The 'Woman's Doctor'

How you doing Danielle?  What one are you on?  I will try to give you a break, but I am having an urge to post fiction again today!   Maybe because I am sick and want to feel creative instead?

 Because it was liberating to post a future-teaser yesterday, I thought i'd follow up with one i wrote some time ago but have been looking forward to finally sharing.  Why the fuck not, right?  It is may blogdy, and I'll do what I want! lolz.

This one is somewhat different, because it is from a peripheral character's perspective.  I love it because I love the idea of how rumors and gossip and point of view come into play in a place like CF.  It is sometimes nice to take a step back and see what other people around the Delaneys are thinking\seeing\guessing\supposing.

This is Sam Bennett, the gynecologist and Delaney family friend. I only have two written for him but I thoroughly enjoyed writing both!  And re-reading too.  Plus I love the opening line, heeheehee.

So even if you haven't been following CF closely I encourage you to give this a read.  And let me know what you think!

Enjoy!  And thank you for all your hearty well-wishes!  Another sick day today (unpaid).  But what can you do?

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“The Delaney girl is knocked up” growled Doc Bennett around a bacon-wrapped scallop. 

Sam sipped his beverage and sized up the bride, who was warmly making the rounds about the pavilion, greeting her guests and making requisite small talk while they admired her gown and her hair and whatever else they were supposed to gush about.  She looked perfectly slim, her balance seemed normal. She betrayed none of the early indicators of pregnancy. His old man was losing it.  “You sure?”  he asked politely, knowing Avalon had just been in his office not more than five weeks ago and she certainly hadn’t been pregnant then.

“Not the bride you idiot.”  His father grumbled and lifted his whiskey to his lips, his eyes fixed on someone in the opposite direction.

Sam clenched his jaw and indulged the old man’s fantasy.  Being the son of the ‘village doctor’ could grow tiresome quickly.  He was always sizing folks up, offering comments and diagnoses out of the corner of his mouth.  ‘Teaching you’ is what his father had always asserted when Sam complained, as a boy, that he didn’t like knowing about his neighbors medical problems, but Doc Bennett had scoffed.  “You expect to follow in my footsteps you’d better learn to train your eye boy.”

Nobody called Doc Bennett anything besides “Doc”, as if he were the only doctor, and as if a doctor was the sum total of the man.  Even his sons called him Doc.  His wife called him Doc.  Now his grandchildren called him Doc.

Sam blinked and scanned the area of the party that Old Doc was fixated on.  “Velvet can’t have more children” he said grimly.  She was an exquisitely beautiful woman, the mother of the bride.  And still young enough for his father to entertain the notion.  But Sam had performed the tubiligation himself after her youngest had been born, after all the complications that had nearly put her in that Marble Calder Mausoleum up in Cedar Falls Cemetery.

“Christ boy, you call yourself a woman’s doctor?”  Doc laughed derisively.  Sam smiled wanly.  His father embraced the country doctor persona to the degree that he eschewed proper medical terms such as ‘gynecologist’ and he seemed to loathe the abbreviations even more.  Sam had never once heard his father refer to him as an OB.  “You can’t see that that little girl is more than a third of the way gone then you maybe oughtta hang up your speculum.”

Sam pressed his lips together and looked harder.  Velvet wasn’t pregnant.  Nolan’s wife, also a ‘Delaney’ was over there too, but she didn’t appear to be expecting either.  And He assumed the Doc wasn’t referring to the now blatantly pregnant Mrs. Grey Delaney, everyone was already buzzing about that, that was old news.  What the Christ?  When he was just about to admit to his father that he had no idea what he was talking about, just as he was about to turn and accept whatever ridicule the man had ready to pour on him, he watched his old friend Jonah pull a chair out for his youngest, and when she’d sat, push the chair in beneath her.

“Shit.”  Said Sam, amazed and astonished.

“See it now?”  His father goaded, boastful.

“Christ.”  Commented Sam.  “I don’t know how I’ve missed it.”

“You never look close enough at the teenagers.”  His father said.  “A made-up thing, teenagers.  Fiction.”

Sam took another drink and studied Viola from across the pavilion.  “So you’ve said.”  He murmured.  The subject of society’s pet fiction, ‘the teenager’, was a favorite topic of The Doc’s.

“It’s a fool who thinks a fifteen year old hasn’t got the urges of a thirty year old.  Hell, it’s a biological imperative.”  The Doc managed to obtain two more bacon-wrapped appetizers from a passing waitress.  “Fifteen year old girls get knocked up quicker and better than their mothers, boy, I’ll tell you that.”

Sam hated to admit it but the Doc was right.  Viola Delaney was pregnant.  He wondered how the hell that had happened.  Well, he knew how it had happened, he was a ‘ladies doctor’ afterall, but wondered if she’d been airheaded and irresponsible or if she’d deliberately gone off the pills.  That’s why he encouraged the shot for girls that age…

“And another thing—“  His father added, licking his fingers thoroughly, “Their bodies bounce back better too.”  Sam had heard this lecture a hundred times.  Now that he’d talked about how their young bodies were meant to carry babies he’d move on to the issue of statutory rape.  About how there was nothing criminal about a man having a physical response to a teenage girl, in fact, according to The Doc, a man wasn’t healthy unless he did look. 

“You think they know?”  Sam asked his father, not taking his eyes off the family as they settled in for cake.  He didn’t feel like having the same old discussion for the umpteenth time.

“The girl knows.”  The Doc said.  “And.”  Sam waited while the man sized up the picturesque pillars of the community.  “Her pretty mother hasn’t a clue, but I’d bet my license that her Daddy knows.”

Sam looked sharply at Jonah.  He looked pale and drawn, but very handsome and composed in his wedding finery.  It didn’t ring true to Sam that Jonah knew but Velvet didn’t.  Jonah was a romantic sap, and he was the kind of husband that told his wife everything.  Now if the Doc had argued that Velvet knew and Jonah did not, well, Sam would have precedent to believe that.  But the other way around? “I doubt that very much.”  Sam said, finally turning away from the family with the dark secrets and looking at The Doc.

The man shrugged and tossed several long toothpics onto a large empty tray as it passed by.  “He knows something.  That strain he’s under ain’t normal.”

“His oldest daughter just got married Doc.”  Said Sam in a patronizing tone.  “And he paid for the whole damn thing.  Look around you.  I’d say that’s an inordinate strain, wouldn’t you?”

The Doc nodded vaguely and glanced around at the lavish wedding reception going on all around them.  “Like I said, I’d bet my license that there’s something else.”  He lifted his eyebrows and downed the rest of his whiskey drink.  “So she hasn’t been in to see you.”

Sam felt his jaw tick.  Doctor-patient confidentiality never seemed to apply to Sam where the Doc was concerned.  They shared most of their female patients anyhow.  The Doc was the Delaney family’s primary.  “No.”  Sam replied tersely.  “You?”

The Doc shook his head.  “Why d’you suppose she didn’t get rid of it?”

Sam looked back toward the Delaneys and wondered again if that young woman had been careless or deliberate.  He remembered the way she’d interrupted their poker night some months back.  How could he forget?  Christ, he’d jerked-off to thoughts of that night frequently since, and he’d closed his eyes and thought of her in order to finish with his own wife more than once.

“For whatever reason,” Sam said quietly,  “She wants it.”

The Doc examined his empty whiskey glass with a half smile, half frown.  “Biological imperative son.  There ain’t no such thing as a teenager.  They’re kids and then they’re women and there ain’t nothing in between.”

Sam watched his father head toward the open bar and he knew he disagreed.  Maybe biologically the girl was ready to carry a baby, able to screw around and conceive and deliver, but he came from a different generation than his father.  And he understood that there was a subtle but important psychological difference between teenagers and adult women.  And he knew Viola might want to play at being a grown-up, that she had sexual desires and needs and urges, but that she was still a little girl playing pretend.

He finished his drink.  And he wondered what lucky son of a bitch had put his cock in her pretty little pussy.

The Afternoon of the Dress Fitting

I am going out of sequence to share with you one of my favorites. I have favorites. Is that bad? It feels a little tacky. But I do. And this is one of them.

This is Avalon, who you met earlier in The Engagement Announcement. I love her. She's very interesting to me because she tends to surprise me, which seems contrary to how I think an author should feel about their characters. But she does. And she isn't even easy to like, really, not always, not even often!  But so often she feels real and honest and is like a breath of fresh air to me.

But I sincerely hope you enjoy this one because I really do.

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It was the afternoon of the final dress fitting and Avalon was working hard to relax.  She wished now that she’d taken her mother up on her offer for a morning at the spa, but she’d been running around campus all morning, filling out leave-of-absence forms and passing in final papers and meeting with professors.

Finals were over, and for that she was grateful because the semester couldn’t have ended soon enough.  She didn’t know how poor Ben was managing his internship and his night classes and with waiting to hear from Business schools on top of all the wedding stuff.  She’d wanted to take the whole semester off but her father had been adamant she complete the year.  It had been difficult enough to convince him that she needed a year off after the wedding—he was so sure she wouldn’t return, wouldn’t bother completing her education.

“I didn’t raise a college drop-out.” He’d said to her one morning in his study when she’d gone to him with her plans.  He’d said it in that quiet, gentle way of his that always made her gut twist with guilt.

And so she’d promised up-and-down that of course she’d return and get her degree, she just needed time to honeymoon, look for a home and settle-in before trying to focus on the remainder of her studies.  She didn’t have the sass required to voice what she really thought, didn’t explain to him that wealthy women were never referred to as ‘drop-outs’, even if they had abandoned their scholastic pursuits somewhere along the way to their socially acceptable philanthropic lifestyle.

The truth of the matter was she had little interest in college now that she and Ben were marrying.  She very much wanted to follow her mother’s path: have children (though not nearly so many as her mother had!), have a beautiful home, chair various charities and volunteer for assorted causes.  And continue to collect the money from the appliance business without actually giving too much thought to the appliance business.  She still hadn’t settled on a major she could get remotely enthusiastic about anyway, and all the generalist liberal arts courses felt like a tedious waste of her time.

She did well in school of course, had a near perfect GPA, but it meant little to her.  That was for her father.  And she enjoyed the social aspect of being a college student, but really?  Two years of it was more than enough.  She was ready to move on to the next phase of her life.

Pushing her large, dark sunglasses to the top of her head the checked her watch.  She was only a few minutes early.  She’d rather that than late, but in her current mood she was apt to become irritated if she had to wait.  The ladies of the boutique were arranging a tea service and just setting out a large tray of delicate finger sandwiches when she breezed into the parlor.

“Oh, Miss Delaney! Hello!” Said the shop owner warmly, her eyes flicking to the clock on the wall behind Avalon’s head.

“Hello again Mrs. Greer.”  She responded politely, setting her purse down on one of the cream colored damask settees, but holding onto the little bag she’d brought along which contained all of the appropriate undergarments for the fitting.

“The bride should never be the first to arrive.” Admonished the older woman gently—her smile playful.

Avalon responded with a tighter smile than she would have liked.  She was frazzled and irritable and on the edge of a very sour mood.  The more she scolded herself for being bitchy, the bitchier she seemed to get.  She knew she should be thrilled.  It was almost her wedding day, there was little left to do now but enjoy the ride.

Enjoy, and let go of all those small, nagging doubts.  It was going to be fine.  It was going to be wonderful.  She was going to marry the love of her life and be happy and live in a gorgeous home and have a pair of perfect children and everything was going to be happily ever after and rainbows and white fluffy clouds, and shooting stars, and she sincerely wished the boutique ladies were serving something a little stronger than tea.

“Well, here I am.”  She said, trying her best to keep the edge off her voice.  “Where do you want me?”

“Would you like a bite first?  Some tea?”

Avalon stared at the woman and counted to ten silently to keep from snapping.  Did she think it was a wise practice to try to stuff food into brides who were skipping meals and exercising three times a day so they would look perfect on their wedding day?  Did she ever get a bride who eagerly gushed ‘ooooh yum, my favorite!’ and helped herself?  Avalon doubted it very much.

“No thank you.  I’d rather get the fitting done so I can relax.”  She smiled how she knew her mother would smile and old Mrs. Greer softened.

“Smart girl!” she said, waggling a finger. 

Avalon shuddered a little.  She hoped she would never look as ancient as Mrs. Greer.  In fact, Avalon sincerely wished to die when she reached fifty years old.  When she was a girl she had wanted to die by thirty, but now at twenty she thought fifty a much more reasonable end date.  Afterall, her mother was forty now and looked spectacular, so Avalon figured she stood a good chance of looking acceptable at least until her fifties.

She fancied being mourned.  She loved the idea of tearful funeral attendees lamenting that ‘she was so young, she still had so much life left…’.  She wanted to be remembered, she wanted her passing to feel like a real loss, a shock even, rather than a blessed inevitability.  She had always been attracted to widowers, too, in literature and film, and liked to imagine how beautifully grief-stricken and heart-broken Ben would be as a widower, forced to carry on without his love, measuring all other women by her unattainable standard.  When she was a little girl she’d often wished her father was a widower, a melancholy but noble creature doing his duty to his late wife and raising their children but missing his beautiful partner every day. 

Besides all that, the thought of growing infirm or incontinent or senile or any of those awful things made her queasy.  She refused to allow it.  She was dying at fifty and that was that.

Wrinkled old Mrs. Greer led her to the largest fitting room, the one with the tri-fold mirror set-up, and Avalon saw her gown was already there waiting for her.  She sighed out some of her tension when she gazed upon it.  It was perfect.  She was going to look stunning.

“Let me know when you’re ready for help, alright?”  Mrs. Greer smiled her saccharine smile and slipped out of the dressing room.

Avalon took a long moment before beginning to undress.  Two and a half weeks and she’d be Mrs. Sinclair.  To her relief the thought made her smile.  She loved Ben.  She did.  And she was going to be his wife.  She placed the bag of underthings on a hook along the wall.

She moved toward the dress while unzipping the long concealed zipper down the right side of her blouse.  Standing in front of the gown, admiring the intricate detail work of the tiny crystal beading she slipped the blouse up and over her head, folded it lightly and placed it on the small padded stool nearby.  Next she slowly untied the sash of her breezy wrap skirt and pulled it open first to the right and then from around herself to the left.  She folded this garment too, and then placed it gently atop the blouse.  Carefully she reached out and ran two fingers along the fitted curve of the gown’s bodice, admiring the way it tapered inward so alluringly.  It almost made the dry salads and skipped meals seem like a reasonable sacrifice.

When she’d carefully removed her bra and underwear, folded those and hidden them between the neatly piled shirt and skirt, she placed herself in front of the tri-fold mirrors and looked herself up and down discerningly.  She turned slowly this way, then the other way, examining herself shrewdly.  Her breasts were looking slightly less full than she’d prefer, less pert.  She supposed that might be from the lack of eating.  It helped the waistline, but not the bust line.  Oh well.  For the wedding she’d use that handy product that pushed them up and rounded them out; she had no doubt they’d look wonderful in pictures.  And when she got back to her regular diet she hoped they’d fill back in.  She prayed her bikini would still fit well enough.  They were going to a tropical island for their honeymoon.  She smiled again.

She narrowed her eyes and evaluated her ass.  It looked pretty good.  Firm and smooth.  She’d been doing the buns exercises every day for the past four months.  Not that anyone at the wedding would see that; the gown had a huge, princess-puff taffeta and tulle skirt.  But Ben would appreciate it, she supposed.  The bottom half of the bikini would look incredible.

Her arms were flawless, no jiggling when she waved.  And her stomach was flat.  Not toned, really, not as much as she would have liked, but at least there was no pooch.  Ben said he missed it but she was fairly certain he must be joking about that.  She missed the subtle softness there just a bit, but had no idea why, and didn’t believe anyone else would miss it in the least.  Her body looked good.  It looked ready.  She wished she were just a bit taller, but the shoes would help with that.

She caught her own eyes in the mirror and looked for a long time.  Then she scrutinized each facial feature in turn.  She had her father’s eyes.  All the girls did.  The color, more than the shape.  In shape they were very similar to her mom’s, round and set somewhat widely apart, though they were not nearly as over-large as Velvet’s.  Her nose was her mother’s, but just a bit longer, a bit stronger.  She wasn’t sure where her mouth shape came from.  It didn’t much look like Granny Calder’s.  Maybe it was more like her father’s mother.  She’d died when Avalon was fairly young. 

Avalon had a well defined jaw, much more clear-cut than her mother’s girlishly soft jawline, and her chin was prominent too, both features she got from her dad’s side.  One of her favorite features though was her cheekbones, for which she grudgingly thanked her mother.  High and haughty and just wonderful.  She had good coloring too: her mother’s dark brunette hair and peaches and cream skin tone.  Sometimes she wished she had a few freckles across the bridge of her nose like her sisters did, but then, she enjoyed all the compliments she continually received on her ‘perfect’ skin, on her ‘flawless’ complexion.

People told her she looked like her mother.  Years of meticulous study such as this had led Avalon to the conclusion that the people who told her that were just being polite.  Just being kind.  Because she didn’t really look that much like her mother.  Velvet Delaney was arguably the most breathtaking woman in Cedar Falls.  Possibly in the entire state.  She was perfect.  Avalon might be attractive, she’d decided years ago, she might be lovely and good-looking and not offensive on the eye, but she was nowhere near the beauty her mother was.

She hoped Ben’s eyes followed her around a room the way Jonah’s eyes always followed Velvet.  She glared a little at the mirror.  She hoped Ben’s eyes didn’t follow Velvet around the way Jonah’s eyes followed Velvet.  She’d lost two boyfriends in high school for that very reason.  So far she’d yet to catch Ben staring openly at her beautiful mother, or even sneaking surreptitious glances, or looking at her mother in any way that was even slightly inappropriate.  It had better stay that way.

With a heavy sigh Avalon reached up and withdrew the clip that held her hair up and let the heavy locks tumble down around her shoulders.  She tossed the clip onto the clothes pile and she ran her fingers over her scalp several times, enjoying the sight of her nude body in the mirror.  She shivered a little and her nipples hardened, making her look positively provocative.  Even the small patch of hair that was growing in where her legs met seemed sensual in this moment, though she was planning on waxing that before the big day.  She was going to a tropical island for the honeymoon.  She needed to be waxed and plucked all over for goodness sake.

She let her eyes unfocus and allowed herself to remember the very first time she’d groomed herself completely bare down there.  She’d been young, sixteen, and, a heat in her belly coiled silkily as she thought about it, it had been for him.  She’d let him do it to her.  It had been terrifying and embarrassing and she’d never felt so completely exposed, so utterly owned and objectified.  She remembered forcing a shy little smile and a soft, passive voice as he parted her legs wide and approached her with that razor, with those small scissors, with that gleam in his dark eyes.  She’d wanted to please him.  Wanted to look good, to feel good for him, so she’d said yes.  But she had been terrified. 

She knew now that her terror had stemmed from the fundamental distrust she’d harbored.  She knew she wouldn’t have any trouble at all letting Ben groom her most intimate parts, but him?  He was sure and strong and confident and powerful and she just hadn’t ever really trusted him, not really.  But she’d spread her legs and watched with half-terror, half-arousal as he moved the small silver scissors toward her, held her breath as she heard the soft snip, snip, snip and flushed with embarrassment when he’d noted her uncontrollable trembling.

She remembered liking that wooden handled brush he’d used to lather her up—the same one she’d often watched him use on his face.  That had thrilled her, made her feel naughty and erotic, and she’d tried not to giggle like a little girl when it tickled so very much.  To this day the sight of one of those shave brush and bowl sets, in a ‘gentleman’s shave kit’,  always made her a little giddy, always made that invisible string that stretches between belly-button and vulva pull taut and thrum with arousal.

And she’d had to struggle hard against the panic of having someone approaching her genitals with a razor.  She’d groomed her bikini line since she was about fourteen, but she’d always done it with a depilatory.  Having something sharp down there made her skittish, made her heart beat quadruple, her breath thin and tight.  She’d had to force herself not to jerk away, to let him spread her open and minister to her.  It had felt strangely clinical as well as patently vulgar and intensely erotic.

And he’d used his own shave soap, she remembered, hadn’t been interested in the foaming gel she liked to use on her under arms and legs.  He’d taken that variegated animal hair brush with the carved dark wooden handle and ritualistically worked his soap into a thick, creamy lather to spread over her.  Bay rum and almond.  Even after he’d finished and rinsed her clean and then spent a good long time licking her and kissing her down there, she remembered that her femininity had smelled distinctly male, he’d made it smell like it was something of his.

She moved her gaze over her lithe body and licked her lips.  She’d seen him.  Today.  That morning, outside the little coffee shop by the college.  And he’d seen her.  He’d looked her up and down, openly appraising, and then he’d grinned that arrogant, predatory grin at her and nodded his head ever so slightly.  And she’d flushed from head to toe.  She hated that the sight of him still made her body react against her will.  He’d looked flawless, as usual.  He was aging more gracefully than a man who drank bourbon for breakfast and smoked cigars habitually should be allowed to.  He always dressed well, clean and comfortable and unquestionably male.  Old school.  His hair was always in place, but he made it look effortless.  He was clean shaven.  And she knew he’d used that brush and that soap and that little ivory dish.

And she’d frozen at the sight of him, stood there as stunned and paralyzed as if she’d seen a ghost.  Though Cedar Falls wasn’t a city it was generally large enough, and her social circles separate enough from his that she usually didn’t worry about running into him.  He didn’t hang out around town all that much.  She knew his habitual haunts, avoided those locales as a matter of course, and was able to conduct her life neatly, as though he didn’t exist.  She imagined this was how her father conducted his business as well, for similar purposes.

And in the event of a major gathering where she suspected he might turn up, expected their social circles to overlap or collide, such as the charity golf tournament or some country club social, she had a carefully cultivated ritual she conducted in order to prepare herself mentally, emotionally and physically for the arduous experience of being near him, around him, breathing the same air.

But today.  That morning.  Outside the little coffee shop near campus.  She’d been caught off her guard.  And he’d smiled and he’d known her to be flustered.  Effected.

“Miss Delaney.”  He’d practically purred at her. 

She hadn’t been able to bring herself to speak.  She’d stared at him from behind her blessedly dark sunglasses and he’d chuckled, deep in his throat.  He’d looked her over again, not bothering to conceal the open sexuality of the gaze, the possessive nature of the visual perusal and she’d felt dirty, she’d felt like he was forcing her to commit an infidelity.  She’d felt like he could see right under her clothes and could tell that she hadn’t been to the salon for a wax yet this week.  And she’d wanted to cry.

She’d turned on her heel and walked away from him, tried not to out-right run away from him.  She could feel him watching her, felt his gaze molesting her backside all the way down the street and finally had to escape his rapacious stare by ducking into a random boutique.  It had been a maternity shop.  She hoped he’d been unable to tell that from where he’d been leaning against his cherry-red sports car outside the little coffee shop.   She’d shopped around a little, thinking of Maggie and her brother and that only made her more irritable.  She’d purchased a nice skirt and top for Maggie, despite her disdain for the woman, just to avoid drawing suspicion from the sales staff.  She’d chosen very Maggie colors and style.  She didn’t want anyone thinking she’d been stupid enough to get herself knocked up before her wedding.  She’d made a point of chatting to the salesgirl, a patchouli-scented granola looking college senior, about how excited she was to be expecting a new niece or nephew soon.

When she’d exited the shop, a little calmer, a fraction more prepared to deal with him, he was no longer there.  She quickly scanned both sides of the sleepy tree-lined boutique-laden avenue and breathed a half-sigh of relief.  She’d just wasted a good half hour in a god damned maternity store and she needed to get to her dress fitting. 

Now she ran her hands over the most alluring planes of her body and tried to put Vaughan Grey outside of her thoughts.  She liked the way her hips bloomed out of her long waist.  She felt the smooth, high curve of the side of her ass.  She lifted one arm and ran the opposite hand all the way down her arm, over the sensual swell of the side of her breast and then swept it down along the inward arc of her waist to those exquisite hips.

She toyed with the idea of taking a picture on her phone and sending it to Ben, to maybe brighten his day—the poor guy had so much running around to do today, but then the small bell above the shop door tinkled softly and Avalon heard the gregarious banter of her twin sisters and the sulky sounds of Viola arguing with her mother and all thought of a sexy nude pic flew out of her head.  Instead she hustled to put on her wedding undergarments and get in the damned gown, little humming bolts of annoyance sliding from her scalp, down her spine and all the way down to her toes.

She should be cheerful, she told herself.  But telling herself how she should feel didn’t help at all.

POKER NIGHT; BEN SINCLAIR

Holla!

K, hope you're groovin on poker night because we have today's installment plus at least one more in the hopper. Then I think after that we're gonna need a break from most of those guys and we'll prolly check on Grey & Maggie.

So Len, right? Love. I was in a rush yesterday morning on account of needing to go be a flippin' gym teacher, so I forgot to remind folks that Lennox was first introduced in CATER WAITER, so check that shit out. He and the Delaney Bros go wayy back.

Oh, and I didn't get much feedback from Caleb's first story-- I adore Caleb, who is the much-younger brother of Nolan & Jonah who was mentioned first in um... In The Townhouse with the Yellow Door i think... yes, just a passing reference.  So obviously he'd a grown up now.  I'm thinking he's only like 10 years older than Grey...  I'm not actually super with math...

Alrighty, today you meet Bennett Sinclair, who is Avalon's Fiancee and is mentioned briefly in The Wedding Announcement, but not really anywhere else... I don't think... lol. Well, I mean, obv he was mentioned in the one from yesterday but you know what I'm saying,he hasn't got much in terms of archive linkage. however you will be seeing more of him as we go along.

The Sinclair & the Bennetts are big time Cedar Falls staples-- this is because whenever I start a town in THE SIMS these are two of my very favorite family names to use. You've probably seen Doc Bennett mentioned now and again-- I imagine he's a substantial figure in town:

"Old Doc Bennett...murphlegoobinndhemm...." 

So Dr. Bennett is Ben's Grandfather on his Mom's side... OK, Whatever, I'm getting wayy into lineage that you don't need to know about just yet. Just know that there are families out there in Cedar Falls, folks with secrets of their own...

Alright. Poker Night is in full swing, let the game begin:

************

Ben liked Jonah, he really did, but the prospect of spending an evening playing poker with his future father-in-law always made his a little jumpy and uptight.  He’d been part of the Poker-Night group for about two years but he tried not to make it to every game.  He wasn’t related to them yet, so it was easy enough to make excuses, send his regrets.  But he went often enough to keep Avalon happy.  And to make it look like he enjoyed the game nights.

But he’d never been over for a poker night without Avalon also present somewhere in the house.  The women never joined the men, not for poker, they played other games and such but left the men to their devices for poker nights, but at least she was there.  At least she was around.  She’d bring more pretzels in sometimes and smile encouragingly and give him a kiss on the cheek.  And sometimes he’d sit out a hand or two to ‘use the restroom’ and use the time to fondle her and make-out with her under her father’s roof.  That always seemed to make her hotter than hell.  Of course he’d never actually had sex with her in her father’s house; that was a line he refused to cross despite her very convincing arguments and coaxing to the contrary.  But hell yes he’d kiss her till she was desperate and take her nipples in his mouth and even reach his hand into her panties to feel how turned on she was.  He considered that his little reward for enduring poker night.

And tonight there would be no reward.  No Avalon.  No steamy indiscretions in the pantry while they could still hear her father’s voice in the other room.  No, tonight would really be a guy’s night.  Ben would almost rather slam his balls in the refrigerator door.

But Jonah had called and been very persistent.  “C’mon Ben, I know you’re like me—you don’t have plans when your lady’s out of town!”

Well he’d certainly sound suspicious if he argued that point.  What was he supposed to say: “Oh Gee Mr. Delaney, actually I love to make plans when your daughter is out of town.”

So he’d capitulated.  He was going to poker night.

But he was bringing his best-man along.  West Bryant hadn’t been easy to convince.

“Are the twins going to be there?”  His friend had an unhealthy obsession with twins.  And with these twins in particular as he’d slept with one of them and had since made it his goal to have both of them, preferably at once.

“Sorry, no, they’re out of town.”  Ben sincerely wished he could have lied, but West could always sniff out deception on Ben as they’d been friends since middle school and Ben wasn’t a terrific liar.

“Fuck no then.”

“West, If you don’t go I’ll let slip that you fucked one of the guy’s daughters.”

West had just laughed.  “You’re too much of a pussy for a move like than Ben.”

Ben supposed he was right.

“Please West-  I’ll owe you one.”

“Talk to that pretty little sister in law for me and I’ll consider it.”

Ben groaned inwardly.  “Which one?”  He asked, feeling slightly queasy.

“The other one, the one… Vienna.”  But West didn’t sound entirely sure.

“You don’t remember which one of them you slept with?!”  Ben loved his best friend but the guy continually astonished him with how appalling he could be sometimes.

“It was your engagement party, I was fairly inebriated.”  He defended himself.  “Which one was wearing the blue sparkles, the mini dress?”

Ben paused, trying to remember.  They’d posed for pictures… “Geneva.”  He responded at last, fairly confident that Genny had been in blue and Vienna had been in yellow.  But really?  He wasn’t sure.  He just wanted to sound confident enough to appease his friend.

“See?”  West was triumphant.  “I was right.”

“Congratulations.”  Ben said flatly.  “Will you come?”

“Oh, I always come.”

“Shut the fuck up, will you play poker tonight?”

West laughed at his own little jest and then agreed.  “But I have your word?”

Ben sighed.  “Yes West.”  He said, a patronizing sort of tone coloring his response.  “I’ll speak to my barely-legal soon-to-be sister-in-law and mention that my friend would like to complete the set and would she mind fucking him so his fantasy will come true?”

There was a silence on the line.  Ben pulled the phone away from his ear to see if the call had been dropped.  He heard his friend begin to speak just as he was putting the phone back to his head.

“Can you try to see if she’d be interested in bringing the other one?”

“You’re a sick fuck. I’ll see you at eight?”

“Yeah, ok.” West sounded contemplative but he’d said yes and that’s all Ben had wanted. 

“Thanks.”  He closed his phone hastily, afraid to have to hear more perverted requests in exchange for his friend’s presence that evening.

And so, at about eight fifteen that evening he was clapping his best friend on the back and welcoming him over to his fiancee’s house for a night of poker with men twice their age.

“Where the fuck is Grey?” West whispered an aside to him as they moved to the den to get started.  Grey usually attended these shindigs but was conspicuously absent.  Ben didn’t care much for Avalon’s arrogant cock of a brother but at least he was his contemporary.  Along with his best friend Phelan, Grey served as a great buffer for reducing Ben’s awkwardness around Avalon’s uncles.

“I dunno.”  Ben confessed, feeling more harassed by the second. “Jonah said Grey couldn’t make it, but he didn’t elaborate.”

“Fuck me in the ear.”  West said.  West liked Grey Delaney and Phelan Ward and had likely only agreed to come to this poker game because he knew he stood a good chance of having a laugh with them around.  Now he was stuck with a bunch of middle-aged men and his mild-mannered best friend and no twins.  “Maybe you should call some of the other guys?”

Ben swallowed.  “I tried Ethan, but you know West this isn’t my little party, I can’t just go inviting all my buddies over to some other guy’s house.”

“Pussy.” 

Ben felt a bit like a pussy.  “All the free booze you want though, as usual.”

West sighed and shrugged.  “I’m gonna need it.”

Ben thought he might need it too.  His future father-in-law was behaving a little strangely and on top of that the man had invited Ben’s uncles over too.  Now Ben liked his uncles, but his family wasn’t quite the same as the Delaneys.  Grey’d been raised as one of the guys, was comfortable hanging out with his uncles and dad, but in Ben’s family the generations just didn’t mix as well and he always felt like a little kid around his uncles, never their equal.

But his mom’s brothers had grown up across the street from the Delaney brothers, they’d all gone to school together, they had been friends for decades.  In fact, they were close enough friends of the family that Avalon and her siblings called them Uncle Marty and Uncle Sam just like he did. Ben wished for the thousandth time that he’d managed to think up a viable excuse and not come.

By eight forty five they were finally all settled in and ready to start playing.  Drinks had been poured and in some cases re-poured, food had been thrown together from whatever the kitchen had to offer in Velvet’s absence and, finding that lacking, a few pizzas had been ordered. 

One of Avalon’s other ‘uncles’, her Uncle Len, shuffled and dealt.  West flashed his friend a grin.  West was happy he wasn’t the only black man at the table.  Ben rolled his eyes.

“So, Jonah, I’m sorry.  I might’ve missed it, but where’s Grey this evening?”  Ben’s Uncle Sam asked, pulling his cards toward him.

“Happy you might actually make it home with some money left?” It was Nolan who spoke.

Everyone laughed a little. 

“The thought had crossed my mind.”  Sam admitted, examining his cards shrewdly.

“Mine too.”  Uncle Marty added with an easy smile.

“It crossed all our minds.”  Said Len smoothly.

Jonah smiled and Ben thought it looked a little forced.  “He had a date I think. I couldn’t reach him.”

All the men nodded.  Grey loved poker but he loved chasing ass more.

Ben lifted the edges of his cards just enough to see he had a shitty chance.  He sucked at poker anyway, and it didn’t help that he almost never seemed lucky enough to get dealt decent cards.  He was looking at a four and a seven off-suited.  With a small sigh he called when it came around to him.

“Maybe you’ll be able to pull together enough scratch to cover this fairy-tale wedding the ladies are planning, Jonesie.”  Caleb grinned, and sucked on his third dark rum drink.

Jonah’s eyes flicked to Ben and he smiled kindly.  “My wife never got to have her fairy-tale wedding, Ben, so I’m afraid she’s living vicariously through the two of you.”

Ben smiled back weakly.  It was getting a little out of hand.  He had begun to hate anything and everything that had to do with dresses and tuxes and flowers and invitations and seating arrangements and gowns and shoes and groomsmen and it was getting to the point where he was living for the honeymoon.  He’d be more than happy just whisking his fiancée away and marrying her in a private little ceremony and then showering her with affection on some tropical island for two weeks.

He was already tired of it and it was still months away.

“Ah, don’t look so worried Ben!” Nolan grinned widely.  “It’s going to be a cozy affair compared to the spectacle of my wedding.”

All the men at the table groaned and nodded, some laughed.  Ben remembered that wedding, he’d been there, he’d been a boy, but he’d been there.  “Did you…?”  He paused, thinking for a moment, “Am I misremembering, or did you ride a horse?”  It seemed like maybe he’d dreamt that or something, spliced actual events together with a memory from a movie or something.

The older men laughed heartily.  Nolan Delaney nodded almost ruefully.  “I did indeed Ben, I did indeed.”

“Yeah, and the horse was the compromise—they wanted him to ride in on a mothafucking Elephant.”  Lennox said with a grin.

Ben laughed a little with the others.  Nolan’s wedding had been a very large and interesting affair as he’d married a woman from a very traditional Hindu family.  There had been literally thousands of attendees at the event.  It had been too big even for the pavilion and the town park—it had been held in the city at the sports arena.

“I guess our guest list doesn’t seem so bad afterall.”  Ben said, remembering the overwhelming numbers garbed in bright, vibrant colors.  There was some appreciative laughter.

“That was a great fucking wedding.”  Ben’s Uncle Sam said, and sipped from his bottled beer.  “Wild.”  He added.  “But great.”

“Remember how much fun all the women had dressing in those, what the hell are they called?”  Marty asked Nolan.

“Sarees.”  He answered and threw a chip to the center of the table.

“Velvet went crazy over those.”  Jonah agreed, and added a matching chip to the pile.  “She ordered a different color for each of the girls.”

Ben remembered the females wearing those exotic wrap style dresses.  He closed his eyes and tried to remember Avalon.  He’d been twelve, so she would have been eight or nine.  He couldn’t really remember.  He’d been far more interested in the full-breasted members of Nolan’s wife’s exotic family to really pay attention to little kids.  Even his mother had worn one, a saree, and it had struck Ben as the strangest thing he’d ever seen.  His mother almost never wore anything but slacks and a fitted button-down.  It was practically a uniform.

“What colors have you decided on?”  Caleb asked Ben, throwing a chip and then another to the center.  He meant ‘what colors has Avalon chosen’ but he’d kept up the pretense that Ben had any say whatsoever.

“Um, I’m not certain.”  Ben answered and he could feel West trying not to grin beside him.  West had firm opinions on bridezillas and had wagered a lot of money on how these wedding plans would go down.  “I know her mom wants, um, light purple…”  Was it lilac or lavender or violet?  Ben really didn’t know and didn’t want to say the wrong one because he had the feeling that while the three hues were virtually indistinguishable to him, Avalon’s uncle would not see them the same way.

“What the fuck’s he care about colors?”  Asked Len.

“Yeah, what you should be asking is what are his plans for the bachelor party?”  His Uncle Marty was smiling a taunting smile across the table at him.

Ben’s eyes widened and he couldn’t help the reflexive glance he stole toward Jonah, before he forced himself to focus on the two shitty cards he was holding.  He should fold.  Fuck.  If he folded now he’d look like he was afraid to discuss the bachelor party in front of Avalon’s family.  He was, a little, but he didn’t want them to know that so he threw in the two chips required to stay in.

“Don’t ask him,”  Said West to his right, “Any and all inquiries about said party should be addressed to the best man.”

Fuck.  Ben swallowed and hoped the blush he could feel creeping up his neck wasn’t obvious.  Silently he begged West to keep things appropriate.  Please let him be vague and not too suggestive and not vulgar and, Oh God, why the fuck had he dragged West along?  Why the fuck were they talking about weddings at a poker night?

West threw in three chips and a few people grumbled a little. 

“Maybe Jonah should leave the room.”  Teased Caleb lightly.

Jonah took a moment before responding.  “Hmm?  Oh. Ha.”  He gave a short little laugh.  Ben squirmed in his chair a bit and reached for his drink. 

“Oh that’s nothing.”  Said Len.  “Delaney, tell the kid what you had to endure for your father in law.”  The man laughed a deep, full belly laugh which Jonah joined after a moment and Nolan groaned.

“I still have trouble looking that man in the face sometimes.” Nolan said in a dead-pan.

“Is this the, uh, oh yeah, I think I know this one.”  Sam said and folded.  “I’m gunna grab another- anyone?”  Ben’s Uncle Marty nodded and tossed in the ante.  Sam stretched and moved toward the mini-fridge hidden in the sideboard.

“What happened?”  Ben asked more out of politeness than interest, but very glad they were moving away from his bachelor party as a subject of discussion.  He shot West a dire glare of warning, to which West just shrugged, smiled, and took a healthy sip of his beverage.

“So there’s this week-long festival of events and gathering leading up to the actual wedding,” Nolan explained hastily.

“Yeah, be grateful you don’t have to do all that.”  Inserted Marty.

Nolan smiled.  “And one of the rituals, one of the customs is to go over to the bride’s father’s house so that he can formally, well, ‘give his daughter away to her chosen’.”  Ben blanched a little but tried to smile pleasantly. 

Jonah saw Ben’s face and smiled kindly as he adjusted his glasses and looked away.  Ben was grateful that Jonah hadn’t continued to watch him.

“So Zahra had prepared me for most of it; there’d be a symbolic ritual with water poured from a pitcher to symbolize purity—“

Len laughed richly. 

“—Shut up Len.  Um, and I had to let some of her cousins steal my shoes and hide them—“

“Whaaat?”  West asked.

“Yeah, and then Zee said I’d have to repeat certain phrases and make three promises and there’d be a prayer or two and a fruit and that would be that.”

“All in front of a big crowd of her relatives.”  Jonah added, leaning back in his chair and turning his scotch glass slowly in his long fingers. 

“Right.”  Confirmed Nolan with a smile. “So there I am, shoeless, nervous, but eager to get it right and her father starts asking me these questions.”  Ben shivered a little, grateful that he wouldn’t have to endure something so awkward and foreign.  “First he asks if I’ll assist his daughter in achieving dharma.  Ok, no problem.  I promise.  Then the next one is, shit I forget the word, but it’s prosperity.  Do I promise to help her achieve prosperity.  Yes, I promise.”  Nolan smiled and paused for a drink of wine.  “Now Zee had said the third one was sort of like ‘obey’, so I’m thinking, ‘this isn’t so different, this is basically love, honor and obey, richer and poorer sort of stuff.”

All the older men began to chuckle.  Caleb, West and Ben exchanged glances.  They’d never heard this apparently infamous story.

“So he looks at me, Zee’s father, and her brother is right there too, like, behind the guy’s shoulder and the fucker is grinning at me now, and Her father gives me this look and asks me if I promise to, you know, help her achieve Kama, or help fulfill the Kama, I forget just how he phrased it, but there was something in his tone, and the way her brother was looking at me that, uh, gave me pause.” Nolan cleared his throat and smiled down at the poker table.

“All of a sudden this fucker’s thinking- wait a minute, what’s the joke?”  Len said, through his own laughter.

“Because the energy in that room shifted and it was as if all her relatives were waiting to see how Nolan reacted.” Jonah added, “I got the sense that they were curious since he was such a westerner.”

Nolan laughed a little.  “I look at Zee and she’s having a little trouble meeting my eye.  Now I’m really nervous.  I turn back to her father and he repeats the question.  I don’t know what to do; so I ask him to tell me what it means.”

“What???”  Caleb breathed.  “Why didn’t you just say yes?”

“I couldn’t! All of a sudden I realized I didn’t know what they were saying and I didn’t want to make a promise without knowing what the hell I was promising!” Nolan explained and took another drink.

“Holy shit, you never heard so much laughing.”  Len said merrily.

“I thought Zee was going to melt into a puddle.  Her father asks her why she hadn’t explained it to me and she just, oh god, she looked like she wanted to disappear.”

Ben shifted a little, eager to hear what the promise would be.

“So her father, the father of the girl I want to marry, then has to explain to me that I must promise to fulfill his daughter uh, sensually.”  Ben cocked his head.  Had her heard wrong? “Promise to assist her in sexual pleasure and keep her satisfied and gratified in that, um, arena.”  Even though it had been years ago, Ben watched a slight flush enhance Nolan’s cheeks. 

“No shit!”  West exclaimed, his mouth open and smiling.

“What the hell did you do?”  Gushed Caleb, leaning forward.

“Yeah.”  Nolan nodded.  “See, for them it’s part of the ritual, it’s a foundational pillar, and all that, but they all knew, they knew that having to promise this to her father would make ‘whitey’ all uncomfortable and they were really having a good time with me.  I’m pretty sure her father went into more detail than he needed to just to see how much I’d squirm.”

“He looked like he was ready to explode, he wanted to laugh so much, but he held his shit together, and he stared this nervous mother fucker down cold.”  Said Len. 

“What did you do?  What did you say?”  Caleb repeated eagerly.

“What the hell else could I do?  Without this ceremony there is no wedding.  This isn’t like some of the others, this one is pretty fucking important.  So I look the man in the eye, feel my ballsack shrink a fair amount, and promise to do everything in my power to help her achieve Kama.”

Len roared with laughter and Jonah looked like he might split his face open he was grinning so wide.  Sam and Marty had a good laugh too, as did West and Caleb.  “That is fucked up.”  Said West decisively.

Ben agreed but didn’t say anything.  He couldn’t look in Jonah’s direction.  Holy Christ.  What would he ever do if he had to stand before Jonah and promise to please the man’s daughter sexually?  He really, sincerely thought he might not have asked her to marry him if that were part of the ceremony.

“Yeah, they all had a good laugh, I survived, I promised Zee she’d pay for not warning me properly about that one, and we all had a fun night.”  Nolan received healthy pats on the back from both Jonah and Len, who sat on either side of him before meeting the ante with another chip.

“Yeah, yeah yeah.”  Said Nolan.  “One bright side is that someday I’ll get to torture some poor guy the same way.”

“Oh shit!”  Laughed Marty.  “Christ Nolan, you have two daughters—you’d better start saving up now—they’ll bankrupt you.”

Amid the laughter Ben heard Nolan groan.  “Maybe we oughta raise the blinds here.  Forget Jones, I need the money!”

“So Jonesey,” Caleb said sweetly after Jonah had met the ante, “I don’t suppose you’ll torture young Mr. Sinclair the same way?”

Nobody laughed harder than West, the Benedict Arnold, and Ben could feel eager eyes upon him.  Ben wished again that he hadn’t come.

Jonah didn’t answer right away, but Ben refused to look at him, so he had no idea if the man was smiling or scowling or what.  He held his breath.

And was literally saved by the bell.  The pizza had arrived and the doorbell sounded like sweet relief.  He jumped up, eager for the distraction.  “I’ll get this!”  He said, and practically sprinted for the door.  “I fold!” He heard a great deal of laughing behind him as he went.  Fucking poker nights.