks and also the backwoods of the mountains high above Cape Bonita with Brownie always by our side. Thanks to dad, I became a pretty good outdoorsman, proficient with a tent, and a campfire, not to mention fishing, especially fly fishing in both river and lake. I love camping and the woods.
In the summer before my 7
th
grade year, way before I started to notice girls more than camping and fishing, the Tanners moved next door. Margie, a divorced mother of two, was a svelte blonde with a sweet personality and a welcoming smile. She had two daughters. Her older daughter, Andrea, or "Andi," was a jock and a year younger entering 6th grade, and her younger daughter Jessica, or "Jess" to family and friends, was a geeky girl in baggy sweaters and glasses.
Sharing a simple wooden fence and since we were the house with the pool and other fun things like ping-pong and a great dog, it didn't take long for the three of us kids to become friends with a lot of playing around the pool, kid stuff, and some general rough-housing between Andi and me. Hey, I've got to say she had one hell of an arm and threw a ball pretty well for a girl.
Dad even built a special "hidden" door in the fence behind the grapefruit tree for the three of us to run back and forth to each other's homes after the grownups got tired of our constant door knocking.
As much as Andi and Jess enjoyed our rec room and pool, I loved hanging out in the Tanners' house. Jess was such a geek that by the age of nine, she had accumulated a sizable library of video games that the two of us played whenever allowed, with Andi joining in on occasion. On the other hand, Andi's "playroom" was the family gym where she worked out daily in hopes of being in The Olympics one day. I joined in working out on the equipment, too, and spotted her on occasion.
But we did more than play together. School work interfered with that!
I was good in the humanities parts of school, like English and history, and Jess was a certified math whiz. I never would have passed middle school geometry without her help, and Andi was your basic all-around A-student who would share her homework with the two of us when she felt like it.
In no time at all, it was as if we were brother and sisters.
Dad and Margie hit it off too. Which was to be expected -- I suppose -- since Dad had noticed Margie standing on the front curb the day they moved in.
Chapter 3
The moving truck was finally almost empty on this sweltering day. Margie Tanner stood on the curb in front of her new house, watching the young men lug the furniture and boxes out. It was hot, hell hot, and both guys were shirtless. She watched their strapping, muscular, young bodies as they glistened in the sun from the sweat of their labor.
There was a stirring in her loins as she admired the firm pecs, tight asses, and especially the large package inside the jeans of the one name Bill who rather obviously tucked his big hunk of meat to the left side of his Wrangler's.
"Where would you like this, ma'am?" asked Bill as he helped his co-worker lift up a queen-sized mattress.
"Under my ass with you on top of me," thought Margie. "The large bedroom to the right of the stairs," she replied. "And it's 'Margie,' she said for the upteenth time.
"Yes, ma'am," said Bill as they started walking towards the house as Margie admired his rock-tight buns flexing in his snug fitting jeans.
Sure she was the mother of two great girls, but you'd never know it looking at her. At 31, Margie looked like a college freshman. She had always been blessed with good genes, and the three trips a week to the gym and the hundreds of hours on the Stairmaster showed in her svelte figure and hot looking ass. And to be honest, after her second daughter was born, she had taken some of the inheritance she received when her father died and sprung for a tummy tuck. The recovery from the surgery hurt, but to Margie, it was completely worth it to finally take away the sag from the second baby and that nagging seven pounds of pregnancy fat she couldn't diet or exercise away.
She had read in a magazine that a woman's sex drive peaked at 33. Well, she had a couple of years before she hit 33, but her sex drive was revving higher than it had ever been, and the summit was a long way away. Maybe it was because she hadn't been laid in months, but it seemed that all she thought about nowadays was sex. Sucking cock, getting eaten out until she came, fucking like bunnies, even rolling onto her hands and knees and taking a hard, throbbing cock up her ass until it shot deep inside her.
Drooling over Bill's sexy butt, that warm feeling of desire radiated up into her belly as her sensitive clit quivered in anticipation. Margie allowed the indulgence of the fantasy to flow over her. She could easily imagine herself teasing him. Letting her boob "accidentally" slip on display for a moment, leaning over to get another beer for him, and brushing her ass against his arm as opening the fridge. Then walking over to Bill, throwing her leg over his as she sat in his lap, ground her crotch into his growing bulge, and kissed him with the white-hot urgency of desire that was shooting out of her as she rubbed her hand over his hairy chest.
"Errrr... Ma'am, ma'am, we're getting ready to wrap up."
Margie looked up at the voice, breaking her out of her trance, and realized Bill was staring because her hand had snuck inside her pocket and was lightly teasing her clit.
"Oh. Right," she said. "Ah, yes. I suppose we need to settle up. Why don't you come in when you're ready? I'll grab you a beer and also write you a check."
Standing in the kitchen with his shirt back on, Bill was hot and sweaty, smelling animalistic like a men's locker room. All man like Stanley Kowalski in "A Streetcar Named Desire" as he gulped down his beer. He had been checking out Margie most of the day, and she was one foxy lady. A great rack, long legs in her short shorts, and some kinda ass. He wondered if she shaved her pussy bare as he stole another look at her crotch and then up to her cleavage, lusting after her while he rolled the cold glass of the bottle against his forehead to cool himself off. Margie caught the glance and smiled to herself as he adjusted his bulging hardon in his sweat drenched jeans.
She reached into the fridge, taking an exceptionally long time to bend over, smoothing her shorts against her buns, and grabbed another beer to hand to Bill. He took it as she pushed him roughly against the wall.
"What the fuc..." he started to spit out.
"Shut up and listen to me. We don't have a lot of time. I haven't had sex in nearly six months. Six months! I need to get laid. I mean, I need to get seriously fucked. Your jeans say you are hung like a horse and rock hard."
He started to speak.
