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1-03 We're All Alone
1-03 We're All Alone
Over Larissa? Like Hell I was!
Certainly, ‘passing the baton’ as it were, had seemed smooth enough. I was delighted that she and Chris had developed the bond they had at the very end of the “Harper interlude.” Not only was I comfortable in the knowledge that like us, she and her father had seceded from the group but by forming an attachment with my son ‒ I saw more of her now than at any time during the frenetic partying.
They seemed both compatible and emotionally linked ‒ I have never once seen or heard them arguing and she became as regular a fixture at our dinner table as any of my four. We still talked as we always had, she never failed to give me a goodnight kiss before Chris would take her home or George, pick her up. Speaking of George, he and I would often go to the local tavern for many pleasant hours of two-way vocalised indulgence. On much the same wavelength, we were never short of a subject for conversation let’s say.
Whenever the subject of Harper Valley came up ‒ and that actually was very rarely ‒ he would freely admit to missing the physical side of things with my three ‒ little Jenna especially, for whom I know he still carries a flame, one of glowing intensity if the truth be known. One has only to watch his reactions when around her, just the little things ‒ how he looks into her eyes when she is talking. The occasional contact with her hand or shoulder ‒ all the quintessential gentlemanly quirks. I, of all people should recognize the symptoms, being thus afflicted in Larissa’s presence.
I must openly confess, nothing would have given me greater pleasure than to see Jenna form a deeper attachment for him, despite the uncompromising age difference. She will never find anyone who loves her more and who would forever treat her with George’s unconditional respect and kindness. No-one ever likely to romance her more intensely either. He really had her number and she ‒ his! If George wanted to take her to bed three nights a week, it would be wholly with my blessing. Well - so long as I could watch!
So yeah, Larissa was on site more often than not. Sometimes she would even come here direct from University and make a start on her assignments whilst waiting for Chris to get home from work. That of course gave she and I time together ‒ especially when I was enlisted to source web-sites, relative to whatever she was researching.
Funny thing, I never regarded the relationship at that stage as any more than that of father/potential stepdaughter, despite what we had shared so intimately in our previous co-existence. I’m sure it would have stayed this way too, had not we been left in the house alone one Tuesday afternoon when Jenna, Kylie and Natalie were all elsewhere and Chris had called to say he’d be an hour or so late.
These facts alone had actually nothing to do with what happened.. The wheels fell off over nothing more significant than Larissa inadvertently dislodging a reference book that fell on the floor between us, at the table we keep in the dining room specifically for school-work.
Leaning down, I picked the thing up and in the process of returning it to the small pile of other books, I discovered Larissa’s face only inches from my own. It was a beautiful face….a face I realised I still loved desperately. She kissed me every bit as intentionally as a young girl on a first date. This of course put paid to any further research.
“I so love you Noel,” she whispered, almost in justification of her lips being locked now, firmly on to my own.
“Well sweetheart,” I said, disentangling our mouths momentarily. “I seem to remember us addressing this problem months back. Kind of a “High Noon” as I recall, with me riding off into a nuclear holocaust. You hooked up with Chris ‒ I was happy for you both…..and now we’re doing our best to betray everyone we both love. Makes a lot of sense!”
“But since you mention it,” I added, “I love you too sweetheart. Beyond family ties, common sense or even biological credibility. What the Hell are we going to do about it?”
Larissa glanced towards the hallway and the far staircase.
“My thoughts exactly,” I smiled, taking her hand.
At the point I had her lying on my quilt in just her matching blue bra and panties, I could do no more than just stare at her unutterable beauty. Well I suppose that is radically understating the situation.. So much could I have done ‒ it’s doubtful she would ever have recovered. I don’t even recall with any distinct clarity the order in which I proceeded.
Her bra must have been an early casualty because I can still taste the milky softness of those beautiful breasts and hear the soft girlish sounds of silence, as I suckled her to the very edge of reason. Her urgency grew with my own and I do remember that no sooner had I pulled her panties down, than she kicked them off and spread her legs wide, inviting somewhat more than a six-monthly gynaecological check-up.
I sank into the depths. I was home ‒ protected by her arms and befuddled by her kisses. Nothing else mattered. When you love a girl on an empirical level like this ‒ cause and effect no longer registers. I had all those months of separatist diplomacy to make-up for. I wanted nothing less than to impregnate her ‒ to place my seed in the receptacle that had always been mine to usurp. George I knew, would understand.
Larissa moaned as I took her….transported her, far beyond Utopia to a place that only I had residency. The tears she was shedding were anything but those of pain…it was in fact the worst agony of all….understanding!
Even our joint orgasmic bliss was but an interruption in what followed. I made love to her on her knees, kneeling upright, astride me ‒ and finally on her back with her legs over my shoulders. Long emptied of anything vaguely procreative, I was driven by such repressed love for the girl, I feared for my emotional well-being.
“Don’t pull out,” she pleaded at one stage…..”Don’t ever pull out!” Truth is, I hadn’t planned to.
A little later however, having by necessity to get dressed, I watched as she wriggled back in to her panties, more than happy to allow the soft cotton to stem the seeping tide from between her legs, having expressed her preference to stay ‘squishy,’ rather than take a shower and lose the ultimate focus of my affection.
How can I ever forget either, her kneeling there on my bed, breasts jutting out proudly as, handing me her bra, she just whispered in wide-eyed girlish tease, “You put it on for me!”
So pleasantly arousing a task did that prove, packing those soft and delicate little orbs back into their padded creche, it was all I could do not to push her backwards, tug those skimpy little panties back down and take up where I left off. But for now ‒ kissing her was what I needed and no lips ever to cross my line of vision, were better suited to such a task. I held her to me and let passion run it’s course.
With still a good half an hour before Chris or anyone else was due home, we just sat and talked. Far from my bedroom too ‒ that definitely not being conducive to rational thinking.
“Do you love my son?” I then cruelly asked, having no right to put Larissa in so desperately pressured a situation, but equally ‒ needing to know.
The poor kid lost out either way. Had she said “Yes,” it challenged then her own loyalties and morality. A “No,” would question her very motives for being with him, classifying her additionally as a “user,” simply hanging around until Mr Right reined in his steed in the coming months. She certainly didn’t rush her answer.
“Yes,” she finally said, “I do love Chris ‒ but it’s just so different. I know he’s your son Noel, but he’s not you…he never can be. I don’t know what it is with you….you make me feel like both your daughter and your lover. When you make love to me I just feel so close to you emotionally ‒ it’s like I always was part of you. Things we share ‒ she glanced back towards the stairs ‒ Chris and I never can…and that’s not his fault…not anyone’s fault. Does all this make any sense?”
I smiled at her, “Luckily no,” I lied.
I knew of course exactly what she was trying to say and my heart ached for her as she spoke. Nothing though could ever bridge that getting on for forty-year age difference and however much I loved her, it was an inescapable fact now that our relationship was doomed to be one of fleeting coexistence. 60-20….70-30…the most basic of math ruled out the possibility of this game ever going into extra time.
“Well Larissa,” I grinned, “You’re just going to have to get used to being by an old man from time to time. Perhaps your father-in-law if things pan out right? Think you can live with that?”
She hugged me to her, “At least once a week?” she giggled, “Think you can manage that?”
“More like twice a day, you silly little girl,” I replied, kissing once more those wonderfully soft lips.
The lock turning in the front door, signified one of the brood had returned.
“Now what else do you need to know about Queen Hatshepsut sweetheart?” I enquired.