WBDP - Brianna Delivers Pt. 10

"Sounds like you may need a place to stay too?"

"Well, after the movers have been here anyway," I replied.

"We have good news. We expect our manufacturing plant to be done in ten days. We should have all our stuff cleared out of the guest house in two weeks."

"I'll let Carlos know and ask him how he wants his money. This is wonderful. Listen, Marcia's falling asleep now. I'm going to hang up now. Thanks for everything."

"Goodnight, Sam, Marcia."

"Goodnight, Brianna. Thank Zoe for us." I shut the connection down.

Marcia's eyes were already closing. I turned out the light and read for about an hour before shutting down and spooning up against her. My sleep was as deep and peaceful as it had been in a month. I guess I'd been more worried about selling the house than I thought.

******

The next few days were a mixture of busy and idle. I contacted the people who'd purchased items from us but let us keep them until the house sold and arranged for delivery of the things. Marcia borrowed a pick up from one of her friends, Lynn, an FBI agent who worked with her on the Hidden Images child porn task force. After she got off work, Marcia and I loaded up the furniture and delivered it to the new owners, who were scattered all over Cape Coral and Fort Myers. We grabbed some food at Chronic Tacos after and topped off the gas tank. We dropped the truck off and got our car back. Marcia made sure Lynn would be coming to the party.

We went back to the house and looked around. We had one couch and two old, small china cabinets in the living room. The china cabinets would be delivered to Goodwill after the dishes were gone. There was a TV and stereo in an entertainment center, two chairs, two end tables and two lamps in the family room. The entertainment center and stereo were all we were keeping. The dinette set was gone. We had a set of four TV trays to eat off before they went to Goodwill. The two spare bedrooms were empty except for one bookcase which was being donated. Our bedroom was the only room that looked normal, though less cluttered as all the items such as jewelry boxes, a scarf stand, a clothes hanger, were already packed and in storage. The jewelry itself I'd be carrying to California in a lock box except for what Marcia wore. The walls were bare; the art we were keeping in storage, the rest sold. It looked pretty barren and cold.

"Come to bed with me, lover," Marcia said. "I'm tired and want you to hold me."

"Of course."

It was the first night we didn't make love since we returned from California. I think we were both a little sad to see our home so empty. We'd lived here for quite a while and it had been a good place for us. I lay curled around Marcia as she slept. It took me another hour.

The next morning, I started sending out change of address e-mails to friends and made a list of all the companies I would have to change our address with on-line. It wouldn't matter for mailings as all my bills and statements were delivered electronically except for our water and sewer bill. They were still living in the last century. I cancelled my local paper and arranged for the Wall Street Journal to be shipped to California in four weeks. I might miss a few issues, but I could buy it at the grocery store if need be.

I still didn't have a move out date, so couldn't terminate the utilities or call the movers to pick up the last of our furniture and dishes. Brianna's and my portfolio's had done well the last month, earning two percent. It looked like I'd be earning between fifteen and twenty percent for the year. Brianna would be doing a little worse as she'd lost money the first four months, but she should be over ten.

I was down to maybe five items on my move list. I went to the clubhouse to work out, spending forty minutes on weights, another hour swimming laps. I sat in the spa after, soaking away the exhaustion from my workout. A woman I didn't know got in five minutes after I did.

"I saw you swimming laps," she said. "You've got a nice stroke. My name is Jill." She stuck out her hand. She looked to be about thirty and good looking, though she was aware of her looks and played up to them, which made her less attractive in my book.

I shook it. "Mine's Sam. Thanks."

She started chatting, telling me she'd moved here a month before and still didn't know many people. I said my wife and I were getting ready to move to California. Our house was under contract, waiting for closing.

"It's too bad you're leaving. You're one of the youngest people living here. Most of the people I've met so far are old."

"It is primarily a retirement area," I said, "although you can find younger if you look. It's the oldest US congressional district in the nation, the last census."

"I noticed you're not here with your wife. Where's she?"

"Working. Last couple days before she's done. I work from home."

"What do you do?"

"Manage money, investments and the like."

"Are you rich?"

"No. The people I manage for are. I'm middle class."

She started playing with the tie on the front of her top, drawing my eyes to her breasts, which looked surgically augmented.

"I was wondering if you were as good at any other strokes as you are swimming them?" She smiled and flipped her hair.

I held up my left hand, showing her my wedding ring. "I'm not just married; I'm very married. Sorry, not interested."

"She wouldn't have to know. It could be our little secret."

"But I'd know," I said, "and I wouldn't be very happy with myself. No thanks."

"Don't you think I'm attractive? Does your wife look this good?" She kind of leaned back with her legs stretched out in front of her.

"On a scale of one to ten; you're about an eight, although I knock you down to a seven because you have breast implants and you think you're beautiful, which I don't find attractive. My wife is a twelve, which puts you way down on my scale of beauty. No offense, but it's no competition, and you lose. I'm not interested."

I got up and left, leaving her pouting in the hot tub. Maybe only a six, because the pout wasn't attractive either. I grabbed my stuff and went home.

I took a shower to wash the chlorine off, checked the markets, made some adjustments. I started reading, hoping to finish the Jack Reacher book I was reading from the library. I had just purchased 'Twisted Prey' by John Sandford. I loved Sandford, both the Prey novels and his Virgil Flowers novels. He was one of the few authors I wanted to own as opposed to borrow. The other one was Randy Wayne White and his Doc Ford novels. Sandford wrote about Minnesota where I grew up and White about Southwest Florida where I lived. Almost used to live now. I could add Tolkien to the list, but he wasn't writing anymore.

When Marcia got home, I told her about the woman in the spa. She patted my cheek.

"And you didn't even tell her how badly I'd hurt you if you fucked around," she said. "Was she pretty?"

"She was fairly attractive, but not as much as 90% of the women at Brianna's. Worse yet, she was conscious of her beauty which makes it worse. You don't realize how gorgeous you are which makes you even more spectacular. She couldn't hold a candle to you. Besides, I get more nookie than I can handle."

Marcia laughed. "Nookie? You're calling it nookie now?"

"Gash, split tail, clam, taco, vag, twat, poon tang, quim, box, snatch, crotch, home base, cootch, tuna town, cooter, cameltoe, cunny, cock sock, honey pot, beaver, muff, rug, oven, hoohah, tunnel of love, bearded clam, fur burger, kitty, snapper, love canal, sperm sucker, cum craver, clit slit, grassy knoll, jewel box, cupid's cupboard, slop hole, love glove, scrambled eggs between the legs, sugar hole, holiest of holies, sausage wallet, piss fenders, crack of heaven, toolshed, snake charmer, dick rack, holy grail, close encounter with the turd kind, temporary lodgings, south mouth, penis parking, pickle stinker, sperm shack, dick dungeon, pink portal, slippery slide and meat locker. Not to mention the ever popular pussy. A cunt by any other name is still, you know, a cunt."

"My God! I didn't know your vocabulary of women's anatomical parts was so extensive."

"Navy guy. Probably heard every word for vagina ever invented. I might have missed a couple since I don't use them regularly. My list for breasts is bigger. I'm sure I know at least thirty of those as well."

"Really. A blow job for you if you can give me thirty-one."

"I get blow jobs from you all the time anyway. Going to take a little extra to make me work my brain that much."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Twenty minute back rub plus a blow job."

"I'll bite, but it has to be within the next five minutes. I'm not going to fork it over if you give me fifteen now and fifteen tomorrow. And I want the same if you can't. Twenty minute back rub and some nookie licking."

"Deal. Say when."

She looked at her watch, holding up her hand. "When."

"Breasts, boobs, boobies, tits, titties, knockers, hooters, twin peaks, teets, boulders, bazookas, head lamps, headlights, bazoombas, chest bumps." I stopped to take a breath.

"Fifteen."

"I had to take a breath. Let's see, fun bubbles, fun bags, milkshakes, buds, sippies, baby buggy bumpers, milk cows, boobilyaboobilya, bolt ons, toss bags, breastseses, mammaries, honkers, jugs, cans, balloons, melons, dirty pillows, marshmallows, yabbos, bosoms, bombs, bust, casabas." Took another breath.

"You already got over thirty-one."

"Yeah, but some of them may be questionable to you, so I want to make sure. Fried eggs, winnebagos, cones, maguffies, honkers, tatas, puppies, pairs, beamers, starter buttons, knobs, love handles, penis squeezers, cupcakes, dairy section, watermelons, mams, milk factories, chewies, rack, set, stacked, torpedoes, towel racks, mounds, mountains, floppers and last but not least, blinkers. Plus you can always combine words like bodacious tatas, nice pair, great rack, high beams, mosquito bites and things like brick shithouse, or parts of breasts like nips, or bubbies."

"I bow down to you, oh Master of the Disturbing Synonyms. That's almost impressive."

"It won me a twenty minute back rub and blow job, so it's worth it to know so many."

"When do you want your back rub and blow job?"

"How about now?"

She glanced at the clock. "Sure, I can do you now. It won't spoil my appetite to sip a little sperm."

I stripped off my clothes and lay down. She took off her own and climbed on my butt. She started rubbing, kneading hard, to work the kinks out.

"It's kind of funny," I said. "We're expecting four people to come here for our party, three of whom I'm almost certain to have sex with, and one who's given me children, and we think nothing of it. Some random bimbo at the pool hits on me and we're proud I resisted. It doesn't quite equate. I understand the differences. Knowledge and consent, the reasons we're doing it, the whole thing, but it's still quirky."

She dug hard into the muscles of my shoulder. "Yes, but it's a good quirky. We must have rules, no matter how strange to other people."

"I know. I agree. I wouldn't want to be with the bimbo anyway, but our lives have sure evolved in some unusual ways."

She started working down my back, doing a remarkable job of loosening the tension there. I started melting under her hands, being turned into a giant puddle of goo.

"That feels so good, Marcia. I should have you do this more often."

"When would we have time for sex?"

"This is almost as good. Perhaps we could do this instead of sex one day a week."

"You won't say that once I start sucking your cock."

I sighed. "Perhaps not. You do know your way around my prick."

"How many words to you know for cock?" Marcia asked.

"Quite a few. We've invented some ourselves."

"Yes, Mr. Happy. I came up with that one because he always seemed so happy to see me. How many others have you got?"

"Let's see. There's cock, dick, rod, shaft, Jolly Roger, penis, prick, wang, schlong, dong and ding dong, wiener, hot dog, tally whacker, pecker, love stick, purple headed yogurt slinger, one eyed snake, trouser snake, stump, willy, spout, boner, monkey, peter, crank, meat, trouser mouse, member, johnson, wanger, whoopie stick, baby maker, bratwurst, custard launcher, dragon, hose, firehose, ferret, John Thomas, heat seeking moisture missile, knob, joystick, longfellow, leaky hose, little Elvis, manhood, love muscle, meat popsicle, middle leg, old boy, old fellow, one-eyed monster, piss weasel, purple helmeted warrior of love, vaginal submarine, pocket rocket, pussy driller, mayonnaise launcher, sausage, schmuck, schwanz, schwarz, short arm, skin flute, tube steak, wick, tool, yogurt gun, and my all time favorite, peepee."

Marcia was laughing. She'd started laughing when I got to purple-headed yogurt slinger, and kept on laughing through the rest of my list. "Holy shit! It's amazing what crap boys come up with to describe their toy. Most of them are patently ridiculous attempts to make something which, on average, is maybe six to seven inches tops, into some gigantic monstrosity to make women squeal in delight. Don't get me wrong; I love a good cock and yours is even a tad above average, but longfellow, middle leg, snakes and one-eyed monsters, hoses, and firehoses. Come on. And all those mayonnaise, custard and yogurt launchers. I get the connection, but calling your spunk yogurt is a disservice to yogurt."

I was laughing with her. "I know, right. Warrior of love, pussy driller, heat seeking moisture missile, pocket rocket. Like robots going into combat. Like an episode from 'Star Trek', 'Weapons ready, launch the pocket rockets and heat seeking moisture missiles now. Hit them with the custard launchers. Don't let them escape. As soon as we board, release the warriors of love. If they don't open their air-locks, open them up with the pussy drillers.' I get it. But really, who doesn't love a good tube steak, hot dog, wiener, sausage or bratwurst. Don't you want to chow down? But don't bite; really, don't bite. And what woman wouldn't want to play with a schlong, dong, ding dong or wang, not to mention joystick or whoopee stick. It's like a video game. I think we give it all the pet names so women forget what it's really there for; making babies. I pity the poor idiot who thinks he's getting to home base saying, 'here comes the baby maker'. Unless she wants to get pregnant, she probably freezes up, puts a cork in it, and puts a belt around her legs so she can't spread them anymore."

Marcia was lying on my back, laughing so hard she had tears coming from her eyes. I think she was having trouble catching her breath.

"Jolly Roger isn't bad," she said, hiccuping. "I give credit to the person who came up with it. I still like Mr. Happy the best and I'm warning you now, if you ever call your cock a peepee while we're doing it; it's coming to a screeching halt. You ain't getting laid, I promise you right now."

"You mean to say if I ask, 'Marcia, would you please come suck my peepee?', you won't do it?"

"Not then, not tomorrow. Maybe not for a week."

"Well, I'm shocked and dismayed. Finish giving me my back rub."

She finished, even giving me an extra five minutes because she'd been laughing so hard during a part of it, she quit rubbing.

"There. Done."

There was a pause. I think I waited a full half minuted before I said, "Marcia, would you please suck my..."

"Sam, I'm warning you."

"Custard Launcher."

She broke out laughing again. "Yeah, baby, gimme some of that custard now. I want it. Give it to me."

I turned over. My cock was hard. "It's all yours, Marcia. You can have all the custard you want. I promise."

"Mmm, custard, yummy." Her mouth descended over my tally whacker. It didn't take long. She got a nice shot of custard, and she enjoyed it too, cause she ate up every drop.

******

Marcia's last two days went quickly. She was saying goodbye's to a lot of people. Calls were light her next to last day, so mostly cruising around looking for trouble, but taking time to stop in and say hi to people she knew. Her final day was returning all of her equipment, her keys, her vehicle, her badge and ID. She had her exit interview with HR. It was an amicable departure, theoretically leaving the door open for a return in the future, though she wasn't expecting to. Essentially, she was done by two PM and had to call me to pick her up. When I got there, I spent some time saying goodbye to people I knew, particularly ones who couldn't make it to the party due to work schedules or other obligations. A lot of them were making fun of us going to LA, which automatically seemed to be Kookytown, USA. My personal experience, it wasn't much different from anywhere else.

"Another door closing on our life, and a new one opening," I said driving her home.

"I've never lived outside Florida since I was in grade school," Marcia said. "It's going to be different."

"No question," I responded. "For one thing, we'll be close enough to mountains to drive up on the weekends. Pacific Ocean is vastly different from the Gulf of Mexico. Bigger waves. Maybe we could take up surfing. Scuba diving would be completely different from what we're used to. We could go to a Laker's game with Jack Nicholson, stalk movie stars, become serial killers; the possibilities are endless."

Marcia laughed. "At least you're not changing."

"No, I don't think so. Not planning on it anyway."

"Is there anything we have to do the next couple days?"

"Nothing more to do until we get a closing date. That triggers calling movers and utilities. The rest is gravy until the day before the party, then we have to go out and buy supplies and food. Probably hit Costco for that."

"My slavery starts tomorrow."

"I know. Time flies and all that. I've got some ideas. Since we don't have a table and chairs anymore, I was thinking lots of restaurant dining with your Vibe or butterfly on. We should hit all our favorites places that aren't chains like Two Meatballs, Origami, Skip One, University Grill. I like to turn you on in public."

"Yes, you do. It sounds nice, say goodbye to more than people. Say goodbye to places we like. Ding Darling, Sanibel Island, Captiva. We haven't had time to do any yet because I was working and you were busy. I'd like to go to Corkscrew Swamp Sanctuary again."

"Plus, we haven't packed any of our toys yet. The St. Andrews Cross is still under the bed. We have all your suspension equipment, all the whips and paddles."

"Sounds like you have a lot planned for me?"

"I do. I plan to keep you quite busy."

"Thank you, honey."

"You're welcome."

"As far as fine dining goes, we might as well start tonight. Where would you like to eat?"

"Might as well do Two Meatballs. I have to stop at the house and get into people clothes anyway. And it's close to the house."

"I believe we still have a gift card we have to use there, so good choice."

"Do we have any other gift cards we need to use up?"

"Not for a local place. Everything else is chains."

I waited for Marcia to take a shower and put on a nice summery dress. She came out looking like a million dollars with money to spare. The dress was an Asian style floral print with a slit up the side of her left leg to mid-thigh and a high mandarin collar unbuttoned to just above her breasts giving a lovely bit of décolletage.

"You look spectacular, Marcia. Why haven't I seen this dress before?"

"It's one I'd forgotten about. I kind of lost it in the closet and found it again when we were going through it."

"Don't lose it again. If I weren't so hungry, I'd fuck you in it right now."

"Hold that thought."

"Have you got others you lost in your closet?"

"I do."

"Will you model them for me?"

"Not all at once. You'll see them one by one like the rest of the world."