Chapter 13

Barb’s turn:

Gramma and Grampa left me with Paul while they drove to town to sign paperwork for the next phase of their lives.

A few days. That’s what Grampa says. They’ll move in a few days. I’ll move in a few days.

It’s really happening, and I’m surprised at myself, at MY reaction, which I’m not sharing with Gramma and Grampa. They don’t need to be fretting about me. They think I’ll be taken care of by Paul and that he’ll make sure I visit often.

But now I’m deep down just a little apprehensive. What if the reality is too different from my daydreams?

Naturally, Paul gets to hear my concerns.

“Butterflies,” he said. “Entirely normal. Major change in your life. My life. THEIR lives.”

“Am I doing the right thing?”

“Baby,” he said softly, “You are. We’ll be fine. So will they. We’ve talked about all this already.”

“I know. I need reassurance.”

“I love you and will take care of you with every fiber in my being.” Paul delivered that statement with me wrapped in his arms.

“I know, I know ... It’s scary. Some times I really feel like a kid. World’s a big, scary place. Other times, I feel like I’m, well, if not in control, at least equipped to handle what might be coming.”

“You never grow out of that entirely, baby. At least I haven’t. Quitting my real job to be a writer ... what kind of idiot does that, right?”

“And now you have a ward to support.”

“Very little literature on the care and feeding of wards,” he said. “Probably a rule that says ‘Never, ever let one into your bed.”

“And I will be in OUR bed every night for the rest of my life.”

“That’s good. That’s wonderful. But you started out in my heart, otherwise there’s no way the rest would’ve happened, you know.”

“Because I’m charming as hell,” I giggled. “It was a plot even before I decided it was a plot.”

“No plot on my side,” he crooned. “The more I saw you, the more you became inevitable.”

Over the next few days we started moving me into the spare bedroom at his house. Easy. Load up a couple of boxes, take them downstairs to the waiting ATV, buzz over to Paul’s house, load them in in the hoist basket, go upstairs, take them inside and empty them. They’re all going into the former ‘spare’ bedroom which is now my official bedroom. I may never actually sleep in it, but we are keeping the appearance of me being the ward of Paul.

The other side of ME moving, of course, is Gramma and Grampa moving. I helped them pack a lot of things, making up boxes that would be picked up by the moving company they’d hired for their exodus. I’ve heard stories about this, moving to a smaller place, having to shed generations of keepsakes.

Gramma and Grampa were both products of the foster care system I’d avoided by living with them. They didn’t have generations of historical detritus. There were a few photo albums, a few trinkets and such. Makes me think of MY future with Paul and what we’d have together.

Also makes me wish that Terry Pratchett’s ‘Luggage’ was a reality. I was putting away things in the drawer of the dresser in ‘my’ new room. Paul was hanging things in the closet.

“There’s room in here for something green and filmy with fairy wings,” he announced. When he turned, I had a green pair of hiphugger panties on my finger, swinging them in a circle. “Don’t get me started, you!”

I know I excite him. I find it fascinating. I’m exploring my way through this ‘sexuality’ thing. Aside from the obvious ‘Tab A into Slot B’ goal, I’m finding there are a lot of ways to give and receive and even more things that titillate and entice and amuse.

Take Paul’s underwear, for instance. I’ve seen him in both boxers and briefs. Each, to me, has its own set of attractions. I discover that I like things loose in boxers, where I can slide a hand up the inside of that muscular thigh and get hands full of delights. Wonderful. But it just turns me gooshy to see him in briefs, everything packaged in one well-defined lump in the front of those briefs, begging me to rub my cheek against him, then turn and bite through that thin fabric.

If we’re heading in that direction, neither one stays on for long.

And Paul’s got a thing for hiphuggers. I asked about a thong since I’ve heard about them.

“Nope. Something about the way that band of fabric curves around those hips. Maximum desirability.”

And I chose those BEFORE I had a thing for Paul. Thought they were just ME. As Paul says, “Fortuitous”.

I capped my little tease with a kiss. He sighed. We have work to do. So, work, work, work.

We got me moved, got Gramma and Grampa packed for moving. Everything that’s not a need for the next ten days is boxed up and stacked neatly.

I attended a little session of my home-schooling effort with Gramma, going over parts of speech. Today it was gerunds, and under her questioning I demonstrated my use of them in several passages of my writing.

“I didn’t think ‘now’s a good time to toss in a gerund,’ Gramma. I write the way I speak sometimes, sometimes I write the way I see others write, and sometimes I write the way I hear others speak. Colloquial speech.”

“Barb, I suspect that you’d have a very high grade in high school level language studies. Well into college level, actually.”

“You’re a great teacher, Gramma.”

“I believe you’re intelligent beyond my measure, baby. Use it. Don’t waste it.”

“You and Grampa have been good for my learning. So has Paul.”

“I see changes in you since Paul came along, baby. Good changes.”

“He’s good for me. I’m good for him. Both of us got better since we met.”

Gramma’s eyes – they’re kind, gentle, always, to me. “You say ‘us’ a lot when you talk about Paul. My grand-daughter is too precise in her speech to misuse words. ‘Us’ is significant?”

I turned my face downward, then back up to look into her eyes. “I can’t lie to you about it. ‘Us’ is significant.”

“I can see it in your eyes when you’re together, baby. I ... I just want you to be happy. We’ve talked many times about this. I don’t want details. Just know that if you want out of that situation...”

“Gramma, it’s not a ‘situation’. It’s a life. If I was sixteen I’d marry him.”

“If we’re still alive when you turn sixteen we’ll make that happen, baby.” She smiled at my expression. “And make sure you take your pills religiously.”

“On Christmas and Easter, then forget it the rest of the year?”

“That’s horrible,” she chuckled. “And no. NOT that religion.” And she hugged me.

Grampa and Paul walked in the door. “Something going on?” Grampa asked.

“Just having a moment,” Gramma told him. “I’m going to miss these hugs every day.”

“We’ll be there twice a week,” Paul inserted.

“With a tuna casserole?” Grampa quipped. “You’ll always be welcome.”

“I’ll bring Barb. She’s my ticket in the front door.”

I smiled, grabbed Paul’s hand and tugged him toward the front door.

“Did you catch that?”

He looked at me. “Caught a lot of stuff. Which part?”

“They have a freezer meal in the oven. We have quick stuff. I’m where I need to be for my agent’s deadline. No constraints on time. I’m uh...”

“This is where I’m supposed to say, ‘it’s not about sex.’”

I giggled. “Yeah. You keep telling me that and I keep making you have sex with me.”

“What color panties are you wearing today?” He grinned.

“Lime green.”

“You think you have me dialed in, don’t you?”

“I don’t just think it, I’m confident in it. Tell me you’re wearing those royal blue briefs.”

Okay, that might sound like a pubescent slut-puppy, but I am also confident in a big difference between me and said slut-puppy – I am in love with this guy, he’s the ONLY guy in my life, and when we drift down from heaven after we’ve made love, not ‘did it’, we’ll have conversations and work together and enjoy life that is better because we’re an ‘us’, not two somewhat inebriated people who bumped into each other at a beach party.

I’m the first through the door. Paul closes and locks it behind him. When he turns, I’m backing into him, getting wrapped up in strong, loving arms, getting nuzzled as he exercises his redhead fetish. I can only stand so much when his lips attack my neck. I twist around.

Kisses are lovely. Standing, sitting cuddled, sprawled in a knot on the sofa, in a chair, outside, inside, I get so many feelings--all of them good--when I’m kissing Paul. His hands cup my butt and lift. I like this. I wrap my legs around him, hooking my feet together, rubbing myself against his magnificent erection.

“You’re entirely too much, Barbakitty.”

“The way it should be. We worship each other. Bedroom.”

He carried me across the great room to the bedroom. Somehow clothes came off and next time I had a moment of lucid thought he was on his back, I was on top, the head of his dick in my mouth while I shook from what his tongue was doing to my pussy. First one of the day. I know he’s going to ... I already had ONE and was headed for my second.