Mike meets Joanie's out of control family in Indiana.
My apologies for taking a month and a half to finish the sequel to Lonely in the City. I hope you like it! Joanie's family is a little over the top, and you should not infer that this is typical of life in southern Indiana, or northern Kentucky, for that matter.
To remind you, in Part 1 Joanie has moved to New York, for work, after college. For budgetary reasons she lives across the Hudson in New Jersey. She knows nobody and works herself to the bone, becoming lonely. Joanie finally makes a girlfriend, Dina. Dina and Joanie go to a demonstration in Manhattan and Dina picks up Stew, while Joanie strikes out. The three become close, and Stew sets up Joanie with his friend Mike, and sparks fly, fires are ignited, and now it's time for Mike to meet Joanie's family, way off the beaten path, down in Evansville, Indiana. Wish him luck.
If you want to read Part 1 first, it's in the Exhibitionist and Voyeur Stories rubric.
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Mike:
I wasn't sure why we were going to Indiana. Joanie had told me she had received an urgent message from her little sister Celeste, saying she had to come, and right away, too. Joanie either didn't know why, or didn't want to tell me why. Sometimes Joanie keeps her cards close to her vest.
Joan had given me the 411 on her family as we flew from New York to Indianapolis. She told me of her brother Luke who was only a year older than she was. I was a few years older than Joan. She also told me to watch out for her little sister Celeste who was, in Joan's words, 'a sexy little Lolita type.'
"How about your Mom and Dad?" I asked.
Joan smiled. "They're hard to explain. They're both great, really, but they were just not meant for each other. My Dad is a bit unusual. My Mom is just strange. You'll see for yourself, I guess," and that was all Joan would say.
I'd never seen Joan as nervous as she was on the airplane. My own family drives me up the wall at times, I suppose everyone's does, but it was nothing like what the prospect of my meeting the family was doing to Joan. Something was wrong and for the life of me Joan would not say what.
As the plane landed Joan told me her Dad was meeting the plane together with Karen. "Be nice to them both, please, Mike," she said.
"Of course," I said. Joan gave no explanation as to who Karen was but it was simple to infer that she was Joan's Dad's new girlfriend.
We deplaned. The Indianapolis airport is magnificent, much too large for the amount of use it gets, and we walked down the wide, gleaming halls to get to baggage claim when suddenly Joan's face lit up like a halogen lamp and the biggest smile imaginable spread across it. I saw a man who could have been a male model for men's fashions, and on his arm was a sexpot extraordinaire only a few years older than myself. She must be Karen.
Joan has a pretty face and a great body. I love my girlfriend's eyes, her soft, smooth skin, her alto, sexy voice, and her perfectly shaped legs. To my eyes, Joan is a vision. Her father's girlfriend Karen, however, gave her a run for the money.
I was a bit surprised with the suggestive way Joan's dad hugged her. Karen and I just stood to the side looking at each other. Karen too was surprised. Joan's ample breasts were crushed into her father's body and his hands were on her ass, massaging her ass cheeks. Joan's Dad kissed her hello. It wasn't a little peck on the cheek but a full-on kiss on her lips, and it lingered there for a bit. Joan's face flushed from the openly erotic attention her dad was giving her in a public airport, of all places.
I checked out Karen, trying to be discreet. She was only a few years older than Joan and she looked remarkably like her! The main difference was Karen was a redhead and Joan was a brunette. They had similar faces, almost identical figures, and their smiles were exactly the same. They were the same height and weight. Joan's Dad had somehow found Joan's clone, except for the hair color. Now I knew what Joan would look like in around five years. No complaints from me!
"Last time my Dad saw me, my hair was red, too," Joan said to Karen. "Yours looks nice. Do you have it dyed professionally?"
"Yes. Your father likes me to be as close to perfect as possible," Karen said.
I wondered if that meant looking as much like Joan herself as possible? Was this what Joan meant by her Dad being "unusual?" Maybe he listened too much to Stephen Stills as a child? I remembered the lyrics of one of his songs, "and if you can't be with the one you love, honey,
love the one you're with." He couldn't have Joan, so he found Karen? But what did Karen see in him?
"Well, you do a good job," I chipped in, as Joan shot me a look. So, she wasn't a natural redhead after all!
Indiana is a bigger state than I thought, and it took three hours for Joan's Dad to drive us to Evansville. I was surprised when Joan's Dad drove right through Evansville and then headed East on a small country road, rapidly reaching farmland, seemingly far from any urban area. As if foreseeing my confusion, Joan said, "Did I ever tell you, Mike, that my family are farmers?"
"No, you overlooked that little detail. You mean to say, I'm in love with a farmgirl?" I asked.
"A farmer's daughter," her Dad proudly said.
"And all that that implies, I'm sure," Karen added, while Joan playfully slapped her thigh, and both women giggled. They giggled fetchingly.
The family farm was remote. "Where did you go to school?" I innocently asked.
"There's a grammar school down the road a piece, but for middle and high school we took a school bus into Evansville.
"It must have been a long bus ride," I said.
"You bet it was! It was boring, too. I would do my homework on the bus, and one time Marybeth lost her virginity in the back of the bus," Joan said.
"I'll bet that relived the boredom!" I said.
"It did for the girls who sat in the back. It was kind of understood that if a girl sat in the back some lucky guy could have some fun with her," Joan said. "Marybeth set another precedent, too, when two guys had a go at her one time. Farmgirls have all the fun."
"Did you ever sit in the back, Joan?" I asked.
Joan just gave me what I call her mystery smile, which literally could mean anything. In typical Joan style she didn't answer with words. It became awkward as I tried to squirm around to get comfortable and to hide the large growth inside my jeans.
