Don't Fuck Me; I'm Just The Messenger
WARNING:
The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and contains descriptions of explicit sex. If you are not an adult, or reading sex stories upset you, or you are offended by subjects of a sexual nature - do not read any further!
This story is for entertainment only. It contains adult oriented material. This is a work of fiction. The acts and characters contained within are figments of my imagination and have no basis in fact. I do not practice, advocate, condone or encourage acts portrayed here. The characters in the story are entirely fictional. You need to believe that all of the characters are over the age of eighteen.
This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the written permission of the author. This story may be freely distributed with this notice attached.
* * * * * * * * * *
A Harvey Marcus Retrospective: Don't Fuck Me; I'm Just The Messenger
In a sudden delusion caused by two simultaneous synapses crossing each other, I thought, "Gee, wouldn't it be keen to tell the story of how I, Harvey Marcus, got started with all of this screwing around. I mean, it didn't just happen out of nothing. Everything has a cause, a spark, an ignition. So, here's another Official Retrospective, detailing how I involuntarily got sucked into a campaign of accidental sex with all of the world's eighteen-year and older females.
Episodes One and Two found me seduced by two different babysitters. Episode Three involved a stranger, while Episode Four partnered me with a coworker.
This jumps ahead to my Fifth Episode, bringing Mr. Marcus to a new threshold: sex with a family member. Relatively speaking, Mr. Marcus's won't-power (or willpower) has been brutally pummeled by the previous four encounters (or en-cunt-ers). Will he hold the line against incest?
* * * * * * * * * *
My wife Harriett has an older brother named Arnold. The last time I saw Arnold and his family was at an ice skating exhibition featuring his adopted daughter, Joanie, and three hundred other kids. I had to give her credit. - She didn't fall even once. However, at the speed she skated, I could have polished off a fat novel in the time it took her and her teammates to enter the rink, perform their number and skate to the exit.
Anyway, Arnold's mother-in-law, no relation to us, passed away but curiously included Arnold's sister, my wife Harriett, in her will. I didn't remember even meeting the woman, although I don't attend every family gathering. Arnold's wife Annette was never fond of Harriett, especially after Harriett got pregnant. After years of trying and failing, followed by expensive and unsuccessful procedures, they were forced to adopt.
I wasn't on the call but a direct quote of Annette by Harriett afterwards made it clear Annette was furious that "some nobody was going to profit by her mother's death." Harriett didn't want her brother to suffer any more than he already had at Annette's hand (or mouth), so she called Annette back and offered to work things out. They came to an agreement that involved a reduced amount from what the will stated, Harriett reimbursing Annette $500 for a plane ticket and signing a release against any other claims or remuneration. Sounded wacky, but this was Harriett's business, not mine. Harriett wouldn't listen when I told her to hold out for the entire amount, in excess of $20,000. The worst part was, Harriett recruited me as the messenger boy without asking. I swallowed hard when Harriett handed me an envelope containing $500 in cash. Where did she get that kind of money? Cash was one of Annette's requirements. Another was no electronic documents, instead specifically no-acid paper. I was to deliver the cash and get the release document from Annette. Sounded simple, but these things never are. Plus, I didn't like Harriett's expectation that she could give me chores like this and expect me to do them without complaint.
I flew out to Kansas City that evening and rented the cheapest subcompact Buck Dollar Rentals had. It was a real beater whose engine felt like it was powered by rubber bands. Fortunately, Arnold and Annette's house was downhill from the airport.
The lights were off inside, with no outside illumination. Were they asleep? I rang the bell. No answer. While I stood contemplating my next move, and wondering if I'd get mugged for the lump of cash in my jacket pocket, a convertible pulled into the driveway and opened the garage. I walked around to the front of the open garage only to see a figure exiting the car. A young woman leapt out and headed straight for a door into the house. Too young to be Annette. Must be Joanie. She'd really grown up. I started to say something but the noise of the motor closing the garage door drown out my stuttered introduction.
Knowing that someone was home, I rang the bell again. Joanie answered, eyes red and puffy. Her tan was extraordinary. Not an inch of white visible around her halter-top or past the hem of her short skirt. Her hair, frizzy and full, was tied into a puffy ponytail in back. "What do you want?"
My body was framed by the doorway. "Is your mother home?"
"No. Go away." She shoved at the door and stalked away to the left, to the living room if memory served. My foot prevented the door from slamming in my face. Her ponytail was a plume. If she stood on her head, she would have been a human dust mop. And, her panties would be on display. God, why does my mind go there so easily? Maybe it was the short skirt and the way it swooshed as her hips swayed.
She didn't stop me from following her. Maybe she thought the door slam had been sufficient. An envelope on the wrought iron entry table was addressed to Harriett Marcus. It contained the papers I'd come for. I could have left my envelope with $500 and taken the legal papers and that would have been that. Mission accomplished. But I hadn't seen or talked to Joanie for six or seven years. I viewed it as a training opportunity to prepare me when Annie got older. I left Harriett's envelope in place. "I need to see her."
Joanie spun, the hem of her short skirt flirting with her waist. "You've got your nerve, coming to our house. Where to you normally meet, anyway? Day's Inn? Motel Six?"
What was this about a motel? Did Joanie think I met her mother at motels? Where did that come from? Annette barely tolerated my presence. There's no way she'd get involved with me, especially some sleazy relationship. All I had to do was take the envelope, leave Harriett's payment and go. But something odd was going on here. Getting accused of a sexual relationship I wasn't having was novel. It made me curious. Like a cat, but with only one life. "I'm just here to get a release."
She continued her rant. "I bet you are. You men are all alike."
I'd chosen my words badly. "You have this all wrong."
"Yeah sure. I'm not stupid. I know Mom's been cheating on Dad for a while. But none of Mom's johns have ever come to the house."
If Joanie was correct, supposedly faithful Annette was a loose woman. I decided to let the mistaken impression go on a bit longer. "This is where she told me to meet her."
"That's impossible, because she's out with my dad, and she wouldn't want him to see you. God, you may be a stud, but you're really confused. Now get the hell out of here before they get back from the relatives." She grabbed her head with her hands. Her blouse buttons were in the wrong holes. "God, how could she schedule a fucking session when Gamma isn't cold yet? What a bitch!"
I dragged my attention from the gaps in her blouse. "When will she-"
"Make good? Hell if I know. You men. You get all stiff and tell us it will be wonderful and then. And then." Joanie chocked up. "You make me sick". She pointed at the door as she ran upstairs crying.
I plopped down on he soda. What was Joanie's problem? I sat in the dimly lit living room. About fifteen minutes later Joanie came prancing downstairs in a towel. Her wet hair told me she'd showered. Uncrossing my legs caught her attention. She held the towel close. "Shit. Are you still here? I told you to leave." Sharp tan lines across her shoulders told me that she'd stayed with the same skimpy bathing suit all summer. She hiked the towel up to prevent exposing her chest but that only raised it higher on her thighs. She couldn't have it both ways. "I told you, Mom's not here, and she and Dad will be back any moment. Beat it!"
"That doesn't change the fact that she scheduled this. I'm here to do business."
"Is that what you call it? And run the risk of running into my father? You're so stupid."
"I know your dad. He's-"
"Oh great. Now Mom's fucking Dad's friends. What do you, work together or something? Shit, what if he finds out? Christ!"
Time to straighten Joanie out. "He doesn't know because your mother-"
"Keeps it hidden. No duh. She must have thought Dad wouldn't be here. Or me for that matter. And I wouldn't have been except for-" She began to breathe erratically. Her towel shifted with each inhale. The tears resumed. She slumped into the far end of the sofa. The towel was barely keeping her privates covered. Which meant there was a lot of bare skin. Which meant I was erect.
Even though I'd had sex with two of Annie's babysitters, a stranger in a gynecologist's office and a co-worker, there was no way I'd have sex with a family member. A simple, firm barrier to behavior. The family line I wouldn't cross. "Care to talk about it?" I could still provide advice, if Joanie needed some.
