*You leave your life to those who come after*

(This starts out seemingly unbelievable but it will make sense before the end)

(Claudia)

I'm standing in my brother's house, trying to figure out where to start when the doorbell rings. I go to the door, open it and there is this very properly dressed woman around forty/forty-five with a decidedly unhappy look on her face which makes me wonder what I've done wrong in the fifteen minutes I've been in this neighborhood. Since I've never been in this house before it is unlikely she knows me.

"Oh," she sniffs with distain, "it's like this again." She stares at me. "May I come in?"

"Yeah, sure," I get out of her way. She walks into my brother John's, my brother, place with a strange familiarity. My brother is a bit of a slob and casual to the core. I am sure he has a bag, or three, of weed stashed about -- alcohol is a given. I can't imagine what this lady is doing here.

When she rounds the sofa she stops and looks at me with some impatience. I walk over to her; we stand side by side for several awkward seconds until she points to the sofa. I take a clue and sit down only have her to roll her eyes and give a long-suffering sigh. The lady gingerly gets on her knees between my legs, reaches out and starts working my shorts down.

My first thought is 'I'm getting a blowjob' which is sweet because of all the shit I've been going through the past twenty-four hours. Then the realization hits me that this 'lady' lady is giving me head on my brother's sofa and I should do something. I am unsure what to do and while I try and figure it out she gets my shorts and underwear to my knees and starts stroking my dick with her hands.

"I...ummm," I get out before she starts making the circuit of my spongy head with her tongue. I reach out and run my hand through her hair. She stops and angrily regards me so I stop. The lady goes back to work, bobbing past my helmet and slobbering on my shaft. A minute and a half later I can't stop my hands from playing with her hair once more but this time she doesn't react.

The lady has excellent technique which is at odds with her elegant, church-lady attire. More to the point, she is clearly getting into the blowjob she is giving me, fondling and licking my balls as well as kissing around the base of my shaft and licking my pee-hole.

"I'd like to see your tits," I finally speak up. For a moment the lady hesitates then looks up at me. "You are very beautiful and you are making me feel so good," I try to clarify.

She keeps up her ministrations to my penis with her mouth alone, while shifting out of her jacket then unbuttoning her blouse. Her bra is far racer than I would have expected with the nature of her conservative outer wear and her breasts larger than advertised though they sag a bit. The surprises keep coming when she starts working off her skirt next while still kneeling.

She is down to light brown stockings, black garter belt, white panties and bra.

"Can you get up here and give me better access?" I request somewhat timidly. She barely misses a beat and starts bringing her knees up on the sofa. "Wait, I want to do a 'sixty-nine'," I add. She stops and, while bent at the waist, the lady wiggles out of her panties to expose a neatly trimmed but full bush.

"Damn, you're heartbreaking," I whisper. She has a slight belly but her shape is still hourglass and her bra-clad breasts look delicious. She stops pumping my cock with her hand but she doesn't look my way. I figure she isn't upset because she lets me rotate my body so I am back down on the sofa then she carefully mounts me while her blowjob continues.

The problem with the sofa is that it is a few inches too narrow. The lady can put one knee beside my head, against the back of the sofa, but the other leg has to stand on floor so that her pussy can be lowered to my face. She is remarkably quiet and her vagina is dry as I first start paying attention to her love box then, in a second, she's anything but.

She starts making 'mmph' noises in rapid succession as her juices are already dripping onto my tongue. I double then redouble my efforts until I'm making a wet sloshing sound as I tongue fuck her as deeply as I can. She explodes seconds later and I drink her up. The whole time the lady keeps up with the fellatio with barely any interruption.

Her skill, the absence of sex in my life the past few weeks, and her erotic display push me to ejaculate.

"Lady, I'm cumming," I cry out. She pulls up to the point her lips are only controlling my cockhead and an inch of my shaft. Her tongue acts like a scoop that draws my spurting semen into her mouth.

When I finish shooting, the lady uses the suction of her lips to clean me up then kneels on the floor and opens her mouth to reveal the cum she's yet to swallow. That makes no sense to me and she doesn't look happy so I kiss her lightly on the lips.

"You didn't need to do that for me but thank you," I say hoping that changes her mood.

The lady looks at me, I look down her cleavage and my cock rebounds and slaps my stomach. Both our gazes flicker to my dick. She swallows, lowers her head, sighs and nods in resolution to some internal struggle. She stands and starts mounting me in reverse once more.

"Can we do it somewhere more comfortable?" I request.

The lady looks over her shoulder before dismounting and waiting for me. I get up, kick my shorts and underwear free and then start following her toward what I have only recently figured out is my brother's room. What I want to ask is why this elegant, mature lady knows the way to my slovenly older brother's bedroom. Okay, my brother is - was thirty, a well-off but slovenly real estate investor.

He was rich in some people's estimation...I mean he's rich enough to live in this exclusive community, but John, my brother liked his women younger than he was, not older. This made no sense. Of course, I hadn't seen John in the flesh since he attended my graduation a year and a half ago, but still...does a guy change preferences that much?

Without a glance toward me the lady crawls onto my bro's huge bed, stopping in the middle then goes down on her elbows, her ass sticking up in the air. I have the sinking feeling she's been in that position, on this bed, far too often. I knee-walked behind her, put my grip to her hips with my hands and stop myself.

I'm not sure that I can forgive myself for what came next which was basically me not asking what the hell was going on. Instead I slowly start pumping my rod into her wet cunt. She lets loose an 'ugh' as I enter her and several 'ah's as I steadily press deeper. She rewards me with a resounding grunt when my hips push against her buttocks.

The lady reaches out and taps my thigh so I sit still as her vaginal muscles constrict and conform to my cock. She keeps this up for a minute before she finally speaks.

"Okay," she says softly. I pull back about half way. When I get no reaction, I go delve back into her warm, wet depths once more. I'm starting to get into the zone when caution comes knocking a minute too late.

"Oh..." I was about to say 'fuck' but weirdly I don't want to curse in front of this woman, "darn, I don't have a condom." She looks back at me, caught between a rush to climax, frustration and humiliation.

"I am not allowed to use a condom," she mumbles. Here I am thinking 'latex allergy' so I leave it be and go back to fucking her.

Thirty seconds later she flexes her back and starts chewing the sheets as her orgasm grips her. Either I've gotten a whole lot better at this sex-thing or this woman highly sensitive sexually.

"Do you want me to slow down?" I inquire. She shakes her head so I keep going at it; her body is one hell of a treasure.

I start breathing heavily when the lady hits orgasm number three and it is even stronger and more violent than the first two. Shit she's good and I'm starting to wonder if she's some sort of pro who has been paid to role-play with my late brother. That idea excites me even more because my brother was always the promiscuous, successful one while I was awkward and lonely.

"Are you getting close?" the lady pants.

"Yes," I groan.

"Stick it in my ass!" she pleads desperately. I've never been there before and I don't mean just with her. Anal sex is something I've always fantasized about but I only have teenage porn mythology to call upon.

My dick makes a sloppy wet sound as it exits her pussy. I rub the head against her anus and sort of let my body tip forward. As sexually experienced individuals can tell you, the human penis tends to bend before the female sphincter surrenders its sanctity. I make two more goes at it before the lady's long fingernails drum along my thigh once more.

"The lube is on the headboard shelf," she indicates. Not wanting to lose my arousal I move lickety-split, retrieve the lube...

"That's female lubricant," the lady mutters. I grab the larger bottle and since she doesn't stop me, I vault back to my position and began pouring it...all over her butt. Yes, I am nervous.

"Use one finger," she instructs me. I use one finger to spread out the oil.

"In my ass," she moans helplessly, "stick your finger in my ass and rotate it around. When I tell you put in a second finger." She quickly adds, "Lube up the fingers first." I've always been a good student and before fear brings about the death of my hard-on I have two fingers inside her rectum.

"Is this enough?" I whisper. She doesn't say anything because orgasm number four rampages across her body. I take that to be a 'yes'. This time I hold my dick in my hand as I push it against her bunghole and as promised, it stretches out her anus and forces the passage.

"Ah...yes...ugh...slow down, slow down damn...it," she gasps through the discomfort.

I hold back until she gives me a 'more' which I take to mean roughly a half inch further then wait. That formula works for her, and my one regret is that I'm so attentive to her acceptance of my intrusion that I forget to commit this panorama to memory. When Then I start fucking her ass, I've read that you take it in tiny steps, slowly building up to thrusting my whole length in and out.

To repeat the obvious; this woman is phenomenal. Her colon (I know I'm not really in her colon but it makes me sound big) sends micro-vibrations up and down my cock, so on the second go-round I start ejaculating semen deep into her bowels. Of course this sends the lady off for one final ride.

Seven damn orgasms! I didn't give any of the girls I dated in college that many. Hell, I doubted I gave out a total of seven orgasms in all four years of higher education combined. She slumps flat on the bed and I lay on top of her. I feel so good that I wrap my arms around her and hug her tight as I can with my arms not actually encompassing her.

"What are you doing?" she moans.

"You are the best sex I've had in my entire life and if you are not married I'd like you to entertain my proposal," I sigh contentedly.

"Stop it," she demands. "Get off me...please," she adds the 'please' bitterly.

I roll off her, settling on my side so I can look at her and she looks exhausted and terribly pissed off. I can't figure out what I've done wrong. You would think that she liked climaxing, right?

"What's your name?" I ask. I can hear her grinding her teeth and see her body tense up.

"Claudia," she allows.

"I'm Charles, John's brother," I introduce myself. "I take it you and John were close?"

"You...you are his brother?" Claudia's eyes grow wide.

"Yes and I was sort of hoping you could help me contact some of his other friends in the area to help with his funeral arrangements," I plead.

"He's...he's dead?" Claudia's face contorts with both fear and elation. "He's really dead," she vocalizes giddily. She clutches my arm, her beautifully manicured fingernails digging into my flesh painfully. "You aren't lying to me, are you? He's really finally gone?" This is not the reaction I was expecting at all.

"Yes," I try to pull away, "his convertible flipped off the road into a canal two nights ago. The fish left him somewhat of a mess so it may be a closed casket funeral."

"But you are sure it was him," she begs.

"Yes, he had that scar on his stomach where I stabbed him with my toy sword when I was nine and the tip broke off and punctured him," I confess. "Worst Christmas my family ever had."

Claudia sits up and stares off into space. I am trying to figure out what the hell is going on.

"If you weren't his friend Claudia, what are you doing here...with me...having sex on his bed?" I try to understand.

"Oh my God," Claudia's hands fly to her mouth. "What have I done?" she mutters. "What have I done?"

She scoots off the bed and races out of the bedroom, her gorgeous ass covered with lube fleeing my line of vision. I pursue her but not for sex; I want answers.

"Oh God, I cheated on my husband," becomes her new mantra. Husband; where do I begin? Perhaps I should begin with the big rock on her finger with the matching gold band next to it...yes, that should have been my first clue.

In my defense, she did push her way in and start giving me a blowjob without explanation. My rational thought processes sort of jumped out the window at that point. Besides I've never been hit on by a married woman before. It is not like I have experience in adultery. Unfortunately I am sure my brother did and suddenly his flipping his car seems much more suspicious -- jealous husband and all.

Claudia's grip on sanity is definitely tenuous because after droning on about cheating on her husband -- who is, unless Claudia is a total shrew, the luckiest man in the state of Florida -- she gathers up her clothes and races for the exit. I catch her by the forearm just before she opens the door and she gives me a slap to the cheek for my courtesy.

"You need to get dressed before you go sprinting across the lawn," I caution her. Claudia returns to reality, takes a deep breath and nods. I quickly back away which is good because it allows me to slip around her to put on my underwear and shorts. Otherwise I'm only wearing socks and since technically I don't even own the house yet, getting arrested for public nudity as an outsider in this community would suck.

Twice I try to get Claudia to open up and tell me what is going on but her glares are glacial and shut me down from the get-go. I end up letting my eyes follow her stormy march down the walkway where she turns right and proceeds...to the walkway next door. Oh fuck, she's my next door neighbor. Half way to the door Claudia realizes her mistake. I'm not close enough to make out her facial expression clearly (these are some huge lots) but I doubt she's sunshine and kittens at the moment.

(One Hour Later)

I head back inside and start by stripping the bed and by the looks of it, John should have done this much more regularly because there are definitely stains on the sheets that Claudia and I didn't make. After that nightmare I check and sort the mail, crack his computer password and prepare a microwave dinner so I can spend my second night by myself. I spent my first night in Miami dealing with the police.

I'm mulling over the implications that the cops I talked to were homicide detectives and they were trying to figure out if I killed my brother for his estate. I'm a self-employed Day Trader but oddly enough I had an alibi -- I was at a wedding reception with two hundred other people. My financials are complicated but I didn't hire a hitman. My zombie-like state of grief was probably the main factor in ruling me out though. Dad was never present, Mom was a ditzy blonde but John was always there for me -- and he is suddenly gone.

My brother was the last of my close family. Our Father married late and his first son was John but his Mother died when he was four. Two years later Dad married my Mother and a year later, I joined our little group. Though we were seven years apart, John was more of a Father to me than my actual Father. I've heard others bitch about their brothers and sisters but I've never understood them.

You name the male bonding ritual and John helped me with it; first shoplifting, first act of vandalism, first school fight (private academy), and first girl (he talked his GF, Tori, at the time to do the deed with me) (Oddly enough, Tori and I met up again six months ago and really hit it off) and first Spring Break (yes, when I was fourteen) though he made me go by the name of Monkey the whole week.

Dad died when I was ten from a heart attack. Mom and her 'fitness instructor' were stung to death by jelly fish when I was nineteen. John and I stood by both their gravesides. We never fought about inheritance -- I got the Lion's share but by the time of Mom's death, John's real estate deals were making him millions. We shared the major holidays at the family home but otherwise communicated with daily texts or e-mails.

The name Claudia had never come up in our talks. On his computer, the name Claudia Nils does appear quite often; mainly in old legal documents involving all kinds of property complaints made against John and later in e-mails with him demanding...things...kinky ass things up to and including pregnancy and paternity test kits. A quick search reveals there are eight other names that pop up consistently with the same general requests leveled their way.

I don't have all the names matched with an address when there is a knock at the door. I take the screen back to the password box then pad to the door quietly and take a look out of the peephole. It's Claudia. I open the door and let her in. I can't tell if she's nervous-angry or nervous-fearful. She's probably both.

"Take a seat on the sofa," I offer. Claudia flinches but does so. Halfway there I cut to the left and drop my butt in the Lazy-boy opposite her which gives her a tiny moment of relief.

"Well...I'm...sorry about your brother," she stammers, "but I want to know..." It is painful to watch her beat around the bush.

"Why don't you tell me what is really going on and maybe I can help?" I request. Seeing her reticence, "I've read multiple e-mails you two sent back and forth and I believe something screwed up was going on..."

"Screwed up?" she laughs bitterly. "Yes, you could say that."

"Then tell me what is going on. I have two reasons; I want what you have been going through to end. My brother has been doing something that has made you miserable. While that isn't the man I remember, my previous opinion is not what matters. I can't pretend to make it up to you but I can make it stop. Tell me what it is I need to do," I state rationally.

Claudia hops out of her seat, paces the length of the sofa then resumes her seat.

"You don't know; you really don't know...anything?" Claudia babbles. "Did he give you something -- a password, the location of a safe or a safety deposit box key?" Even as she blabs she appears to regret talking to me at all.

"Okay, I've cracked his home computer password and there are plenty of incriminating e-mails," I tell her. I neglect to tell her about the other women. "My second concern is that this may have had something to do with my brother's death...and this means giving this all to the police." Claudia's eye bore a hole in me.

"What would it cost us to keep this out of the public eye?" she says with an abysmal emptiness.

"Oh, nothing like what happened this afternoon," I pledge. "Not that you weren't unforgettable and fantastic but you hated the whole episode and I didn't figure that out until...well I guess it wasn't love-making...anyway I'm don't want to force you to have sex with me ever again."

"How much will it cost us then?" she sighs. Two things were evident to me; she really wanted this buried and she kept using the word 'us' which I took to be Claudia and her husband.

"How does your husband fit into all of this?" I want to know.

"It is that bastards fault!" she spits out with venom. "That greedy stupid bastard is the reason I have...had to sleep with...John...all those others and now you."

"Claudia that is over," I assure her. "I don't want to force you to have sex and I don't want your money. My Dad died long ago, Mom passed away three years ago and John and I have both done well so all of that wealth is now mine...I think. I can't figure out why John was even blackmailing you."

"Because I'm old?" she complicates the issue.

"Ah -- no," I say, "he normally goes for women with bra sizes bigger than their IQ, long blonde hair with the capacity to laugh at almost anything he said. I guess that's 'went for' instead of 'goes for' now."

Claudia is rendered speechless for some time.

"Can I get you something to drink?" I break the silence. "For some freaky reason John has some wines and champagne along with his normal bourbons, whiskeys and beers." She shakes her head as she tries to concentrate.

"Does he have anything for a martini?" she finally manages.

"I have never made a martini in my entire life but I think that is vermouth and vodka, right? He's got those," I inform her.

"Point the way," she commands as she stands up. I walk her to the 'Man Cave' and use my brother's -- I guess it is mine now -- remote and trigger the bar to swing open from the wall. I remember him sending me daily photo updates while he built this thing; it was a labor of love.

"This place is filthy," Claudia notes. She's right.

"I think he cancelled the maid service months ago," I joke and for the first time Claudia shows a tinges of mirth; a moment when she isn't furious with existence. She walks over to the bar and starts working up a vodka martini. I step up and look over her shoulder.

"What are you doing?" she becomes all frosty again.

"I've never seen a martini made before. I thought I could learn something," I confess.

"Oh...you are not like your brother," Claudia relates as she measures out her version of what this alcoholic beverage should be.

"He was my step-brother; different mothers and I was seven years younger," I inform her. "He was always nice, watching out for me -- more of a Dad than my actual Dad."

"Well, he was an utter bastard here," Claudia is getting snooty. "He had loud parties at all hours; he built additions to the house without clearing it with the Homeowners' Association, and had always presented a low-class image." I have to think about that.

"You mean his cars?" I wonder.

"Yes, those junk piles," Claudia clarifies.

"John restored vintage cars, Claudia," I enlighten her. "He probably brought them by before he could get garage space to work on them. He was always doing things like that -- picking up wrecks and rebuilding them."

"That is no reason to dirty up the neighborhood," she insists.

"I agree; he was insensitive -- he could be like that from time to time," I concur mainly to keep things calm. She finishes the martini and pours one for each of us.

"Here you go," she hands me a cocktail glass. I wisely watch her take the first sip as I have no idea if you sip, drink, or chug the thing.

"How is it?" she politely inquires. I have the sudden desire to discuss who will take the regatta this year, municipal tax bonds and floral patterns. Claudia has that kind of aura draped around her.

"I have nothing to compare it to, but I like it," I say. "Thank you...for the drink and showing me how to make a martini next time a lady requests one."

"You are welcome, but I hope you will keep the partying to a minimum. What are you going to do when you find the...information?" she sneaks into the conversation.

"I'll erase and over-write the hard drive, burn any CD's, DVD's, and tapes, and shred any papers or photos," I explain. "I could give it to you to destroy if you prefer."

"How do we know you won't keep copies," Claudia grills me.

"You don't," I shrug. "I'm telling you I won't and I don't have a reason to keep copies but it is up to you to decide whether you can trust a guy you've known only two hours."

"Aren't you worried I killed your brother?" she questions.

"What does your husband do for a living?" I counter. Claudia hesitates for thirty seconds which lets me know that this is a significant sliver of information.

"He's lead accountant at a Fortune 500 company," she admits. I infer he's an embezzler. I don't say that but that's the key. That's why it is an 'us' and not 'me' or 'him' when she talks about what's gone wrong. Her standard of living comes from her husband's wrong-doings.

I am in finance after all and I know if you are not careful your accountant can rob you blind. Criminal charges have a short statute of limitations but corporations can come after you until the end of time with civil litigation.

"Was your husband involved with John?" I blurt out. Claudia looks shocked then bitter.

"Not in that way, if that's what you mean," she sneers. As far as I know my brother wasn't gay or even bi-sexual but then I didn't know he was blackmailing housewives either. "He made Edgar do...other things. Things like..." she mutters.

"This is the point where I stop asking," I interrupt. "I'm sorry I asked this much; so please let's not talk about what happened anymore."

Now Claudia softens enough to look wickedly amused with my discomfort.

"When can I expect this information?" she revisits the question.

"I have a few places I can start looking and when I get John's keys and Death Certificate I can go to the bank and see what gems he left for me there," I tell her. "In have no idea how long that will take."

She doesn't seem pleased so,

"You could help me with the legal difficulties as they come up," I offer.

"To get me over to your house?" she becomes very defensive.

"Hello...phone, e-mails, I could hand you over papers to your door, if you like," I point out.

"People would see," Claudia snaps. "You wouldn't know who was home when, and I can't have a strange young man loitering on my stoop."

"Fine," I shake my head, "Claudia, stay at home; do what you normally do and I'll contact you when I know something. I feel bad about what happened this afternoon and I've tried being civil. You want to be pissed at me, so be it. I'll be in touch."

Claudia looks ferociously angry but my memory tracks back to an earlier mood.

"The sex was mind-blowing," I swear. "My only regret is that I didn't start out explaining when you first came in. I took you under false pretenses and I hate that."

"As you should," she grumbles. "I'm still sore."

"I would like to say I'm sorry but," I gulp, "you were and are beautiful. I can't say I regret seeing..."

"Seeing me naked?" she accuses me. "That was a moment you never should have experienced."

"Yes, I know I will go to my grave never getting to see you like that again," I bow my head.

Claudia doesn't say anything for the longest time. She drains her martini and pours herself another one which she downs equally quickquickly. I look up at her. The third martini goes down the hatch.

"Of course you will never be gifted with that view again," she sniffs.

"Does it improve my chances if I buy a blindfold?" I say intently. Claudia spews her fourth martini all over the place.

"You are incorrigible," she snorts. "You are worse than your brother," and then she sneaks a smile my way. "You will get me every bit of evidence, right?"

"Absolutely," I promise. We put down our glasses and I take her to the door. "If you try to blackmail us, there will be hell to pay." Right before we get to the door she adds, "Don't bother my husband with this. I'll handle everything."

"Of course," I agree.

(Marisol)

My hand is inches from the doorknob when the doorbell rings. Claudia tenses up but I am unschooled in the arts of blackmail and deception...or even high society. I open the door and am gifted with the view of a gorgeous, vivacious woman I am to learn is of Cuban descent. She's holding a bottle of red wine and possessing a wicked smile.

"Marisol?" my current visitor gasps.

"Claudia?" the lady on the stoop replies.

"What are you doing here?" they simultaneously volley.

"I came over to greet John's brother who arrived only today," Claudia recovers first. Marisol blinks.

"So am I...here to greet John's friend who I now know is his cuter, younger brother," Marisol recovers quickly as well.

"I'll leave you to your business, Mr. Greene," Claudia directs to me. Greene is my family name. Claudia slips pass us both and, with chin held high, she saunters down the walkway.

"Ms. Riviera, I'm Charles and you are right; I'm his kid brother," I step aside and allow Marisol to enter. I'm thinking an early fortyish woman, with a nice, lush ass, plush hips, full waist and an expansive bust-line with a smooth neck line, no crow's feet, rich lips and flowing black locks that cascade down to the afore mentioned ass. This has to be M. Rivera on my brother's e-mail 'Most Wanted' list too since there is only one 'M'.

"Call me Marisol, please," she beams with a smile that must have put at least one of the dentist's children through college. Her hips beat out their own sultry rhythm as she makes her way to the kitchen. At the refrigerator, she makes an overtly seductive display of opening the door, bending over and looking for a place to stick the wine despite there being plenty of room. I'm definitely thinking of sticking something somewhere too...but that would be bad.

"How about we just drink it?" I offer.

"You are being awful bashful," she smiles down the length of her torso at me. "But you have nothing to be bashful about," her eyes focus on my crotch where my penis isn't pitching a tent; its aiming for Big Top status. Marisol salivating doesn't help my self-control one bit.

"We need to talk," I express as I backpedal for distance. If she bounces that ass or breasts off me, it is straight to sex on the hardwood kitchen floors and a mountain of regrets afterwards.

"Oh, that's never good," she sighs. "Is this why John isn't here?"

"Let's go to the living room," I suggest.

"We could always go to the bedroom," she grins.

"I stripped the bed but haven't put fresh sheets on yet," I explain.

"Man Cave," is her next suggestion.

"Deal," I huff happily. There are pieces of furniture I can put between us in case she gets furious and seeks vengeance. With that in mind, I retrieve a corkscrew; I might need it.

"I'll get the glasses," Marisol says. She hooks two wide-bodies wine glasses with practiced ease and sashays pass me. They could be Sherry glasses or Brandy Sniffers, but I've never seen either identified -- I am not from the Hamptons; I'm from Western Pennsylvania. We don't do garden parties, we shoot quail, turkey and deer.

I make a near fatal error in judgment; I decide that if Marisol walks in front of me I'm going to grab her ass; I just couldn't stop myself, so I go first. Marisol wraps her hand holding the two glass stems around my waist and rubs my very hard hard-on. I cough. I would cough and wiggle away but I don't want the glasses smashing to the floor. I'm still wearing socks after all.

"Whoever called you the 'little' brother was lying," she purrs into my ear, followed by her breath on my neck, her boobs pressing into my back and her teeth and tongue tantalizing my left ear.

"For the love of God, woman, give me two minutes and I guarantee you will want to leave," I squeak.

"If you insist," she mutters darkly. We enter the Man Cave, I go for the love seat and she goes for the sofa. Before I can speak, Marisol pats the seat next to her but I shake my head. She pats again; I refuse again so she gets up and comes over to me. She flows down to her knees like a gymnast with her legs spread wide.

Oh Hell No! I've been down this road just two hours before. My legs slam shut; no blowjob for me. I'd feel better in my moral victory if Marisol wasn't looking at me like a cat regarding a mouse-flavored treat.

"Fuck it..." I groan.

"That's been my desire for the past two nights since your brother stood me up," Marisol purrs.

"Wait Marisol," I fend her off, "John died in a car wreck two nights ago." Marisol may have been why he was speeding home -- shit. I'd have used a damn supped-up De Lorean with a time machine in back if I knew she was waiting on me and I was afraid I'd be late.

"Seriously?" she studies me. "This isn't some stupid stunt of his trying to blow me off?"

"No, he's dead alright, I swear to God," I plead.

"Well damn," she pouts as her treasured posterior comes to rest on her heels.

"You don't have to come over here anymore," I explain with some relief.

"You don't find me attractive?" she now seems curious and a little hurt.

"You are freaking gorgeous but I want you to know that you are not going to be blackmailed anymore," I cautiously smile. "The nightmare is over."

"Huh?" she's truly confused. "Wait, you think John was blackmailing me for sex?"

Oh blow me -- fuck a duck; what in the hell have I done?

"Isn't he? I mean, wasn't he?" I babble. She gives me a penetrating stare then laughs.

"He wasn't blackmailing me," she chuckles.

"He wasn't?" I blink. Oh thank God.

"No," she giggles at my distress. "He was blackmailing my husband. See, my husband is gay."

"That's a damn waste," I groan. She is leaning over and up; so I meet her lips half way.

"Thank you for that," she smiles. "I was beginning to think I was losing my appeal."

"What the hell is going on?" I mutter.

"My husband's family runs the largest alcohol distributorship in South Florida but the Cuban-American community isn't big on homosexuality. His brothers would force him out of the business if they found out, so he married me as camouflage. My problem is that while homosexuality is worse, being a cuckold is not much better," Marisol explains.

"A few years into the marriage he got tired of even pretending to sleep with me and a few years later toys became insufficient," she sighs. "It got so bad I was going to college swim meets just to get a glimpse of stiff man-meat." I am smart enough to not laugh. The corkscrew drops from my hand because I'm not likely to need it now; at least not for self-defense.

"Oh...in that case, if you missed it, I would really like to spend the night exploring your body in every possible manner," I relate.

"I'll make a deal with you," Marisol shuffles closer as my legs part and she rest her glorious orbs on my thighs while she looks up all innocent-like. "I'll let you fuck me each and every way you like if you agree to fuck me each and every which way I like; deal?"

"Ummm...wow...ummm...yes," I nod my head vigorously. "How about: Hell Yes!"

"Good," she growls hungrily. "I'll miss your brother but you look far more delicious."

"I should warn you I've only been with ten women my entire life," I confess.

"I've only been with two men; you'll be the third," she grins.

"How in the hell did that happen?" I gasp. "I'm inordinately proud that I haven't torn off you clothes in the five minutes I've known you." Marisol loses it. She falls back on the floor; she is laughing so uproariously; her mountainous breasts gripped by a steady body-quake.

"My Father and brothers are kinda/sorta part of organized crime down here," she adds to the mix.

"They aren't likely to feed my me legs-first into a wood chipper are they?" I inquire as I come out of the chair and lay my being on top of hers.

"No," Marisol grins with sexual triumph, "they place you in a wooden crate and dump poisonous snakes in with you -- it's their trademark."

"Promise me two things," I gasp between kisses. "After you answer my next request the conversation ends, the sex begins; I get to see you in a Catholic School Girl outfit before I die." She responded with arms around my waist and working off my shirt while her lips and tongue worked a Latin rhythm all over my lips, chin and neck.

(to be immediately continued)