Erotic Stories

by Karolina Rich

  I took a deep breath.

  "She's got cancer," I said quietly. All three of the girls's heads shot around, their eyes wide. "Susan told me when we were talking in the kitchen yesterday."

  Melinda and Leah both sat back, the aggression leaving their posture.

  "It's in remission now," I continued. "I think she's finally realised that life's too short to spend it being mean and hateful."

  None of the girls spoke as I recounted my earlier conversation with Katie's mom. I knew it really wasn't my place to break this news to the girls, but it seemed better than having our fight last all night. When I finished, Leah, Melinda and I took our wife in our arms and we held on to one another.

  Katie called her sister and she was on the phone until well past midnight.

  Leah, Melinda and I lay in our bed, talking about this new twist of events and how we were going to handle things. As a foursome, we've learned that to the kids and other people, we need to put forth a united front. Yes, we've had our differences, but never anywhere but the sanctuary of our bedroom and well away from the prying eyes of strangers, friends, our parents and even our children.

  "So what do we do about Susan?" Leah asked. It was all she could do not to spit the woman's name.

  "She's our mother-in-law," I said as both girls snorted. Still, my voice was firm. "She's important to Katie, and that makes her important to us. If she wants to be a part of our lives, I say we give her a chance."

  "I'm going to tell her exactly what I think," there was no mistaking the edge in Melinda's tone.

  "That's between you and her," I tried to be as gentle as possible. "But you will do it in private and not in front of the children. Susan is their grandmother and if she is willing to accept us—and I mean all twelve of us—then she's no different than any of our parents."

  "How is she going to make up for missing out on their lives so far?" Leah asked incredulously.

  All I could do was shrug. "That's up to her. The way I see it, she can't. But that doesn't mean she can't start now."

  From the look in Melinda's eyes, I could tell my wife didn't believe things would change. Her voice was low and the threat unmistakable. "If she says anything in front of our children, I'm going to rip her goddam head off."

  "No, you won't," Leah warned. " 'Cause I'm gonna do it first."

  I let out a deep sigh. I could already tell there was going to be no reasoning with either of them. Both were out for blood.

  We stayed up late, not really talking, but we were all so worked up, no one could get to sleep. Katie finally came to bed.

  "I want to invite Mama up to see us," she said, steeling herself for our wives to go off again. Neither Leah nor Melinda said a word. Instead, they both stewed. "I want to give her a chance to get right with us all."

  Having Susan under our roof was going to be a challenge for us all. But at least we would be on our home turf. I made a mental note to hide all the sharp objects in the house before Katie's mom arrived.

  * * *

  The next month passed quickly. Our schedules were pretty much wide open. The kids had just gotten out of school for the summer. Susan was coming up to visit for a long weekend. I fixed up the guest suite (it had formerly been Katie's and Leah's room; ironic, huh?).

  Mrs. Harris and I had a few deep, meaningful conversations where I picked her brain. After all, she and Susan were about the same age and her perspective was refreshing. While our nanny's mind was certainly more open than my mother-in-law's, Mrs. Harris explained to me about some of the generational differences between her and us, especially in the Bible Belt.

  Susan was flying up on a Friday morning and staying through Sunday. Katie and I went to pick her up at the airport, but not before the four of us had another long talk. This one was no less passionate, but the undertones of anger were gone. Still there was tension in the air, especially from Leah and Melinda. They decided to stay home instead of going to the airport with us.

  We were waiting when Susan came down the jetway. She looked . . . tired. I don't know if that's the right word, but Katie's mom seemed worried and haggard. I gave her a friendly hug and Katie put her arm around her mom and never seemed to let go. I drove and Katie sat in the backseat of our hybrid Camry. We gave her the grand tour of Asheville and then drove out to the house.

  I noticed Susan fidgeting more and more as we got closer. When we pulled into the driveway, I smiled to myself as I saw Susan's eyes get wide.

  She didn't fully understand how successful we were until that moment and that made me feel a little smug. Yeah, I know it's petty. So sue me.

  When we still lived in Jacksonville, we made a fair amount of money flipping houses. We invested that money in the mid-90s dot-com boom, then right before that bubble burst, we went back into real estate when we moved to North Carolina. We got in at the ground stage and invested in a couple of the vacation communities that have sprung up around town. After Bryan and the twins came along, we sold off everything except the house where we live now and got out of the speculation markets.

  Sure we could have stayed in for a few more years, but then I figure we'd have lost a bunch of money in the subprime mess that sent everyone's investments in the tank. As things stand now, most of our assets are locked up in low-risk bonds. We don't make a lot of money, but we don't need to, either.

  Melinda, Leah and Katie all work full-time and since we don't have any real debt—the house and cars are paid off—we can maintain our lifestyle on any two of their salaries. The third income is essentially our rainy-day fund.

  When the quads were born, we built a huge addition on the back side of the house that added four more bedrooms and another play room. That doesn't include the two master suites and four bedrooms for the kids that were already in the house. Or the guest house/woodworking shop/painting studio/car garage that's out back. And the pool.

  At the rate we've been building, I figure it won't be long before our house rivals the Grove Park Inn once we add a golf course and spa.

  The way I see it, playing the stock market and investing in real estate is basically legalised gambling. You can make money or you can lose money in either. Now that the four of us are sitting on a small fortune, we don't have the luxury of risk. Not with eight kids to provide for. All of our shared accounts are dedicated to maintaining our lifestyle and steering clear of financial trouble.

  On the side, I do some speculating, but that's with "my" money. Each of us has a separate account that is no one else's business. In essence, once all the bills are paid we each have an allowance. I collect Star Wars action figures, muscle cars (ask me about my '65 Corvette Roadster and '70 Chevelle SS sometime) and I invest in the stock market.

  Leah pours most of her money into her art studio. She used to be a full-time anchor and reporter for one of the local TV stations, but cut back on her work once the kids started growing up. She only works part time now, just appearing on the 6:00 news. She's also a painter of some local repute, and does very well in Asheville's thriving art scene. With her money, she co-owns a gallery showcasing up and coming young artists from the area.

  Katie has a gazillion Longaberger baskets and a thing for shoes. Of the four of us, Katie works the most. A veterinarian by trade, she operates an animal clinic that has another vet, two animal nurses and a couple of clerical workers on staff. There have been some years when the clinic didn't turn a profit, but that's not why she does it.

  Melinda likes to travel, seeking inspiration for her writing. Most of the time, she'll take one or more of us along, but sometimes she likes to go someplace by herself. She started up a small business that develops young writers and tries to get them published, both in print and on the Interwebs. Plus, she's a bestselling author of trashy romance novels that she writes under a pseudonym.

  So to say that our home is worth more than the combined values of all of our parents's houses is a little bit of an understatement.

  I pulled into the main garage and Katie led her mother into
the house. She got the 10 minute walkaround and I took her things to the guest suite.

  The younger kids were down for their naps and the older kids were still at school. Mrs. Harris gave Susan a warm, welcoming hug, and I think Katie's mom was relieved that there was someone in the house who didn't want her dead.

  We made some small talk, but at some point, Leah and Melinda got Susan on their own in the basement. There were tears in Katie's eyes, but we both knew our other two wives needed to say their peace or they would just stew all weekend.

  "They're only doing this because they love you," I tried to tell her, but Katie didn't want to hear it. I don't blame her for being upset, but I also understood why Leah and Melinda were so angry.

  A little while later, all three came upstairs, which was a good thing. Of course, it might also mean that Leah was plotting to kill Susan in her sleep.

  Katie's mom didn't say a word to me. She looked beaten down and tired, although I think in an odd way, she may have been a bit relieved as well. She and Katie went out to the back deck to talk.

  Leah stalked off to her art studio and didn't come out until the kids got home from school.

  Melinda and I stood in the kitchen, not speaking. She poured herself a generous helping of wine.

  "She sat there and took it." My wife answered my unasked question. "Leah and I unloaded on her with both barrels and she took her lumps. She didn't try to defend herself or justify anything she had done. All she did was say that she was sorry."

  "Do you feel better?"

  "A part of me does," Melinda sighed. "But about half way through, I realised that she really does regret missing out on all these years. I think she gets it."

  "So Susan is going to make it home?"

  "I can't guarantee that," Melinda smirked. I could tell that things were going to be okay. Maybe not today, but soon. "If she disappears and Leah and I have to take a road trip for a couple of hours, don't come looking for us."

  "Just make sure you leave your phones here so the GPS locators don't give you away."

  I took my wife in my arms and held her for a long time. I thought about going out to see Leah, but I've known her since middle school, and I didn't want her to throw anything at me.

  The rest of the weekend passed uneventfully. Melinda and Susan seemed to make a kind of peace between them. Leah and Susan at least came to a truce, although the two would never be close.

  The kids accepted their new grandmother without question, although when she was in middle school, Kaylee asked why Susan had been absent from their lives for so long.

  I don't know that Susan truly accepted or approved of our lifestyle, but she never said anything to me or the kids about it, and she was present for her daughter and grandchildren until her death several decades later.

  When that weekend was over, the four of us had another conversation, although this one was much more subdued and less aggressive than our blowout fight a couple of weeks earlier.

  And then we got to have four-way make-up sex.

  Despite all of life's twists and turns, once we got past the hurt feelings and angry words, everything is just a bump in the road on the way to Happily Ever After.

  THE END

  * * *

  On Death

  * * *

  A man and a woman had a child. He was the apple of their eye, and they loved him more than anything else. One day, just shy of this 30th birthday, a drunk driver lost control of his car, jumped the median and killed him.

  The next week was a blur as the couple buried their son. There were funeral announcements to make, a coffin to choose, relatives visiting from out of town. On one level, that time was good for them. It kept them busy, focused and gave them something to do other than let the empty place in their hearts occupy them.

  But all too soon the visitors were gone, the tasks completed and they were alone once more. After the funeral, the heartbroken parents fell into each other's arms and cried themselves to sleep. That night they both had the same dream.

  They were together at the funeral home, standing over their son's casket. After a while they realised they were not alone. God was there, too.

  "Why have you done this to us?" Anger took hold of them and they cried out. "Why have you taken our son? You didn't even let us say goodbye."

  God didn't answer. Instead He took the two in His arms and held them close. The funeral home faded away and was replaced by scenes from their lives, and from the life of their son.

  At first, all of the scenes were after his death; the funeral, choosing his casket, the knock on the door when the state trooper came to deliver word of his death. The couple wept.

  The next scene was the last time they both saw their son; he had stopped by to mow their lawn. His last words to them were, "I love you."

  More images surrounded God and the couple. Many of the images brought more tears: graduations, Little League baseball games, homecoming dances, school plays. Not all were positive. There were the teenage fights, the time they caught him smoking and the incident involving the cat and a razor.

  As the scenes from their lives played back, the couple became younger. Age lines faded, and the grey hairs disappeared. The last scene that played was the first time they held their newborn son. For one final instant, the man and woman held in their hands the life they had brought into the world. Then, that too faded and they were alone again with God.

  They sat in silence for a long time, held tight in God's embrace. Their anger and their despair was replaced by grief and sadness. Again they wept, but this time, not for their son, but for their own lives, a part of which had been taken away.

  Finally, God spoke. His voice was steady, but His tears mixed with their own. "My children, I love you and I would never do anything to hurt you."

  With a wave of His hand, they were surrounded by the images from their life. Their young selves saw the son they were about to have and the life ahead that awaited them.

  "All of this hurt, all of this pain, I can take from you. The anger, the sadness, it will be gone," God said. "Or I can give you a gift. I can give you a son. He will cause you unimaginable pride, joy, and frustration. He will try your patience, make you cry and teach you things about yourselves never knew. He will make you laugh, he will warm your hearts and he will fill your house and your lives with love."

  "But there's a catch," God paused for along moment. "You only get to keep him for 30 years."

  The couple looked at each other and said in unison, "Lord, we'll take the boy."

  Each person in your life is a gift from God, just as you are a gift to others.

  Why does God take some people from us? Why does He allow our loved ones to suffer? I don't know; that's something I ask Him regularly, but He doesn't answer to me.

  I can only trust that whatever happens is part of His plan, no matter how inexplicable it seems to me. The only thing we can do is take the gifts God sends to us, to cherish those people, to remember them when they're gone and we must have faith that God's will is being done.

  THE END

  * * *

  Play Ball

  * * *

  The last time I visited home, I passed the old sandlot. There is a house there now, but I could not help but visualise our old chicken-wire backstop, crude frisbee bases, and the pile of dirt we called a pitcher's mound. When the weather was good, all the boys in the neighbourhood (and sometimes the girls, too) would spend their afternoons playing ball on that vacant lot.

  As I drove by, I watched the new homeowner start up his John Deere lawn mower and ride around the lot like my dad used to do so we could play ball. I also noticed, with some astonishment, that the old oak tree on the corner still stood, and my thoughts drifted back to Pete Bradford, who used to sit beneath that tree and watch the rest of us play.

  Growing up, we were like most other kids. We were loud, rambunctious, and always in trouble for getting our good clothes dirty. We also loved sports. Baseball was my favourite, probably becaus
e my Dad also loved the game. I could rattle off pro players' stats faster than a Texas auctioneer, and I never passed up a chance to play. Most of the other kids shared the same passion for the game, and we usually had enough people to field two full teams.

  Pete Bradford moved into the neighbourhood in the summer of '83. It was a good summer: Reaganomics seemed to be working, I got a raise in my allowance, and The A-Team was in its prime. Best of all, the pick-up teams I was on usually won.

  Every day, we'd gather on the vacant lot, choose teams, and play until our mothers called us home for dinner. And every day, Pete would sit in the shadow of that old oak tree while the rest of us ran the bases.

  I never got to know Pete well. He and his mother moved in a week after summer vacation began, and they moved out just after school started again in the fall. Pete was the kind of kid who never quite fit in, and he knew it. We didn't actually exclude him; he just never asked to play, and we never invited him.

  One day, towards the end of that summer, our team was losing. I was a team captain that day, and I felt the impending defeat especially hard. It was the top of the ninth, and the other team was up to bat. Two men were on, two outs, and we were down by one.

  Danny Blevins was pitching; he was the best on the block and had been my first pick as captain. It had been a long day for Danny; he'd thrown a bunch of strikes, but we could tell he was getting tired. Unfortunately, Jeff Maxwell was up to bat. Jeff was the best all-round athlete on the block and he eventually went to Florida State on a football scholarship. I groaned as Jeff stepped up to the plate, imagining the other team's lead growing by three more runs.

  Amidst the ballfield chatter, Danny hurled a sizzling fastball towards the plate. Jeff swung, and with a crack! hit the ball in a low, hard line-drive. Time seemed to stop, and everyone moved in slow motion. In horror, I watched the ball strike Danny in the chest. He doubled over and collapsed onto his knees.