Lifetime Of Devotion

Pamela loved walking through the grapevines of her vineyard at sunset time with a tortoise-like velocity. It was her way to clear her mind and relax; a soothing walk through the fertile and humid soil in the Mediterranean-like weather of the Napa Valley she had grown to adore. The wine business had been booming recently, but she was all alone, save for her loving vineyard staff that did what it could to undermine the solitude she had accumulated for almost two long years now. As she heard the whispering sounds of the light air breeze permeating through her thin and bright yellow spaghetti strap dress, she bathed in melancholy, trying to relax and breath the fresh air of the land. Yearning.

As she exhaled, she found herself ready to turn around and head back to her house upon the hill, but then, she started to hear heavy foreign footsteps that were increasing in loudness as they approached her. She froze. Immediately, she realized that they were very much human steps, perhaps of a wearer of heavy boots. Perhaps, just maybe, of him. Had it been Chloë, her faithful greyhound dog, she would have asked her why she was here and not in the house playing with her toy mouse. But these steps were heavy, slow, and commanding. If anything, they felt masculine to Pamela. They felt like him, but then again, she was gasping and was terrified to look. Her mind struggling to fathom the realization that ultimately, it could only be him. He stopped right behind her, and he put his left hand on her left shoulder and then she felt that he was breathing heavily too.

She felt him, and immediately her body snapped. Tears falling freely from her eyes, with what little makeup she had was ruined instantly as the tears ran through her cheeks with her vision becoming blurry as well. And yet, she didn't want to clean herself, instead, she put her much smaller right hand on top of the one covering her shoulder. Her emotions heightened to fever pitch as she felt his warmth and as she tried to look for the right words, she looked at the sunset through her tears. Its perfection and his perfection were overwhelming. The reality of the now was sinking in. Words were starting to come, or at least trying to coerce within herself. But first, she needed his reassurance.

"Are you real? Am I dreaming?" She whispered.

"I'm real. I was let go a week earlier... I'm home auntie." He said.

Nothing else mattered after that. All her emotions instantly merged into one and became euphoria. She jumped into him and he happily caught her. Barely over 100 pounds, her 36 year old body felt so light and warm to him, as he chuckled at the juxtaposition of her light frame compared to walking with his very heavy military kit through the bitter Afghan summer. He could feel her tears of joy. Her body shaking in a controlled but perfused way. Her arms and legs wrapped around his neck and waist, respectively, holding him dear, wanting to never let go. Her mouth, showering his face and neck with light kisses, making him happy and relieved that after everything that he had gone through, he was there. They stayed like this for God knows when. He increased his grip, wanting to feel that she was real as well.

"Jordan. Honey," She said.

"I'm home auntie. I'm home for good. I'm not leaving again." He said, creaking.

"That's wonderful honey, but my legs are getting numb." She answered.

"Oh god! Sorry!." He laughed.

He hadn't realized how much grip he had imposed on her. He was so much stronger than her, meaning he had inadvertently compressed her lower back and cut the circulation of her legs, so he let her teeny feet touch the ground again. He cleaned her face, now glowing and washed over by the inner peace of feeling whole once again. She could not stop grinning in happiness, and then, she raised to her tiptoes in order to give him a loving kiss on the lips. It was mostly aunt-nephew appropriate, but one that made them both dizzy in all the right ways. No drug was ever gonna be this good.

They shared a long hug one more time and then he lovingly swept her off her feet again, taking her to the home they had shared for fifteen years. Carrying her in the same way a soldier would carry his sweetheart; his beret now sitting on her elegant blonde mane of hair and giving her a loving glow, as his one and only love would only do. Indeed, she was the woman of his life. She was his best friend and confidant. His only family.

***

It was not supposed to be like this. Pamela had been only 21 years old that day after all. Jordan was her older sister's baby boy. She was his beloved aunt and semi-adult friend. She had planned to stay for the summer at her sister's and brother-in-law's vineyard after finishing college a year ahead of schedule. Yes, at its core it was self-indulgence to take the summer off instead of getting a job, but then, her hometown was in God-forsaken and humid Florida, which made Napa looked like heaven on earth in comparison, and she could always help around with Jordan and the vineyard. She had minored in enology in college after all. It was supposed to be the last hurrah of her late childhood.

"And then you get a job." Her sister Toni would say over dinner.

"Yes Mother." Pamela would answer. "In the meantime, I'll play house with the little one and help around. You guys are gonna start producing Pinot Noir this year anyway, right? You could use a hand." She said.

"You don't wanna travel? Europe?" Pamela's brother-in-law Diego asked.

"Well, I did that last year, and I do solemnly promise not to be a pest, ok?" She answered.

"Fine!" Toni and Diego answered sarcastically.

They all laughed. They trusted her, mostly. She had always been an unambitious girl, but at least she had been a pleasant no-drama one. They only wished she could reach her potential one day.

As she put little Jordan to sleep, they said their goodbyes and hugged, unbeknownst to the future. It was the last time she saw them.

The morning after Toni and Diego left for Greece as it was their wedding anniversary, leaving Jordan at her care. They would take a small charter plane to get to a private Greek island of in the Mediterranean, when the storm came. The plane had been stable, but it was fragile regardless. A powerful storm like the one that took them proved enough to crash two planes during the span, far beyond what even the most experienced of pilots could do. Too many lives wasted. Too much pain, and between all that, a young woman and her nephew were forced to grow up.

"It's gonna be ok. It's gonna be ok." She would cry with him to sleep as she would try to help Jordan get through it.

It would take years before she started to believe it.

If there was a silver lining was that Toni and Diego had a will, which mostly kept the terrifying lawyers away. Pamela had been left with Jordan as his legal guardian. She was so scared for him, though. Failure was possible, money, tight. And on top of that, she had the vineyard until Jordan's eighteenth birthday , and the responsibilities that came with it. She had no idea of the business, and only an internship as her sole experience. Now she needed to know everything.

Friends were brought in to help, remains were repatriated. Burials were performed. But through it all, Pamela found comfort in Jordan. At five, he had experienced events that most adults would deal in their lifetimes with a sternness she would go to admire, and it consumed her. It consumed her to change for him. To be a mother and protector and friend. They would only had the vineyard and each other, and as Pamela would go from bad boyfriend to the next before giving up on men as the boy entered junior high, they became each other's constant source of strength. That stressed their need for each other, but also their mutual admiration. He was resilient in a way that she had never been, maturing ahead of his time and never causing any trouble. He on the other hand, had needed a friend when he got life-threatening sick in his teenage years. She had stuck up for him. She had shepherded him to full recovery, a turning point in their relationship as mutual adoration joined mutual love. As he became a teenager, she tried to made sure he was responsible. He was not going to stop him from becoming a man, but she expected forthcomingness from him, no matter the situation, especially as he turned 18 one April day.

After coming home from friends, Pamela went straight to his bedroom to check on him. Her assumption that they had gone bar-hopping with fake IDs had been correct. She had done it as well on her time, so no matter how much she tried, she was not as upset as she thought she would be. Nevertheless, he was quite drunk, and was ready to pass out as she entered.

"Auntie? What... are... doing... here? He asked.

"

I

am getting you to bed, sweetheart." She answered.

"I.. child... no... Auntie." He blurbed.

"You're my child, baby." She answered, giving him a peck on the lips.

She took his boots off and jacket. She somehow peeled off his jeans and his shirt from his much stronger body, leaving him in his boxers and a white t-shirt. He was manly, she thought with a squared jaw and piercing brown eyes. She was ready to leave after dropping his clothes on top of a chair when she heard him again.

"Stay Pammy." He whispered.

He had never called her Pammy before. Pammy had been a nickname her ex boyfriends had used with her. They name they had yelled while making love. It was perplexing at the least, disturbing at the worst.

"Stay Pammy."

She succumbed. Too tired to argue. She removed her robe and got into the covers of his king-size bed. King-size because he was now eighteen, and also a whole foot taller than her. She laid on the left side of the bed as she saw him sleep. The underage drinking had been "ok" this time, but she did not want to see him do that again, she told herself. On the other hand, it was 4:15 a.m., and her eyes were heavy. She suddenly realized that she didn't care that she was only wearing a chemise with nothing underneath and that her eighteen year old boy was going to see her like this coming morning. She was the adoring friend tonight. She could be a parent tomorrow.

She woke up so relaxed the morning after, ready for a day of leisure. But before that, she needed her routine. A hearty breakfast for her and Jordan, followed by a 10k run with her dog Chloë would do. She needed to get of bed first though, and "out" of him.

Pamela would constantly think about that morning for the next two years while Jordan was on his Army deployment. She would ask herself if she had done something wrong as a parent. If she had sent the wrong signals. If the physical closeness and affection had actually been masquerading a flirtatious behavior. If he had had any trauma outside of his parents death that would have triggered this.

Her inner peace came to a halt that morning. She realized that they had spooned and not in an aunt-nephew kind of way. He was grabbing her breast possessively with one hand and her navel with the other, as if he was claiming her. His breathing, heavy as stones, was audible in the morning silence, resonating and stating his bliss. And then, then there was his cock.

She was pantyless. Her only clothing was a pink chemise that barely covered her rear, and it was engulfing his hardness through his briefs. In later years she would admit that she spent a quite significant time looking for a cock like his. Lean, smooth, but also masculine and hard. He felt divine while resting on between her buttcheeks. So warm, no lube needed unlike her Markus, her vibrator which was fine, but was never going to be the real thing. Not like her boy.

How did it happened? And why? She could tell herself that she was just a surrogate for his desires for someone else, but by saying that, she was fooling herself. The boy had always been there. To a fault. He had friends, but she was her most important friend. He would always go grocery shopping with her, they would cook together, hike together, read together in front of the fireplace while holding hands. He was only sixteen years younger than her, meaning they spoke the same language, liked the same music, the same food, the same way to fold laundry as well. It was all so confusing for Pamela because on top of his arousal, she was not angry at him. She wasn't upset at herself either. The boy, her boy, was a gorgeous, generous, kind, soul. He was that perfect, and as much as she wanted to be disturbed by his arousal, she was finding it flattering. Her heart was leading her brain. His warmth was merging with hers. And at that moment, she realized that she was aroused too.

"Mmnnn!" She mumbled.

She stifled a moan. Trying to control her body, telling herself it was the lack of sex, or the heat of the room. No dice. Her breathing was becoming erratic. Her heartbeat had jumped, her soft pale skin had warmed, and at that moment, Pamela surrendered.

She surrendered to her passion, her desires, her taboo. She changed her position slightly up, just enough to raise the part of her chemise that was covering her ass. Slowly, but surely, she moved her left hand blindly backwards and downwards, looking for his tool, looking for his warmth. Her eyes opened widely when she found his sex. She decided to not touch it directly. She didn't want to wake him up after all. So the only thing that she did was to caress it through his underwear, teasing herself. Even through the barrier of the underwear, she felt him. He was large, not pornstar large, but large enough for her petite body. And the constant fondling she was performing was tingling her own sex. She started to smell her juices. Her perfectly hairless pussy gave her the smell an even more pronounced profile: Musky, yet sweet.

That sweetness —not to mention her horniness, directed her free hand to perform its duty. After yet another stifled moan, she went down her body, through her navel and thighs, and she opened herself up just enough to find her love button. She started by going up and down her pussy. Just to feel and tease, getting her fingers wet in the process. Then she went for small circles on her clit, making her breath erratic, giving her a need for constant gasping, and barely in control.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, it feels so good." She whispered.

She'd had enough, she needed to cum. Her index finger inserted itself inside of her. Slowly she would accommodate it to her vagina walls. She was so tight. Years of de facto chastity and lack of penetration from a real cock made her feel like a virgin again, thankfully without pain, but as tight as a nineteen year old nevertheless.

Eventually her index was not enough though, and was joined by her middle one. Trying to find a balance between her incoming mind-shattering orgasm, and her desire to not wake up her boy had been hard, and her need to cum was not making it any easier. But the pleasure was at fever pitch. Her desire in the skies, and thankfully the thick pillow was here on earth with her. So she let go, arching her back slightly, with her fingers deep inside her cunt. She came hard, not enough to make her scream hysterically, but enough to bury her face in the pillow due to the intense pleasure that was now running through her. Consuming her. Giving her delicious spasms as she shut her eyes and felt the convulsions of her belly and pussy, as she was left more sexually fulfilled than at any other time in ages. Taking her into an amazingly relaxing state and into a deep, loving sleep in her boy's arms.

She woke up without him, for the better she thought. She would have time to think about what she had done, and she could talk to him if needed. She walked downstairs and found Chloë asleep. After dropping some dog food into her plate, she started making her own, thinking about that early morning, looking for regret, but not finding it. She had been horny, she thought, it probably was a one time thing anyway. They were never going to share a bed again. And besides, she did have more important business to deal with her. Starting with a envelope that had arrived in the mail long ago. One she did not have the guts to look yet.

She had seen the envelope the previous week. It said "U.S. Army" in bold. He was in. She knew. They had talked about it, and she had signed on his intent of enlisting. But still, it felt too real when she saw it. She did know that it had been a dream of his. His father had been an officer in the AIr Force before meeting his mom. This was his way of following his footsteps and having a life to call his own. It didn't mean it was going to be easy to accept that they were going to be apart.

She went upstairs to change into running clothes. As she was tying her shoelaces, Chloë came to the room, leash in mouth and sat in front of her. It overwhelmed her. Her tears falling into the ground as she hugged her loyal companion. She was never gonna let go of Chloë, but eventually she needed to let go of Jordan and it was killing her. Because on top of him leaving, she had done

that

, and she was distressed, because she couldn't fathom not saying anything, and yet that now seemed like the best choice. A confused individual is the last thing the generals needed, she thought. She could have that luxury. He didn't.

Running was relaxing and soothing, however, on that day, it was also cathartic. It had always been her most reliable way to clear her mind. To make her mind go blank, and she needed that peace considering her evening was going to go. With Chloë on her side as her running partner she went through the trails of road covering the outsides of her vineyard, feeling the sun on her skin, bathing in its capacity to produce endorphins; a "runner's high" in runner vernacular. A sense of becoming one with the road, giving her an absolute state of relaxation, as she ran on pure adrenaline through the trail.

Jordan came back home on the afternoon. He had spent the day playing golf with high school friends, a de facto farewell for him as he was embarking on his enlistment. He and Pamela didn't spend time around each other very much before dinner. Each one using their thoughts of the day towards finding the right things to say. For some ways, any ways to assert reassurance in their hearts.

Pamela didn't want a somber mood to start the night though. She called Jordan to come to the gazebo. It was a full moon with mild winds, appropriate for the night, as their feelings were going to be exposed bare.

There were no chairs or a table on the gazebo; just plates with food, candles, pillows and blankets in case of too much wind. However, the Army envelope was at its center when Jordan came. He saw his aunt, sitting, glass of wine of one hand, eyes on her plate, but thoughts somewhere else. Where were her thoughts, though? He thought.

They had a tense, yet pleasant dinner. Nothing too fancy (salmon cakes, salad, and vanilla ice cream), but the tension was there. The chewing sounds they were making felt pronounced. The crickets felt extra noisy. Each felt they had a cotton ball in their throats, trying to cover their souls. Ready, but not quite there to expose it all. Ultimately, as the alleged adult in the room, she started.

"You leave on Monday, don't you?" She asked.

"Yes." He answered.

"Where's basic training?" She asked.

"Fort Sill, Oklahoma." He answered.

"It might as well be Mars." She said.

"It's not a one way ticket, Auntie." He said.

A tear dropped from her cheek painfully slow to his view. No matter how right he was, it didn't make it any less painful.

"Remember to write every day. Ok? She said.

"Why wouldn't I? He asked.

"Cause it's only gonna take a day for me to lose it, Jordan! That's why." She said.

He thought long about how to answer that statement. Fulfilling his dream was hurting them. It was paradox they were struggling to bear. He wish he could something, anything.