DISCLAIMER:- The following text is sexually explicit and contains depictions of sexual acts that have been classified by the surgeon general as potentially dangerous and unhealthy. You must be a broad minded adult to read the text, and you must not make this text available to minors or to any person who does not wish to view it. Unprotected sexual relations with unknown partners is hazardous and we urge the use of condoms and safe sex at all times.

"No hay mal que por bien no venga--Nothing bad happens, but that good won't come
of it."

I didn't like Fred at first, and the feeling was mutual. He thought I was "too
prissy" for Ralph, too much a party girl. He should have heard what my family
said about him. I was Jersey Shore money, though few dared ask Papa where it
came from. Ralph was "working class". He had a scholarship at Georgetown where
we met. Martha, on the other hand, could see immediately that I wanted to put
my wild past behind me and commit myself to Ralph, truly wanting to settle down
as a good wife and mother. I loved her from the beginning.

My opinions of Fred changed when Martha became ill. They were living in Florida
by that time. NYC firefighters don't get paid enough for risking their lives,
but if they survive, they can sell their Brooklyn row houses and retire early
with a nice pension. Fred took care of Martha in their Florida condo as long as
he could. When she went into the nursing home, he visited her every day,
spending almost all his time at her side. It must have been hard for him seeing
her go downhill so rapidly, her body becoming frail and contorted. We were
there when she died. While Ralph mourned the passing of his mother, I cried
with Fred, "Dad," for the loss of his wife.

Now, we were coming for our first visit in over a year since Martha's death.
Both Ralph's career at a Manhattan law firm, my teaching Spanish in the local
high school, the house in Bergen County, and a teenage boy, Kevin, kept us
pretty busy. In the last year I'd grown close to Dad. Often he called me just
to talk or to ask my advice -- Ralph was always far too busy. Dad was very much
impressed by my college degree, as he had been of Martha's. From his calls and
letters, Dad appeared to be doing well. Not long ago he told us he was dating a
Cecilia Corsillo, a medical technician, originally from El Salvador, he had met
at the nursing home where Martha had resided. She was divorced and had two
boys, but I thought she sounded very nice.

Ralph was contemptuous, almost angry.

"How can Fred be making a fool of himself over a woman young enough to be his
daughter!" he fumed. Ralph always called his father Fred, when he was angry at
him.

I defended Dad, thinking it a tribute to Martha that he still loved women,
although I did feel strange thinking about Dad with a woman younger than I.

Maybe I was also a little envious of Dad's new girlfriend. Ralph hadn't been
"making a fool of himself" over me for some time. I guess we'd been passionate
enough when we were first married, but he seemed to change when I became
pregnant with Kevin. Always having wanted lots of children, I was overjoyed
that it had happened less than a month after our marriage.

I made a ritual of informing him: a candle-light dinner and my EPT tied up in a
little box like a gift from me to him. I expected my young husband to want to
celebrate by re-enacting the exact circumstances of the conception. Instead he
was cautious, only wanting to talk about the problems this would create -- loss
of my time from work, a new house, day care expenses. He did not seem to
appreciate that "I" had chosen "him" to be the father of one of my few chances
to pass my genes on to the next generation.

The pregnancy was a nightmare. Oh, I didn't suffer more than my share of the
normal physical inconveniences, nausea, aversions to food and odors, swollen
ankles, backache, just not being able to move freely. But I suffered them
pretty much alone.

Ralph never said it, but his attitude seemed to be, "You fucked up in your bed,
now sleep in it."

Other men, especially older men, told me I was beautiful, but Ralph did not.
The other difficult thing was that my libido went through the roof. I wanted
Ralph, I needed Ralph to make love to me. Or if he didn't want to make love,
just to fuck my brains out. He wouldn't even cuddle.

Kevin was the end of our romance. Ralph and I still made love, but it was
predictable, and he was always cautious about the "danger" of my becoming
pregnant again. I could not take the pill, but he was careful always to use a
condom and usually restricted our lovemaking to days near the tail end of my
cycle when I was feeling less amorous. There were no intimate dinners, we never
went dancing, nothing that might start something he did not want to finish.
Once burned, twice shy.

When the man you love is indifferent to your sex appeal, it's hard for you to
care. Over the years I put on a lot of weight. But when a 5 foot 3 inch woman
hits size 16, she knows something has to change. I guess Martha's death was the
catalyst. By a combination of rigorous dieting and working out with a personal
trainer, I had in the last year settled in at a curvy size 10, not that Ralph
seemed to care anymore. Still, my remaining pounds seemed to be in the right
places; I was getting hungry looks from men again and I liked the feeling.

It was about that time that I noticed a change in the letters from Dad. They
became taciturn, and significantly, no longer mentioned Cecilia. Ralph would
have been pleased, if he'd bothered to notice. So it was I who then decided
that we really needed to go down to Florida to visit Dad. By pointing out that
Disney World was in Orlando, only a couple of hours from where his grandfather
lived, I enlisted Kevin in my campaign.

Ralph agreed without enthusiasm.

Dad's condo was a small two bedroom apartment nowhere near a beach, although
there was a pool. Kevin groused a bit about having to sleep on the couch in the
living room, but then he realized that Grandpa had some cable channels that
Ralph did not allow at home (and that Dad might not have known he had). Dad had
moved himself into the second bedroom, not wanting to sleep in the bed that he
and Martha had shared before she became ill. That left Ralph and me with the
master bedroom, which was only a little larger than the other one. The bed was
king size, however, which gave Ralph room to curl up on his side away from me.
It had been years since I had tried to sleep in his arms. I remembered bitterly
how joyously we had snared a single bed when we were dating, our movements
choreographed all night to keep us coiled together.

Men have their ways of bonding. Ralph and Dad talked business, managing some of
Dad's small investments. They went over the advantage and disadvantages of
buying a house or another condo vs. continuing to own this one. I piped up that
the apartment needed to have someone come weekly to clean it, something Dad
could not afford, but Ralph and I could help with. They got into arguments over
politics of course. Dad, after a dalliance with the Republicans in the Reagan
years, had returned to his family and ethnic trust in the Democrats. Ralph
never wavered in the allegiance to the Republicans that he adopted when he went
to work for big law firm. I bided my time, letting them talk.

Two days about exhausted these topics, and I could see that Ralph was growing
bored.

Of course, Kevin was climbing the walls, there being only so much a fourteen
year old boy can do in a 12' pool when the youngest female resident in the
complex is 55. I supported Kevin's plea to be taken to Disney World. Ralph was
happy to get out of the apartment and a Friday-to-Monday excursion was mapped
out. Ralph assumed that Dad would come along, but he really had no interest in
standing in line to see Pirates of the Caribbean. I begged off as well, saying
I would stay with Dad.

As soon as Ralph and Kevin had left I clapped my hands and twirled, making the
hem of my short yellow sundress billow out and up. "OK, Dad! "We" are going
shopping!"

Shopping wasn't much further up Dad's list of preferences than standing in line
for Pirates of the Caribbean, but he did have the company of me, his vivacious
daughter-in-law. And I knew that men like to shop, too, just for different
things. Because Ralph and Kevin had taken our rental car, Dad and I got in his
Taurus and headed toward an obscenely large home improvement store. I happily
followed Dad up and down the aisles as he planned projects that would never
happen -- new tile for the bathroom, a redwood banister for the balcony, jobs
that would never be undertaken and tools to make them easy. In the end Dad
bought a new tool box and enough replacement light bulbs to last years.

Dad was beaming, and I could tell I had now accumulated enough credit to drag
him to a mall. Besides, given what I was going to be shopping for, this would
not be at all painful for Dad. Although he had not said anything, I could tell
by the way he looked at me, Dad too had noticed the change in my measurements.
Dad wouldn't know dress sizes, but a deep instinctual part of his brain
registered a woman who once again had the proportions males were hard wired to
appreciate, my own husband being the only possible exception.

"You've got to help me, Dad. I want to get some new clothes, but you know Ralph
doesn't like anything too risqué. I need you to keep me under control."

"I dunno, Ellen. I don't know much--"

"C'mon, it'll be fun."

This was a task that Dad was not sure he either could or wanted to do, but I
could tell that he thought it might be fun to try.

My first few stops were for skirts and tops -- garments that hardly exist in
size 16 petite. In 10 there were a lot more choices.

"Do you think this skirt is too short?" I asked about a cocktail dress, coming
out of a fitting room and pirouetting. The grin on Dad's face gave me his
answer. "Do you think it might be too tight?" I inquired about a fire engine
red mini skirt?" Dad could see that there was a lot of pure sex in that
miniskirt, but his response was the same embarrassed grin. Some of the tops I
bought were pretty sheer and would definitely require new brassieres but Dad
approved. He even thought I looked good in one off those tank tops that show
off your navel. He was right!

Of course it's pointless to have fashionably short skirts and dresses if you
don't have good shoes. It had been years since it had been safe for me to wear
high heels. Now I made up for lost time: black patent pumps, lime green
stilettos, and several strappy sandals with 3, 4 or 5 inch heels.

Dad was enjoying all this even more than looking at shop vacs.

I think he was a little nervous when we walked into a "Victoria's Secret." Just
to raise the ante, I took his arm. I know we looked like some "sugar daddy"
buying toys for his latest trophy, but if people wanted to think I was a trophy,
that was alright with me. It was such a relief to be able to buy bras and
panties from an ordinary store instead of a specialty shop and to chose among
colors, and silks and laces, push ups and half cups, thongs or French cut. I
made my choices of new lingerie without Dad's input, of course, but I did model
my selections of stockings, some with a garter belts and some thigh highs,
having sworn never to wear pantyhose again.

Dad really liked the seamed ones.

Now if this next part were a in a story, you'd pan the writer for coming up with
something so clichéd. But so help me, it happened, just as we were heading out
of the mall. I was wearing one of my cute new outfits, and I had slipped my arm
in Dad's again, giggling at the stares we were getting. Dad may not have
understood what people were thinking, but as a red-blooded male he enjoyed
having a pretty woman at his side.

Suddenly behind us, we heard screams. Dad tore loose from my grip and sprinted
back toward the commotion. I arrived just in time to see smoke coming from a
toy store. Everyone was shouting and pointing toward the entrance. Dad was
standing, listening, trying to capture what was going on. Someone else pointed,
and Dad disappeared into the store. The crowd grew silent as long seconds
dragged past. Then a shout as Dad came out coughing and leading two terrified
little black girls. A paramedic from the mall had arrived and tried to get the
two girls and Dad to lie down on stretchers, though, thankfully, they looked
unharmed.

Then one of the girls seemed to recover from her daze and began screaming,
"Mommy! Juanita! Mommy! Juanita!" The girls' mother and another sister were
still inside the burning store!

"You can't go in there, sir," one of the paramedics said, but Dad was already up
from the stretcher and bounding back into the acrid, billowing smoke that poured
from the establishment. The whole assemblage gasped as Dad once more
disappeared into the smoke, darker and thicker than before. Several people were
sobbing, none more than I, convinced I would never see Dad alive again.

The sound of fire engines was approaching, but I knew it would be too late for
Dad. Almost a minute had passed and I felt the heat from the blaze sear my
face. Even out here the stench of burning plastic was overpowering. He
couldn't survive in there; no one could. I broke down completely, not believing
he could be taken from me like this, a victim of his fearlessness and noble
instincts.

I didn't see it, but the roar of the crowd made me jerk my head around. There
was Dad! Staggering, he was carrying a black infant in one arm and leading a
bedraggled and very pregnant white woman with the other.

"Mommy! Mommy!" the little girls whooped as a whole crew of paramedics swooped
in to take the woman, baby, and Dad in hand. Police, too, were now on the scene
and were pushing back the crowd. I was being pushed back with all the others
when someone said, "She's his girlfriend," and I was allowed access.

When I got to his side they had an oxygen mask over Dad's face and several
people were taking his pulse and looking at instruments, all concerned frowns
and whispers. I didn't dare to ask how he was.

Finally, one of the technicians stood up and shook his head. "Shit!" he
exclaimed, "I wish I had this old geezer's constitution!"

It was almost nightfall when we got back to the apartment. By the time it was
clear that both Dad and the young family were unharmed, reporters from the local
TV station were on the scene, recounting the dramatic events for "Live at Five."
Dad tried to explain there was nothing out of the ordinary in what he did, that
any trained person could hold their breath for a few minutes if they knew how to
move deliberately. More importantly, from an earlier fire inspection of that
store (some kind of volunteer program) he knew of a parallel passage used for
stocking which had proved free of smoke, allowing him to go deep into the store
before facing the flames. The reporters didn't care about details. The story
had everything cameras love: a scene of destruction, a grateful mother and
child, adorable kids, and a heroic retired NYC fireman with a pretty, adoring
woman clinging to his arm -- Moi, Ellen.

In the excitement, neither of us had eaten. I offered to fix us something, but
Dad wouldn't hear of it. He called a buddy, also ex-NYFD, who had opened a
pizza place nearby. Soon the stereotypical teen age boy came to the door to
collect money for the pizza.

However, he stared open mouthed at me. Then I remembered. I was still wearing
that miniskirt with the sexy stockings. Only two of four buttons held the front
of my blouse together. Feeling lightheaded from all the excitement and
appreciative of his awkward admiration, I kissed him on the cheek and sent him
away. I giggled, thinking that not only would that be his best tip of the
night, but he would masturbate for weeks with the image of what those other two
buttons concealed.

Never had cheese, mushrooms, black olives, pepperoni and onions tasted so good.
We had a couple of Buds in those long-neck bottles that Dad so loved. I put the
remainder of the six pack on the table in the living room. He didn't have much
to say about the rescue. One floor, a small shop, nothing to a guy who had
brought people down five floors on a ladder.

For a while we just watched the Devil Rays who had an at home series against the
Red Sox. I was hoping Tampa would push Boston a few games farther behind the
Yankees, but more important, I had my eyes out for Tino Martinez "YUMM!" who the
Yankees had traded to the Devil Rays two years ago. Dad was upright in his
recliner; I sat nearby and slowly drinking my beer.

By the third bottle, plus the one with the pizza, I got up my courage. "What's
going on, Dad? For a while your letters were so cheerful. Then you practically
stopped writing."

"Nothing, Ellen, honey. Not much happening in the life of an old geezer like
me."

"That's not true Dad, starting with the part about you being old. It wasn't
some 'old guy' that saved four people's lives this afternoon."

He looked back at the TV and didn't say anything.

I reached over to the remote and pushed the power button. "It's about you and
Cecilia, isn't it?"

Over the next half hour, with denials and silences from Dad and slightly
inebriated prodding from me, the whole story came out.

Apparently Cecilia had been as moved by Dad's devotion to Martha as I was. When
they ran into each other at a supermarket a few months after Martha's death,
they fell into polite conversation, and she invited him home for dinner. They'd
dated for several months, but always on her days off or early evenings. Her two
boys didn't allow much intimacy, although she usually sent him home with soggy
shorts after a session on her couch when the boys were in bed. In fact, he
frequently babysat the boys for her, telling them stories about the NYFD, which
they loved. "They are too young to be firemen, Fred," Cecilia had joked. "Stop
trying to recruit them."

Dad didn't say so, but I could tell he'd gone far past infatuation with the
young woman, and she seemed genuinely to return his affection. "Do you have a
picture of her?"

Dad protested that everything was over between him and Cecilia, but I pressed.
Reluctantly he went over to a bookcase and drew a frame from behind the books as
if he'd misplaced it. Silently, he placed the picture in my hands. I was
stunned. Cecilia looked very much like me! She was a little younger and
thinner and not quite as busty, but she had the same nose and high cheek line,
dark hair and eyes like mine and a similar golden brown complexion that I got
from my Italian grandparents. Then I thought about her last name, Corsillo.
Apparently Sicilians had migrated to El Salvador as well as to the United
States.

"She's very -- pretty." I ventured.

"Yeah, prettiest woman I've met in a long time--" Dad smiled. "Well almost."

"So, there you are dating a beautiful woman who's got enough on the ball to be a
sonogram technician plus raise two boys," I said. "And she seems to be in love
with you. What went wrong?"

This was a question that Dad clearly did not want to answer, but I looked at him
squarely and waited.

"I messed it up! I can never see her again," he muttered as much to himself as
to me.

"Dad, arguments and misunderstandings happen between couples all the time. Call
her; talk to her about whatever it is."

"There is nothing to talk about, after what happened."

Finally I cajoled the rest of the story out of him.

Early one night Cecilia showed up at his apartment unexpectedly. She'd gotten a
sitter and didn't have to pick up the boys until 10PM. She wore the kind of
clothes that were made for taking off. After some kissing and groping, Dad
excused himself and quickly took a "Viagra." Even three years ago, before Marta
became sick, it was a good insurance policy. When he came out of the bathroom
Cecilia was no longer in the sitting area.

"In here," she purred from Dad's bedroom. Already naked, Cecilia quickly helped
Dad out of his clothes and within minutes they were pawing at each other like
teenagers.

"I wanted to, you know, pleasure her the way I always did--" Dad's voice
caught. "But she was in a hurry. 'Fred, we don't have much time and I've been
waiting for this for so long,' she urged me."

Then "It" happened or rather "It" didn't. Dad explained that as he started to
slide his cock into the eager young woman, his penis deflated. He was intensely
embarrassed, and more of less forced Cecilia to leave.

"And she won't go out with you again because of that?" I asked incredulously.

"She's called and says she understands, and that she'd still like to get
together, but how can I ask her to," he whimpered. "I'm just not man enough for
a woman like her!"

"Not man enough, Dad? You should see yourself through a woman's eyes.
Everything about you says you are strong and caring, experienced and competent,
a man who would walk through fire to protect his woman and come out on the other
side unscorched -- like you did for that young mother this afternoon. God, Dad,
you are a real woman's man!"

"Not where it counts."

"Everywhere it counts. Here," I slipped my hand into his shirt and pressed it
against his heart. "And here," I leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.
"And as for here," I dropped my hand to his crotch, "This feels very manly." I
said it to be nice, but my surprised fingers were nodding in agreement
enthusiastically. An image flashed to mind, something I must have seen around
the pool these last few days without thinking about it. There had been quite a
lot of Dad packaged into his "Speedos," quite a bit more than Ralph.

"But not when I needed it," Dad replied bitterly.

"That's what can happen when you get a woman too hot, too fast, stud," I
grinned, "Although it sounds to me like she was hot when she arrived. Too bad
she didn't have a trace less passion and a smidgen more experience with men."

"Experience with men? Cecilia was married for eight years! She's dated plenty
since."

"She'd been dating boys, Dad. She didn't understand men," I added, "And, I see
that you didn't read the directions on the package."

I went on to explain the reasons for his "failure," the time elapsed since he'd
last made love, the surprise of her visit, and especially that Cecilia moved too
fast, before the "Viagra" started working.

"You know what they say, Dad. If you fall off a horse, you've got to get right
back on. Call her."

"But what if it happens again?"

"Well, maybe you should practice with someone else first to get your confidence
back," I grinned.

"Who?" he asked, not looking at me.

"A woman who thinks you are hero," I whispered.

I tumbled myself into his chair, managing to move the lever to make it recline
all the way. I was kissing him before he knew what was happening. He tried to
protest a little, but having a willing woman in his arms, a woman who, I
realized, had been flirting with him all day, whose breasts crushed against his
chest and whose lips were glued to his, soon silenced his nonsense. After a few
minutes of tongue fencing I let him up for air.

"Now, "we" are going to bed. You are going to take your Viagra, and I am going
to spend as long as it takes showing you how a woman gets a man like you ready
for sex."

For the next forty-five minutes I envied Martha and felt sorry for Cecilia. I
had nothing to show Dad. His mouth and his hands traveled over my body like
vagabonds, never spending too much time in one place before moving on. Oh, they
did have their favorite spots that they returned to, time and again: Twin Peaks,
Lake Navel, Secluded Nooks behind my ears, and the long thoroughfares of my
legs.

For the most part it was a narrated tour, as Dad lovingly told me how each
feature of my intimate geography made up part of a perfect woman-scape.

""This land is your land,/This land is my land,"" I hummed silently to myself.

Only one geographical feature of that mysterious continent Ellenia remained
unexplored: the grotto hidden deep in the jungle between my legs. It could
hardly have gone unnoticed to such an experienced explorer as Dad, especially
since a small stream now issued from it, and a musky aroma gave away the
location. Gradually I realized Dad's delay had been tactical; he had been
waiting for a third member to join his fingers and mouth in opening up and
conquering this new territory. Once the exploration party rose to full
strength, tongue was sent in on a scouting mission.

As Dad began his long, loving assault on my last redoubt, I stopped envying
Martha and started wanting to light a candle for her in gratitude: this man knew
how to eat a woman.

Ralph had gone down on me a few times in grudging exchange for a blow job and
several boys in college were not bad, but nothing compared to Dad's meticulous,
well-planned invasion of my pussy, not least because of his very effective
psychological warfare.

"Your body is so beautiful, Ellen, especially here. Let me make it wet for you,
so wet," he whispered all the time he was petting and stroking me. "That's it,
honey, let me love this beautiful pussy."

Gently Dad pulled the lips apart. I felt his eyes on my inner lips, giving them
their first, playful lick which made me shudder. Next he spread the tops of my
all but neglected pussy until he found my clit. He blew a soft salute, but
avoided touching me there just yet. Dad stalked my pussy slowly, sensing that I
love to be teased. He zeroed in on the inner part of his victim-lover's thigh,
kissing it, licking it making designs on it with the tip of his tongue. Time
after time I squirmed with unbearable arousal as Dad came dangerously close to
my center, only to float away. I never knew just when he would strike.

Suddenly Dad was licking the crease where my leg joined my pussy. I quivered as
he nuzzled his face into my untamed bush. Brushing his lips over my now flowing
slit without pressing down further excited me. Dad had me! Soon I was bucking
up from the bed, straining to get more of him into me. The moment had arrived.
Dad put his lips directly upon my slit.

He kissed me, gently, then harder. With his tongue, Dad separated my pussy
lips, and when I was opened, my assailant ran his tongue up and down between the
layers of my labial flesh. Gently he spread my unresisting legs with his hands.

Gently, ever so gently, Dad began to tongue-fuck me. My mixed moans of arousal
and frustration told him he was teasing his son's wife unmercifully. I was
dying for some attention to my clit. It must be hard, hard enough to peek out
of its covering. I wailed when Dad licked it and again when he licked harder,
pressing into my skin.

Gently, Dad pulled the pussy lips aside and flicked his tongue against my
uncovered clit. He did it quickly and my legs shuddered. Sensing that I was
approaching orgasm, Dad made his lips into an "O" and took my clit into his
mouth. Starting to suck gently, Dad looked up into my face for my reaction.
Seeing I could handle it, he began to suck harder.

I lifted my pelvis into the air with the tension of my approaching orgasm. Dad
hung on, keeping his hot mouth on my temple.

"Don't stop. Please! Don't ever stop!" I wailed as I orgasmed.

Even as I was recovering, Dad began to finger-fuck me, making for the sensitive
area at the roof of my vagina. It drove me crazy whenever a man touched me
there. Wetting them with my flow, Dad slipped one, then two fingers into my
pussy, rubbing slowly at first, then a little faster, massaging my "G spot"
rhythmically with a "come here" motion. He was tracking my responses perfectly,
speeding up only when I did.

My ragged breathing told him what to do. Sucking my clit and finger-fucking me
at the same time, Dad was giving me far more stimulation than Ralph or any man
could with a cock alone. I felt an almost uncontainable excitement. I blushed
and began to tremble.

Even when my next orgasm broke, Dad didn't let go of my clit, hanging on for the
duration. When I started to come down from that climax, Dad pressed his tongue
along the underside of my clit, leaving his lips covering the top. Gently, he
moved his tongue in and out of my cunt. His fingers were still inside and he
began to move them a little too, gently though, knowing how sensitive I was just
now. "Bingo!" I was off towards another "Big O."

Not content merely to make me come, Dad must have wanted to make me his
love-slave. He didn't leave me alone just yet. He talked to me, stroked my
body, caressed and praised my breasts, pinched my nipples. He continued making
love to me quietly until I had floated all the way down.

I was dazed from the intensity of my orgasms when I realized Dad so far was just
softening me up. He sent his lips for a parley up by the lobes of my ears.
"Ellen, sweetie, are you absolutely sure this is OK with you?"

What kind of trick question was that? Was it OK to let this wonderful, virile
man continue to make love to me? "Yes, Dad, yes, please!"

Then I saw the implications of his question and my answer. He was on his knees,
straddling my hips; my pussy, wet from repeated climaxes was open and
defenseless. His cock, the cock I thought needed my help to get it hard, to
sustain an erection long enough to penetrate a woman, hung there below his
belly, short, but as thick and hard as any cock I'd ever seen. It put my
husband's to shame.

"It's--you're--" I whispered. "Beautiful, Dad."

His mass sank on me in reply, his lips on mine as he penetrated my last
defenses. Slowly he began to move in me, twisting and grinding his pubic bone
against mine with each stroke. Even as he fucked, he was kissing my breasts,
loving them as my husband never did.

"So perfect, Ellen," he murmured. "You're so perfect."

He continued to fuck me with short, strong strokes. His stamina was amazing. I
slowly headed for yet another orgasm. Already defeated, I could only sue for
peace on the best terms I could get. "Fuck me, Dad! Fuck me, please!" I cried
out as I came on my father-in-law's cock.

Fucking me was exactly what he was doing, but feeling my trembling cataclysm may
have accelerated his plans. I was headed for yet another orgasm when suddenly I
felt him withdraw. I shuddered and almost cried at the emptiness. How could he
leave me now when I needed him so much? Then I realized he had not given up,
only exchanged the frontal assault for a flanking movement. His large hands
grasped me and his powerful arms flipped me and pulled my ass into the air,
vulnerable to a renewed onslaught. From this angle when he re-entered me, he
could grasp me by my waist and slam me against his bulk as he rammed himself
into me with incredible power.

My world shrank to the pillow in my face and the incessant hammering of Dad's
cock in my pussy.

At last, his thrusts became quicker and punchier. I heard a low, animalistic
roar as he stiffened, shuddered, and slammed himself into me.

"So gorgeous, baby! So sexy!"

I could feel my pussy tensing around him, and saw the expression on his face
change to one of focused determination.

"That's it," Dad said, his hands on my hips pulling me to him with each thrust.
"That's right! Come for me! Come on my cock, Ellen, baby! Don't hold back!"

From out of nowhere yet another climax erupted over me as Dad released himself
deep into my womb. He collapsed on top of me, his cock still plugging me,
holding his sperm inside me. Sure the war was over, but his invasion forces had
moved into seize occupied territory.

When the fireworks in my body subsided, I twisted onto my side to face him,
glowing with feelings of love and protectedness in his strong stocky arms. I
wanted to say something in gratitude, in tribute to the best lovemaking I'd ever
experienced, but Dad was already asleep, smiling. I settled for kissing his
nose, pushing my butt into the crook of his groin, and pulling his arms around
me.

Dad is over 60; so, we did not "go at it" four more times that night. Nor was I
awakened at 5 AM by him pounding away at me.

In fact, Dad was still asleep when I got up the next morning to fix breakfast.
I figured it should be a hearty one. I was rather pleased that I had exhausted
him. As I mixed flour, meal, eggs, and oil for pancakes, the reality of what we
had done, of what "I" had done, for surely I'd started it, sank in. I'd had
sex, no I'd made love to my husband's father.

Not only that, another thought intruded, I'd done so in the middle of my cycle,
totally unprotected! I never thought I'd be having sex on this trip, much less
with my father-in-law. Besides, I was accustomed to Ralph taking all the
precautions, those precautions against consequences that I didn't particularly
want to avoid.

There! I'd admitted it. I wanted more children. I resented Ralph for being
unromantic and far too sparing with lovemaking, for failing to pet me and hold
me, and tell me I'm desirable, but I resented more his not wanting to make
babies with me.

Looking back at my actions, it seemed as if I'd spent the last 24 hours with the
sole intent to seduce the handsome, virile man still sleeping in the bed I had
just shared. I had used every wile ten thousand generations of women had
learned to ensure that this male would shoot his potent seed into me at the best
possible time and most propitious way to achieve conception.

And I didn't regret it in the least.

The rest of the weekend was a more drawn out reprise of last night. I
discovered that Dad had not taken "Viagra", which lasts only a few hours, but a
newer drug, the Mexican version of "Tadalafil" called "Rapivir," which touts
itself as a "weekender." I could write an unsolicited testimonial, although I
prefer to believe it was more the excitement of our slow but passionate
lovemaking that kept Dad going Saturday and Sunday and indeed once Monday
afternoon, just a few hours before Ralph and Kevin were to return. We did it
that last time in Dad's recliner in the living room, teasing each other to an
insane arousal about the danger of his son and my son walking in to find their
parents fucking.

They did not, of course. I was counting on Ralph to be predictable. But they'd
seen news of the fire on TV and wanted to know all about it. I had to do most
of the talking over a nice dinner in a little Cuban restaurant--that's lovable,
reticent Dad. The next day, we packed, said our good byes, and were off for New
Jersey.

About two weeks after we got back, I got a call from Cecilia. Dad had asked her
out, she found that sitter again, but allowed more time, and they spent a
wonderful night of lovemaking. A few days later, however, Dad confessed to her
how he "got his groove back."

"He told you that?" I gasped, dreading what she would say next.

"We have promised not to have secrets, and, besides, why should I be mad? He is
grateful to you, but he's in love with me. As we say, 'No hay mal que por bien
no venga.'"

"Oh, that's good," I laughed. "'Nothing bad happens, but that good comes of it.'
But, hey, that makes me the 'something bad,'" I protested in mock anger.

"No, Ellen, you are the 'something good,' the best thing that's happened to Fred
since Martha died, except me, I hope."

"Count on it, Ceci."

"But I had to call to thank you. I know you didn't intend to seduce Fred, but
because you did, I have my wonderful man back. Just don't make a habit of it!"

I think there may have been an edge of seriousness in her levity.

From then on scarcely a day went by Ceci and I were not on the phone or at least
sending e-mails to each other. Maybe it had something to do with knowing how
much alike we look, but I felt like Cecilia was the little sister I never had.
She mentioned feeling the same about me.

Then one day I got an excited call. "Ellie, Ellie, I've got to tell you. I
can't believe it, it's so grand!"

"Calm down Ceci, what's up? Did you finally get your echocardiogram service
incorporated?"

"No, something a hundred times better. Fred and I are getting married, the
twenty-fifth of next month!"

"Oh, that's wonderful, Ceci! I'm so happy for you, for you both, but frankly,
I'm not surprised. Dad's letters have been full of 'Cecilia this' and 'Cecilia
that' and 'the boys and I,' and 'we.' He sounds like a teenager bragging about
his first girlfriend. But why so soon? You won't have time to plan a real blow
out, and this deserves a big celebration."

"We were planning to announce it for early next year, but we no longer have that
luxury. I got the news, yesterday, Ellie. I'm pregnant."

My mouth dropped. "You-you're "what?" Why that horny old stud!" I laughed
again.

"Yeah, I think he got me on the very first time we were back together. After
what happened the time before, I wasn't prepared. I'm not on the pill, and I
didn't have any condoms. We almost didn't get out of bed all weekend."

"Yeah, that's how he operates," I snorted, rubbing my tummy. "But, since we're
trading secrets, I have to tell you I'm about two weeks ahead of you!"