Page 67 of Arousing Family
Last week, the month-long absence of Mam had finally got to Pap. He had come home Saturday, after a long afternoon of sampling a friend's sour mash, and grabbed her, telling her she had to make up for her Mam being gone. He had grabbed her from behind, seizing her titties and pinching her nips, frightening her.
She had bent over at the hips, trying to pull away, and felt Pap's rigid pole against her bottom. Pap had pulled his hands back, startled, releasing her. When she straightened up, she had knocked him backwards, down the porch steps. The six steps were open in the back, and his left foot had gone through and been caught by one of them, dislocating his knee and severely spraining his ankle.
He had tried to stand up to get back up the stairs to her, and fallen when he tried to step on his left foot. He had cursed her as an ungrateful bitch in his pain and drunkenness, then told her to call an ambulance to take him to the hospital in Tuscaloosa. He had sobered up some by the time it arrived, and he had instructed her to take care of the nursery, filling the orders she could.
Her Pap had spoken with Mr. Fitzroy, the customer, and promised a speedy delivery for the boxwood plants he wanted. Now, he expected her to keep his promise, however she could. She made a decision and grabbed a sheet of paper to put in the typewriter. ####
Dave Fitzroy, owner/operator of Rushford Landscaping, looked at the letter in his hand. It confirmed the purchase of fifteen one-year-old Southern boxwood plants from Coney's Plant Farm and Nursery in Brookton, Alabama, a small town northwest of Tuscaloosa.
In an apologetic tone, the letter asked if he would be able to pick the plants up. The owner of the nursery was currently laid up fol
lowing an accident. The only help the small nursery had was the owner's nineteen year old daughter, who would not be able to harvest, pack and ship the number of plants he needed by the time he needed them. If he could pick them up, they would discount the purchase 5 percent.
"Well, shit!" he thought. "A day down, a friggin' long day, another one to harvest and load the plants, and a third long friggin' day to drive back. Horseshit! No use stewing about it, Peterson wants those friggin' boxwoods, and this is the only place with any available right now." He reached for his phone.
The young woman who answered recognized his name. She identified herself as the daughter of the owner, and apologized for the inconvenience her father's accident was causing Dave. He told her he could be there Monday to harvest and load the plants. She told him that was fine and she would expect him Monday morning.
Dave told his wife, Ellie, about the impending journey over dinner. "Oh, Dave! We were going to take Jim to Sarah's this weekend, remember?" He swore softly under his breath.
Sarah's husband, Phil, had died just before Christmas, leaving her with a small farm about an hour and a half away. His son had been given the task of refurbishing her lawn so she could easily care for it by herself.
Until Jimmy had started high school, the two couples had often traded partners while visiting each other on vacations. The plan had been that, this weekend, as a surprise, they would initiate Jim into replacing Phil. In preparation, the randy couple had abstained from their daily sex for the past week.
"I'm sorry, El, there's no way I can go. You'll have to drive him, and the other will have to wait 'til another time. Maybe you can convince Sarah to visit at Christmas." She glowered at him, and he knew the abstinence would continue.
Ellie and Jim had taken off right after supper Friday night. Recognizing he was not one to do well left on his own, Dave decided to start for Brookton early Saturday morning. As it turned out, he had severely overestimated the time it would take him to drive to the small nursery, thinking it was further south.
He had started from Rushford about six that morning. When he stopped for lunch just outside of Birmingham, he checked his maps and realized he would be at the nursery by two o'clock. A few rain sprinkles drew his attention to the sky. A large bank of cumulus clouds was rolling down from the northwest. He figured he needed to hurry.####
Tempest was worried. The radio said there was a storm coming, and a tornado warning had been issued for Tuscaloosa County. She dreaded the big black funnel clouds. One had passed over a storm cellar she was hiding in when she was a young girl and demolished the house she, Mam and Pap had been living in.
Worse than the swirling clouds, she hated the warning sirens and their ululations. She swore she could feel the howling sound in her bones. Worst of all, one of the hateful towers was situated just a few hundred yards down the road from her house.####
He made Tuscaloosa in record time (for him). The girl had told him how to find SR 171. He was to take it north toward Moore Bridge. Just before he got to the Sipsey River, there was a marked private road heading south for a mile to the nursery; from the center of Tuscaloosa to their front door was twenty-two miles.
As he pulled into the driveway of the nursery, Dave cast an anxious eye at the sky. There was a bank of dark green cumulonimbus clouds bearing down on the farm much too rapidly for his comfort.
He got out of the truck as a young woman danced down the steps from the porch. They met about half way, and as she started to ask his business, a loud siren sounded. Dave recognized the tornado warning, having heard it frequently in southern Illinois.
The girl's response to the siren was to collapse and assume a turtle position. Even so, Dave could see the sobs racking her slender body. The rain started in large pelting drops, quickly soaking the thin dress the girl wore, revealing the fact that the dress was all she had on. He picked her up, cradling her in his arms and asked if they had a storm cellar. She shook her head. Basement? She nodded, and Dave started for the house.
In the house she pointed him through the kitchen to the stairs past the back door and down to the cellar. It was a large open area, with the furnace and set of slop sinks, next to which was a wringer washer. Dave smiled, remembering the one his mother had when he was in high school, some twenty years ago.
He felt the girl shivering in his arms, and began to feel his own chill as the wetness in their clothes reminded him of why they were there. He put her down on her feet and began to pull her dress up over her hips. She tried to hold it down with her arms. "We need to get dry, or we'll get sick," he explained to her, as he unbuttoned his own shirt and pulled it off.
He was tall, a couple of inches over six feet, and thin as a whip at 175 pounds. Because of his work, and the absence of any excess fat, the muscles in his arms and legs were large and well defined. As he slipped his cut-offs down his legs, the young woman, who hadn't spoken since the tornado alert, pulled her frock over her head, confirming Dave's observation that she was naked under it.
She was hardly bigger than a minute, he thought, about 61 or 62 inches tall. If she weighed over a hundred pounds, it was because she was soaking wet from the rain. Carrot red hair adorned her head; the bush she sported below confirmed it was natural.
Her C-cups were capped by erect nipples almost the same color, but slightly darker. Under a brow wrinkled because of her confusion, her green eyes were wary of him as she watched him drape her dress on a hanger and suspend it from a nail in one of the ceiling joists.
While he put his clothing on another hanger, her eyes explored his body, so much different from Pap's. Pap wasn't exceptionally tall at 5 feet nine, but he was heavier than this stranger.
Tempest wasn't shocked by the sight of the man's penis. Pap showed his off every chance he got, walking around the house naked when the business was closed. She couldn't remember the last time her bath wasn't interrupted by him coming in to use the toilet.
When her eyes swept over the man's organ, she caught her breath. Even when Pap was hard, he wasn't as long as the stranger was half hard. She had changed enough babies and seen Pap in various stages of erection that she knew a semi when she saw one.
She looked up just as he turned away, searching for his face. "If we're gonna be nekked together, you could at least tell me your name," she said to his back in a soft voice, her broad Alabama accent clearly noticeable.