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                                    Three Short, Short Stories.                                                8-23-10

                                                                  Roy Garde.

                                                Number One – “First Impressions.”

 Mary P. Tredwell didn’t have an impressive title but she was the mainstay of the entire New York City branch of a long-established, international engineering company.

She’d been the General Manager’s secretary for better than five years and there was very little of anything, non-technical, that affected the welfare of the company that she didn’t know about and kept tabs on.

She’d been married for four and a half years and she was over eight months pregnant with her second child and one half of all the women who knew her, or who met her on the street or in an elevator or – well, wherever – ‘knew’ that her baby was going to be a boy because she was carrying it high and her belly was huge and the other half ‘knew’ that it was going to be a girl because her belly was huge and she was carrying it high.

It was indeed enormous. So much so that her first child, just over two years old, could and often did sit on it comfortably and with no fear of falling off while she was tackling household chores, and, indeed, he could have, if he’d been so minded, taken a little walkabout on it.

Her doctor couldn’t believe that there was only one fetus inside her and so, on every visit, he’d take time to listen for a second heart beat although he didn’t tell her what he was doing to avoid appearing incompetent.

The company’s rule about maternity leave allowed its staff to choose between taking two weeks off before giving birth and six weeks after or taking the entire eight weeks afterwards and Mary told her boss one morning that she was going to take the first option and consequently she wouldn’t be coming in the next day.

He pleaded with her to wait one more week, at least, seeing that, as she well knew, there was a large amount of correspondence being generated from their having been ‘lucky’ enough to have been picked to host their company’s annual convention and seminar in the coming month – it was the third time that they’d been so ‘honored’ in the previous six years because it seemed that everybody in all of their foreign branches wanted to visit or revisit New York City – but she’d been uncharacteristically firm about sticking to her decision.

Her reason for being adamant about not helping out her boss was that she’d spent a lot of time at her desk the day before, working on her PC – dealing with some of the extra e-mails that had been generated by the coming convention – and when she was taking her bath that night she’d read, plainly imprinted in reverse on her belly :–

  “Dell    2007     Made in China.”

“Dell” wasn’t even a halfway decent name for a boy or a girl and the year was all wrong and she knew very well that it had been made in the bedroom of her home in Rivervale, New Jersey.

                                             Number Two – The Teacher Of Anatomy.

Mildred R. Nottingly loved being given dolls as a child and – because that made choosing gifts for her easy for everyone concerned, like cars are for boys – she’d accumulated an impressive collection of them by the time that all of those people decided, without asking her opinion, that she was too old to be given any more.

Because of that she started buying her own dolls and she only stopped doing that when she went to high school and that was because she expected to find other interests there but, alas, the combination of being painfully thin and extremely shy saw to it that she often went through an entire day without having any meaningful inter-reactions with anyone.

Consequently, a few weeks later she was forced to go back to finding solace with her dolls. Her interest in them was not only due to normal mothering instincts but because the human body fascinated her in general and she’d bend the doll’s joints every which way and compare them to her own and she’d marvel at the complexity that hers had.

She was impatient with having to slog her way through general studies in high school and could hardly wait to get to be old enough to go to college and take courses which would let her find out in intricate detail how her comparatively puny muscles and sinews could effortlessly deal with the huge tasks that they were subjected to and, also, how all the other parts of her body worked.

She dearly wanted to become a medical doctor and was devastated when she had to come to terms with the fact that her ability in math just wasn’t up to it and that she’d have to settle for something less prestigious.

She majored in Biology and Physical Therapy and when she’d graduated – needing money to get a Masters in Biology and take a Teaching course and not willing to ask her parents for any more financial help – she took a job in a Nursing Home where she helped incapacitated, or recently operated-on, patients to become mobile again, and to stay active as they recovered, and she also led geriatric group therapy.

When she had her three degrees to hand it was easy for her to find a job teaching in a high school in Queens and she found a large and pleasant studio apartment for herself that was in Brooklyn and just across the Kosciusko Bridge.

She was a popular teacher because she was genuinely interested in her students’ fresh points of view and, unlike most of her colleagues, she never let the inescapable repetitiousness bother her overmuch.

One day in her Human Anatomy class for Seniors she made the mistake of being innovative enough to ask one of her students, a youth who practiced body-building assiduously and who swaggered around, even in winter, in a t-shirt that had no arms in it, to come to the front so that she could show the class some of the muscles, in living flesh, that were illustrated, in living color, on the chart that she’d hung on the blackboard.

When she’d used a pointer to pick out a particular muscle of the upper arm, on the chart, she asked the student to flex his own and then she used one of her fingers to outline it and to trace it.

She knew that she’d made a huge mistake the instant that she made contact with his skin because a surge of feeling rose at her center that almost overwhelmed her.

She had to call on all of her will power to finish the sentence that she was halfway through and then to ask the student to please sit down and then to tell the class to draw the muscle in question.

That done, she hurried out and went into the Teachers’ Lounge to try to compose herself and as she was sitting there, drinking stale coffee, she prayed that no one had taken note of her horrendous faux pas.

Not so.

One of the students who had been sitting towards the back of the room – he was only seventeen years old but he was precociously horny and, to further that end, he played up to older women because he’d found that he had a better than average success with them – had seen her reaction and had understood immediately how strongly she’d been affected when she’d touched the jock’s arm.

After school that day he ‘happened’ to be close to her car in the staff parking lot when she approached it and he faked a limp and then boldly asked for a ride to the Subway Station.

When they were out of sight of the school he brought out his drawing of the muscle that was the cause of her embarrassment, and of his opportunism, and he then began to trace the one that was in her right arm.

She reacted immediately and fifteen minutes later they were both in her bed and she didn’t let him leave it until breakfast time the following morning.

It had been her first opportunity to study a muscle that had always been on her charts but had never been so much as referred to by her, or to her, over her entire career and she’d needed the whole evening and night to get solid confirmation of the fascinating fact that it doesn’t obey any of the usual rules.

                                                           Number Three – Sharing.

 Mrs. Leonard Upstein, Ruth, underwent a mastectomy operation not long after her forty-fifth birthday and although her husband was very considerate and reassuring it was many years before she became reconciled to having only one breast.

 Tragedy struck the family again when her younger sister, Jennie, became a widow in her early forties.

 The sisters had always been close and because Jennie had always gotten on well with Leonard she gratefully accepted their joint offer to move in with them because she’d never had a job of her own and she and her husband had been living from paycheck to paycheck all through their marriage and so, seeing that he was no longer around, there was no way that she could keep on paying the rent on her one-bedroom apartment in The Bronx.

 Before the sisters had gotten married – both at twenty-seven when a change in their status was becoming iffy and their mother’s despair was increasing exponentially day by day – they’d always shared everything and so, a few days after Jennie had settled in and was sleeping in the spare room, they agreed that sharing Leonard was the natural thing for them to do.

To further that end, when Ruth went to bed with her husband that same night she got him excited physically, to dull his inhibitions, and then mentally by asking him how he felt regarding ‘threesomes.’


She felt the object that she was caressing increase in hardness and girth at once and that emboldened her to spell it out, “I’m talking about having Jennie come and sleep with us in this bed on a regular basis. Do you have any objections?”

“What the hell are you saying, woman?” he spluttered, for form’s sake, but his body had reacted positively and instantly because ever since Jennie had moved in with them he’d felt stirrings whenever she came near him and he supposed that it had to be because of the ‘territorial’ aspect – like with lions or, somehow, with harems maybe – and so, when she’d assured him that his sister-in-law had always had a ‘thing’ for him and would be more than happy about being asked to join them, he said, weakly, “Well OK, sure. If she wants to, let her come.”

The success of her plan was so important to Ruth that she was loathe to let go of him in case he chickened out so she called out, “Jennie, can you hear me? If so come in here please.”

The words were hardly out of her mouth before the door opened and Jennie hurried in, shedding her robe as she crossed the carpet, eager – her husband had been too sick to show any interest in her for months before he died – eager to be used as a woman again. When she’d sized up their positions, logistically, she walked around the bed so that she could become the other piece of bread in the sandwich and she laid herself down and opened up and waited for the meat filling to come and descend on her from a great height.

Which it did but she had to wait for several long minutes while he rediscovered the delights of being able to grab a breast in each hand and then, after playing with them for a while, gp, “Brrrrr, brrrr, brrrr’ between them.

Her sister averted her eyes while that was going on, from bitterness and envy, but she paid close attention when congress had been achieved and she got almost as much pleasure out of it as Jennie did and when the serious pounding began she held her hand and, being a halfway through a biography of Marie Antoinette on her E-book, she said, “Tiens courage, mon amour,”  Neither of the participants were puzzled about her choice of language because they didn’t even hear her due to the fact that all of their senses were fully engaged in helping each other to get it done.

Both sisters were delighted with their new arrangement because of the sharing aspect but also because they quickly found that the regular love making that they’d become accustomed to was spiced up no end and so, when it became obvious to one and all that they were, uh, compatible – especially Leonard who found such a new lease on life that none of his friends and no one in his company could believe that he’d come upon it naturally and so they kept asking for the name of the new miracle drug that he was taking – they decided that they should get a king-sized bed, for the extra comfort and for the extended working area, and, over time when the last of their inhibitions had faded and they’d worked out routines that pleased them all, they had such great times in it together that every night in their home, when it got to be bedtime, all three made sure that they were present and correct so that the loving and lovely action could pick up where it had been left off.

The years went by and, inevitably, Leonard’s powers lessened and it got to be that he only wanted to – that is, ‘only could’ – make love once a week.

He decided on Sunday mornings as being the ideal time for it and, soon after that became their regular practice, the sisters found a genteel way to solve what could have been a ticklish and potentially problematic question.

The way they dealt with it was that every week, on what they had come to know as ‘TGIS morning,’ after they’d followed several of their favorite routines and both women had seen to it that they’d received several orgasms – in one way or another and the various methods that they employed are of no concern to us (unless you press me for some details, that is, although please don’t because I want to keep this a short, short story) so suffice it to hint that because they were always very careful to see to it that Lenny got to be fully satisfied in every session he learned to not be surprised no matter what they got up to – after, as I just said, they’d received several orgasms they’d know, instinctively, when it got to be time for Lenny to choose – it was his right, after all – which one of them he wanted to mount and then selfishly pound away at – it’s the way of Nature and there’s no gainsaying that – until the act was completed.

 Both of them always hoped that she’d be the one chosen for several reasons:

By being picked it reassured her that she was still attractive.

She knew that she was practically guaranteed to have an extra, fundamentally-satisfying-like-no-other, orgasm that would be triggered when he had his own.

While the thumping was going on, and for the rest of the day, at least, she’d feel like a viable, functioning woman who was content to her very core.

Egotistically (this took on less and less importance as time went by.)

For the supposed health benefits that women get from absorbing male fluids.

The genteel method that they’d decided to follow every week called for a détente and they brought that about by one of them grabbing and then squeezing Lenny’s penis enough to lessen and allay the urgency of the signals that it was sending out and then the other one would cup his scrotum and squeeze its contents enough to bring his upper brain back into the equation and then she’d ask, “Lenny dear, do you want one lump or two in your coffee this morning?”