Don Robinson looked at the figure in the doorway. He shook his head. "I don't believe it," he said at last. "You haven't changed a bit, Gwen."
"Of course I have," she snapped, "and I don't have time to listen to any of your bullshit. May I come in?"
He opened the door for her, giving a mockingly courtly bow.
She flung herself into a chair and tossed Chris' wallet in Don's direction. He caught it skillfully, recognizing the gold-embossed "CR" decorating the leather. "Thanks," he said. "Where did you find this?"
"On the sofa in our living room this morning," she said curtly. "After Chris brought my daughter home from their date."
Don whistled. "You're kidding."
"I am most certainly not kidding. They went to some party on the beach last night."
"I don't understand," Don puzzled. "He told me when he left that he was going out with a prime young piece he'd met the other day. A girl named Cathy-all legs and ass and-"
"And my daughter, goddamn it!" Gwen shouted.
"Her name's Susan," Don protested. "Little Susie. We named her after my mother."
"Her name is Susan Catherine, you blockhead, and you may have recalled her as little Susie all these years, but if you think I wanted anything to remind me of your mother-"
"We're not going to get anywhere by screaming," Don pointed out. "My God, I saw her a day or so ago, and it never entered my mind."
"I suppose you never bid Chris about me? Or about his sister?"
"There was no reason. I thought the divorce settlement was final enough."
Gwen nodded. "I thought so, too, but something has gone very badly wrong." She fumbled in her purse for cigarettes, knocked one from the pack, and sat smoking in short, heavy puffs, her eyes studying Don Robinson. It was like going to sleep and picking up a fresh installment of an old nightmare.
Gwen had been in her senior year at college-Reckardsville University, one of Ohio's mass-market institutions of higher learning-when she had first met Don Robinson. God, she thought, he had been so attractive then. President of his fraternity, tennis star, all-American rich boy, and she had been a poor orphan girl from Akron, attending school on a scholarship from her father's union local. They had met in photography class, and she had lost her heart at first sight. A few dates, a few evenings together, and Gwen's virgin resistance yielded unconditionally before his advances. A get-acquainted fuck in the back of his jalopy at Shawnee Lake, Reckardsville's unofficial official parking lot, a wild., and forbidden after-hours visit to his fraternity house for a romp on the presidential bed, a few trips to a Marietta motel-it had added up in the long run, as it must inexorably have done in those pre-Pill days. The first time Gwen skipped a period, she was certain it
was due to the crush of midterm exams. Four weeks later it happened again, and she began to chew her nails. After the third stoppage in her menstrual cycle, she bolstered up enough courage to visit a doctor who gave her the happy news.
Don's parents suggested an abortion, but Gwen refused completely, and there was nothing to do but marry in haste. She'd left school, of course-by that time her belly was swelling enormously and 1958 universities cast a dubious eye upon visibly pregnant coeds, married or not.
In her sixth month the doctor thought it wise to tell Gwen that her joys of motherhood would be doubled before they had fairly begun. She was most. definitely carrying twins. A stranger would have been hard put to calculate the effect this had upon the former Miss Gwendolyn Corby, now Mrs. Donald Robinson.
On the twenty-ninth of June, 1958, Reckardsville University Hospital's obstetrics staff went to work, and within a short time the population of southeastern Ohio and, by extension, the world, was larger by two souls. Within some six months the American divorce statistics for that year had received a slight degree of augmentation as well.
The marriage had been doomed from the start. Gwen knew before the honeymoon was over that she could not under any circumstances endure living the rest of her life with Don Robinson. Everything which had attracted her to him now loomed larger than life as a debit on his account, and when his parents came to her with a reasonable solution, she was quick to seize upon it.
Briefly stated, Mr. and Mrs. Robinson offered Gwen an easy divorce and very substantial cash settlement, provided she would remove herself from their son's life forever. The only condition was that she surrender custody of the son and daughter conceived most probably in Don's car on that night of Gwen's adieu to her maidenhood.
Gwen had countered with a suggestion of her own. She would allow them to take away her son, but she intended to keep her daughter-little Susan Catherine, "Susie" to the Robinson family and a definite "Cathy" as far as Owen was concerned. There had been haggling back and forth, but in the end Gwen carried her point. She went her way with Cathy and a check for $10,000-and in 1958 that was a hell of a lot of money. It financed Gwen's return to college and acquisition of her B.A. and M.A. in journalism, and it enabled her to go to New York and begin knocking upon doors in her search for a job.
She had covered her path carefully. All the lies to Cathy about a long-ago divorce and the later death of the male parent; her own legal resumption of her maiden name to further, confuse the issue. Gwen had determined many years before that she wanted absolutely nothing more to. do with Don Robinson, and she had stuck to her guns. She had not seen him since he drove her to the airport and put her on the Reno-bound plane in the midst of a light snow one early November day in 1958. She had, indeed, never expected to see him again, and the possibility of his path ever crossing hers or Cathy's was so remote she had not even considered it.
Now her world had crumbled into chaos. All the steps she had taken to create a secure environment for Cathy were made a mockery.
When she finally spoke, furiously grinding out her second cigarette in a row, her voice was angry. "Why in the hell did you and Chris have to show up here? Now?"
"I could ask you the same thing," Don protested. "As far as he's concerned, you're dead,
and have been since he was still in the cradle. Chris has never even seen a picture of you." He thought a moment. "Well, once. He found a little Kodak snapshot I took of you in college, but it wasn't a very good photo and, besides, as soon as I saw him with it, I took it away from him and tore it up. I doubt if he even remembers."
"When did they meet each other?" she wondered aloud. "You said something about the other day?"
He nodded. "Yes. I think it was Tuesday. I'm sure it was, because I'd been over on the mainland most of the day and she was leaving as I pulled into the carport. And that was the day before yesterday."
Gwen shivered. "She never mentioned him to me at all. Until last evening, when she said she'd met a boy on the beach and he'd invited her to a party. He came into the house after he brought her home last night, and I talked to him for a while but it never occurred to me-" She stopped, wincing in pain as she thought of the way he had stolen upon that opportunity to put his hands on her body-to feel her ass, to rub his fingers through her crotch. Her own son and she hadn't known it.
"Oh, dear God," she said quickly, trying to shake away the feeling of self-disgust that overwhelmed her, "they've got to be told. Now. Before it's too late. Before something happens…"
Don nodded, and then he felt a freezing chill that began on the back of his neck and raced along his spine. He could remember, as plainly as if it were happening at that moment, the way he and Chris had talked trash day before yesterday about his son's newest girl. What was it the boy had said? Something about going back for thirds because he'd already gotten seconds from Cathy. Good God! No, he thought frantically. Chris was lying about it. He was only feeding his old dad a line of bullshit. That was it. No, that wasn't it. Chris was his father's son. He'd never had any trouble getting girls, and he'd never had to lie about it. If he said he had screwed Cathy, then he had. It was that simple. Don felt sick about it, but not half as sick as he did when he recalled his own curious lustful glances directed towards Cathy's bikini-covered body, towards her high young tits and her ripe little ass.
"Of course, I can trust Cathy," Gwen was saying. "I'm certain that she's a virgin-I'd stake my life on it. And last night she seemed to be angry with Chris for some reason or another. She was still very upset this morning, too, now that I think of it." Her face grew a bit brighter. "Maybe we've got time to end this painlessly." She stood up, gathering up her bag. "I'm going back to our place. Cathy didn't say anything about going out today, so she should be there. I'll get our things packed up, and we can start back for New York first thing this afternoon. I think I'd rather tell her the whole story there, instead of here."
Don stood up, too. "That sounds like a good idea," he agreed. "I'll try to round up Chris, and he and I can have a long-delayed father/son talk." He wondered what Chris would say when he found out that his newest score was his own twin sister.
"Before you go," Don interjected, "I want you to know that you can count on me for anything. Maybe, after the kids know the truth, we can all get together and laugh about this. It's funny, Gwen. For years I've wondered what would happen if the two of us should meet by accident and just look-scarcely one harsh word between us. I guess time heals all wounds, doesn't it?"
"Of course not," Gwen said sweetly. "I still despise the ground you walk on and in normal
circumstances I wouldn't speak to you to save either of our lives. But this concerns my daughter. I've worked hard to give her everything she could ever want, and I will not see her hurt-even if it means I have to be civil to you for a few minutes. And." she added, going out the door, "I sincerely hope that this is the last time I ever have to look at your face." She did not look back as she walked to her Volkswagen.
One thing about his ex-wife, Don thought approvingly-she was a woman of principle and candor. He liked that in a woman.
"Oh, that felt good," Cathy whispered, still sitting on Chris' lap in the tub. The water was lukewarm by now, and his sperm was slowly trickling out of her wet snatch. She hadn't had much of an orgasm-just a nice, tingly feeling deep inside her belly-but it didn't matter. They'd kissed and made up and sealed their reconciliation in the best of all possible ways, with his cock jabbing hard into her cunt and spitting out a creamy load of hot jism. So what if she hadn't really seen stars exploding and rockets blasting off into the heavens? She felt good and he felt good and it was nice to be sitting on his lap while his prick began to melt within her creamy cunt.
"Water's getting cold," he said, moving his head where it nestled against her gently heaving tilt
"Oh, hell," she muttered, realizing that the water was indeed getting cold, that the bubbles had begun to dissipate and, worst of all, that her skin was starting to get pruny-wrinkled from such lengthy immersion. "C'mon, you can dry me off while I dry you."
She stepped out onto the mat beside the tub and
reached for the towels hanging on the rack nearby. Cathy began to wipe the water from Chris' body while he did the same for her, but, as might be expected, drying soon took a second place to fooling around. He seemed to spend a long time, much longer than necessary, smoothing the towel across Cathy's boobs and she felt her nipples getting stiffer and more excited each time he scraped the coarse towel aver them.
And to make matters worse, he slipped the middle of the towel between her legs and began to saw it back and forth upon her crotch, very deliberately, until Cathy's hips had no choice but to start moving in a sexy, dance-like fashion. The friction of the towel as it dragged again and again upon the tender mouth of her snatch was too much for her, and she drew back, making Chris drop one end of the towel, giving her a chance to step away from him.
She took her towel in an archer's posture, one end in the hand thrust forward, the other, like the arrow-levering string, drawn way back, and she flipped it at him, the tip of the towel stinging him wickedly upon the cock.
"Ouch!" he yelped, grabbing his dick and hopping once or twice. "That wasn't fair!"
"It wasn't fair for you to try to get me hot again, either, Mr. Superstud," Cathy pointed out saucily. "But if it really hurt you that much, why, Nurse Cathy knows what to do."
She dropped to her knees, pushed his hand away from his prick, and, taking the wounded tool in her fingers, she raised it to her lips and kissed where the towel had stung him. "Does it feel better now?" she asked, looking up.
He touched her hair, stroking the curls still tousled and uncombed after her night's sleep. "Bet it did," he sighed. "You want to give it one to grow on, while you're at it?"
"Okay," she said, "and I hope to God it works. You can use it!" The lie fresh from her lips, she gave his cock not one but a dozen smacking, wet-mouthed kisses, up and down its length from nuts to foreskin, her hand hefting appreciatively his heavy sac of balls.
His dong grew tense under Cathy's attentions, and she discovered that if she put her lips in a certain place, she could feel each and every spurt of hot blood as it began to flow with renewed vigor into Chris Robinson's recuperating cock. Curious, she parted her lips and gripped his boner from the side.
Her fingers toyed with his foreskin, sliding it back and forth. She really liked the fact that Chris was uncircumcised, because it was a turn-on to diddle his prepuce.
He liked it, too, if his steadily improving physical condition was any indication. In spite of the fact that he'd just filled her cunt with a nice creamy cargo of jism, Chris' dick was getting harder by-the second, and he realized that he was simply always horny for Cathy. Screwing her once wasn't enough-it could never be enough. His cock shot out to its full, rigid length, and he was ready to put it inside her again, in any hole she chose.
Cathy released his prick from her mouth and drew her head back, studying her work. She turned her head this way, then that, eyeing his hard-on from a variety of angles, satisfying herself that she had done a first-rate job of getting Chris up for seconds. "It looks like all systems go," she declared.
"Bet your sweet ass all systems are go," he growled, taking her hands and jerking her to her feet. She melted into his embrace, eagerly accepting his tongue inside her mouth, her hands
busily nurturing, cultivating the stiffness to which she had once more brought his cock. His hands were on the sides of her head, forcing her to the kiss she would not have resisted in any case, but at last she began to shake herself loose.
"Do you know," she began in a panting voice, "that we have made it in the grass and on the sand and in the bathtub but never-I mean never-in a bed?"
"I didn't know that," he mused.
"Well, aren't you gonna do-anything about it?"
He scooped her up in his arms and held her like a bridegroom about to carry his virginal prize across their honeymoon threshold. "Which way is the bedroom?"
Chris eased Cathy onto her unmade bed and she turned hastily on her knees, throwing the rumpled sheet and bedspread out of the way. She fell onto her back then, legs open, ass thrusting up at him, and said, "Come and get it."
He flopped down beside her.. "Jesus," he said, "what if your mother comes back?"
"I bet she was gonna take her article to mail," Cathy smiled. "She finished it last night. And that means she has to go over to the mainland. It'll be a while before she gets home. And even if she does catch us-I don't care any more. She'll have to find out sometime, and she might as well know the score now. Well? Cat got your pecker or something? Or do you need some instructions?" She put a hand between her legs, spreading her pussy open for him, displaying for his eyes alone the scarlet mystery of her tight young snatch.
"You're the one who needs the instructions," he said firmly. "On your knees, girl!"
Cathy did as he requested, and then he arranged her to suit his desires, making her kneel like a snippy young cat with her weight thrown upon hands and knees, her bead hanging low, her perky ass thrust high. He crouched behind her, his fingers slipping freely into the mouth of her cunt, and she moaned excitedly as she felt him spread her twat so roughly, so eagerly, so lustfully. "Doggie?" she asked. "Arf! Arf!"
And then her playful barking became transformed into wild, heated sighs, for his cock, stiff and ready, replaced his fingers and he slipped without a hitch into the channel of her pussy. She bucked her hips as he made his entrance, swiveling her ass to swallow his rigid tool, coating its stabbing bulk in the wet juices of her cunt. "That-hits-the- fucking-spot," she groaned as she took it all the way home, the tip of his prick bumping unexpectedly against the tiny-mouthed vase of her uterus.
He closed his eyes and took her by the waist, bending forward to brush his chest against her back, and he began to fuck her for lust and love and because she was Cathy and he was Chris and they were made for one another. His cock plunged in forcefully, drew back, once more jabbed home, squishing along the lubricated walls of her cunt. She moaned, she chewed her lips, she clawed at the sheet upon which she knelt, and above all else she fucked him in return, her hips gyrating to apply the most sensual stimulation of which she was capable upon the barrel of his pecker. It was heaven, she thought, and she wondered how she had ever lived without Chris, how she had ever been able to face the days of her life without the prospect of reaching nirvana with the aid of his wonderful cock. "Oh, yes," she croaked, her throat as dry as her snatch was wet, "oh, yes, yes, yes, YES!!"
Gwen left her car with a heavy heart, dreading the necessity that faced her now. She had lied to her daughter all these years, she had concealed the facts of her own life, had kept from Cathy the now inescapable truth that the girl had a father living instead of dead, as well as a twin brother whom she had never known. And now the lies had caught up with Gwen Corby. She opened the door, hoping that Cathy might be sitting on the sofa or perhaps still dawdling over breakfast, and hoping at the same time that she might put off the ordeal just a bit longer.
The living room was empty. Her heart thumped so loudly that there was a rushing in her ears and she felt just a bit dizzy. Cold chills and hot flashes alternated upon her body and she drew a hand across her forehead, surprised when she looked down at the little beads of sweat on her fingers.
She stood in the kitchen, and her hand went down to brace itself upon the refrigerator handle. Contact with the solid object restored Gwen's sense of balance and her head cleared. She smiled, confident again. And then she heard the sounds that came from Cathy's bedroom. The sound of a mattress squeaking energetically, the sighs and moans of a young girl, the sighs and moans of a young man. Her vision went black for a moment and her entire body froze and then she went to see what she knew she must see.
It was them. Her son, her daughter. They were on the bed, both of them naked as the day they were born, and Chris was putting the prick to Cathy. Dog-fashion at that, she noted, with Cathy on hands and knees on her bed and Chris hunching her from behind, bent over her back, his hands full of his sister's tits. Cathy's head
was shaking back and forth, her long blonde hair flying in disarray, and Gwen was shocked to realize that her teenaged daughter was hovering on the verge of what gave indications of being a throbbing, twitching super orgasm. Chris' eyes were closed and there was sweat bubbling from every pore of his body. His hips muscles were tight and knotted and it was clear that he was on the brink of his own climax. Both of the kids were moaning and sobbing so earnestly Gwen felt for one passing instant as though she were an intruder upon something that was none of her goddamned business.
She clutched the doorframe, closed her eyes, and then screamed, "CATHY!!"
The kids jerked at the unexpected sound, and they rolled on the bed, their dog-style pileup collapsing. Chris twisted his body to face Gwen and his cock flipped out of Cathy's snatch just as his balls released their scorching load. Cathy screamed wordlessly as she felt his prick leave her cunt, and she reached to clasp his cock as it squirted, the cum flying everywhere-onto the sheet, onto her legs, and some of it into the wet tangled fur of her bushy crotch. Her hand shucked rapidly on his hard shaft, emptying his dick of its creamy jizz, and she rolled from side to side upon the bed, her legs kicking, her snatch lips throbbing and burning for want of that last little measure of love and affection that would have sent her directly into seventh heaven.
Gwen's legs were rubber as she walked towards the bed. The kids opened their eyes and she saw them blush. "Oh, God," she said sorrowfully.
Cathy looked up at her mother with anger burning in her heart. "Why did you have to spoil it?" she demanded. "Why couldn't you have left us alone? Goddamnit, I nearly came! And you kicked
it up for me!"
"Cathy!" Gwen snapped. "Don't talk to me in that tone of voice!" There was a catch in her throat, and she knew that she. would be crying within moments. "You can't realize what seeing you-seeing Chris-"
"If you're worried," Cathy announced bitchily, "don't be. I'm on the Pill. You won't be a grandma till I'm ready to make you one."
Pills-orgasms-they weren't talking the same language. Mother and daughter, they were still strangers. Gwen wanted to die with the shame she felt.
"Chris," she said, turning to the boy, speaking as evenly as she could manage, "I think you'd better go home. Your father wanted to speak to you about something important."
He shrugged, making no effort to cover his crotch. Gwen had already seen him squirting his cum, so it was no big deal if she saw his cock getting soft now. His hand touched Cathy's shoulder.
"Don't go," she said. "You don't have to go."
"You do," Gwen declared. "You really do. Trust me."
"Okay," he said, and he left the room. In a few minutes Gwen saw him leave the bathroom, wearing only his pants, his shirt lying across his forearm.
"If you loved me, you wouldn't let her chase you away!" Cathy yelled as Chris went out the front door.
Gwen sat down on the bed with her daughter, taking care not to touch the patches of fresh sperm that still globbed on the sheet. "Cathy, Cathy honey," she said, "I don't know what to say "
"Because you caught me screwing? If you'd ever taken the time to be my mother, to spend any time
with me, you'd know that I like to get screwed. I'm not a virgin, Gwen, for God's sake!"
"It's not that at all!" Gwen screamed. "I don't care if you've balled everything that wears pants in Connecticut! Now get your things packed up. We're leaving as soon as we can get the car loaded."
"Leaving?"
"Yes. We're going back to New York. Cathy, there's so much to talk about, so many things-"
"I don't want to leave."
"You have to. You don't have any choice. We have to go home."
"Jesus, Gwen-you know now that Chris and I are making it. Why can't you just accept it? We don't have to run away because you caught me in the act. I told you, I'm on the Pill, so I can't get knocked up. Can't we just spend the rest of our vacation here?"
"No, we can't," Gwen said evenly, trying to control the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. "Now, young lady, you listen to me for a change. Pack up everything you want to take because we're leaving in half an hour. And, please, put some clothes on." She went out the door without looking back, not wanting Cathy to see the tears that flowed from her eyes in rivulets.
She heard Cathy slam shut the bedroom door; she heard Cathy turn on the stereo-Black Oak Arkansas-and raise the volume to full; she thought she heard Cathy scrambling around inside the room. Gwen finally wiped away the last of her tears and began to box up her typewriter. The hard rock coming from Cathy's room was almost deafening and she had no choice but to request the girl to turn it down and get on with her packing.
Gwen tapped at the bedroom door, again and again, receiving no response from inside. She turned the handle and the door opened. Cathy
wasn't there. A window was open and the curtains rustled in the breeze. Gwen looked around, saw the piece of stationery taped to the mirror on Cathy's dresser. She tore it loose and read the message twice, then ran into the living room.
The switchboard that handled all calls on the island was reluctant to release Mr. Robinson's phone number, but Gwen persuaded them that it was truly an emergency. She waited with chattering teeth as the phone rang once, twice, and then Don answered it.
"Oh," he said, "it's you. Chris is just coming in the front door now."
"I don't care about that," Gwen moaned, her words running together with no space in between for breathing. "It's Cathy-she's run away from home and you've got to help me find her!"