I don’t understand why I’m anxious. This isn’t the first time London’s spent time around my family. Hell, after the banquet where I embarrassed myself in front of her father by calling it a field goal instead of a free throw, we agreed it would be a good idea to mesh more of our lives. We both took a couple weeks off and spent the time learning more about the backgrounds we were keeping sheltered from one another. We had Sunday dinner with Runt and Ollie. Met Blake and Abby for lunch at this little quaint French bistro London’s mother recommended. Took all of my nephews over to her parents’ place to go swimming before meeting up with my brothers and their wives for dinner. We also had dinner with her parents in which her father extended a warm, open invitation to be her ‘plus one’ at any event she wanted. He also mentioned having six permanent seats to Cliffsworth Hellcats’ games and offered another invitation to use them wherever I wanted with or without London in town. He said he’d have my name added to the list of people allowed to use them. Between all of those things we got her key to the apartment, re-christened every room, had a POG tournament with Pop, met my friends on time for a movie, and went baby shopping for her best friend. Out of all the things we did during our time off together that was the worst. I wanted to talk about the possibility of that being in our future, and she almost shoved a pacifier in my eye. I know London lives to the beat of her own drum singing ever changing lyrics, but once in a while I wish she would let me have an opinion on our tune. I asked for Blake’s advice a couple weeks later while we were engagement ring shopping for Abby, and he advised not to push as well as reminded me there’s no one perfect pace. Every couple sets their own.
Mama lets out a loud yawn, which snaps me out of my own head.
“Why so tired?” I innocently question.
“Don’t ask,” Runt advises with a shake of his head.
“It was a long day yesterday.”
“Why?”
“Don’t ask,” Blake echoes my youngest brother’s warning.
Mama offers me a sweet smile. “London sent us a package when she was in Greece, and it finally came in.”
Her thoughtfulness cracks my cold expression into a loving smile. “Oh yeah? What’d she send?”
“Don’t ask!” They shout together.
“This Greek massage oil that’s said to enhance sexual pleasure and a book about modern Kama Sutra for the aging , not elderly.” Mama sharply points her finger. “We are not that old .”
Horror has me gorgonized.
Runt’s head falls backward in agony. “We tried to stop you.…”
“We did,” Blake whines. “We really really did.”
“Four times now,” Runt complains, his face turning towards me. “I’ve heard her explain that four times .”
“Oh quit your belly achin’,” our mother says with a toss of her hand. “I did not raise Prudey and The Prude Fish.”
The chance to comment is stolen by a voice I can never get enough of. “Definitely not.” London’s arms drape over my shoulder as she cuddles me from behind. “Can’t speak about the rest of them, but there is a total freak in this geek.”
My cheeks instantly burn while my family laughs.
She fits right in. A little too well.
“Pretty sure we might end up getting evicted.”
“Can’t move in here.” Mama smirks. “It’s bad enough we have to put on clothes when you all come over.”
The previous laughter from my brothers quickly becomes groans.
I clear my throat before the conversation can get even worse. “Are you ladies ready?”
“Oh, we’ve been ready,” London reassures with a peck on the cheek.
“Then what the hell are we sittin’ around here for?” Blake questions immediately.
“We gotta little side tracked.”
Her answer doesn’t surprise me. Unlike the rest of my family who is new to London Time, I’ve mastered the art of when to add and subtract minutes for planned outings.
“Doing…?” Runt leads, voice caked in suspicion.
She snickers to herself and stands up straight. “You’ll see….”
“This isn’t good,” Blake grumbles.
“This can’t be good,” Ford sighs.
“Where. Is. Your. Faith in them?” Mama snaps from her end of the table.
“Exactly!” London squeaks.
The sound has me pinning her in place with a playful look. “Did this side track activity result from a bottle of Wilcox Whiskey?”
She gives me a wink. “Maybe….”
“Ollie can’t drink!” Runt panics. “She’s pregnant!”
London gives me him a sarcastic expression. “Thank you, Dr. Obvious. I’ll make sure to make a mental note your fiancé is smuggling a baby under her halter top and not produce.”
His face shifts to delight. “Did you say halter top?”
My girlfriend mischievously giggles again. “Oopsy.”
Runt rushes away for the front door while Blake curiously peers up at London. “Please say you talked my angel into wearing one too? Or cowgirl boots? Oh! For the love of all that is southern, please tell me you convinced her to wear a pair of cut off jean shorts?”
“You mean like mine?” London points to the pair barely covering her ass. “The kind too tight to wear underwear with?” She reaches out for my pinky offering me the reassurance she’s not flirting with him. “Pretty sure hers might be tighter .”
Blake briefly bites down on his knuckles. Afterward he follows Runt’s footsteps leaving us alone with Mama.
I pull her body to mine. “Kickin’ up dust and we haven’t even made it to the festival yet.”
She gives her frame a small wiggle. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, Hot Stuff.”
We exchange a very short kiss, bid Mama good luck with watching my nephews, and meet everyone outside.
The annual Fall Y’all music festival has never been my favorite. It always seemed to amplify the way I stick out like a sore thumb. When we were younger, not only was I always responsible for making sure to round us all back up, I was always the one who had to drive us home because everyone else was too wasted. I was also the one who constantly cleaned up Blake and Runt’s vomit before Pop or Big Foot could lose their shit about the mess. Aside from those things, the cover bands have never been great, the food’s always too dry, and I loathe having to sit around on the ground on old blankets. Only reason I’m going this year is because Blake asked . It’s the first time in years he encouraged me to come hang out. To bring London and enjoy the time all together.
We take two vehicles to the other side of Middlebrook. London and I ride in the bed of Big Foot’s truck, but I don’t complain. It gives me a great view of her tits bouncing in her see through off the shoulder orange top every time the road gets a little rough. While most of us could’ve piled in Dawn’s, Big Foot’s wife, SUV, leaving Ford and Ollie to take his truck, it made her feel better to leave the vehicle in case Mama or Pop needed it for an emergency with the kids. By the time we start circling around for parking, London and I have downed a third of her flask and can barely stop grinding against each other.
Thanks to her yoga class and making a real effort to get out of my parent’s place on time, we missed our morning sex session.
Once we’re finally parked, we all pitch in to transport the gear to the music area.
We pick a spot towards the back big enough to accommodate all of us, set up, and immediately start drinking. Most of us sing along to the classic covers between discussions about other genres of music and debates about where to grab the best BBQ. We all exchange quips and sarcastic snips, but their jokes my direction aren’t cutting deep like they used to. Now they feel like brotherly jabs rather than punches. Now they feel like they’re filled with humor instead of hatred. Now they feel like good natured moments with my family.
Now I feel like family.
My eyes drink in the sight of London beside me. Her head is tilted back towards the sky. Small black sunglasses covering her eyes. Auburn hair, straightened and braided to the side of her face, allowing the world to better see the recently died lavender tips. She bumps into me as she continues laughing at the comeback she tossed at Eddie.
She’s the reason I’ve learned to feel comfortable in my own skin. Fuck, in my own family. Funny how sometimes a little change can help alter an entire perspective on a situation.
With the evening sun finally starting to go down, London hops up, onto her cowgirl boot covered feet. “The time has come!”
Her announcement furrows my brow. “For?”
“Come on girls,” she encourages. “Let’s show ‘em what they were waiting for earlier.”
“Dinner and a show?” Big Foot chuckles between chomps of his hot dog. “This is my kinda Saturday night with my favorite woman.”
Eddie tips his beer to his lips. “Way to keep the bar low.”
Sienna jumps on her husband’s case. “At least they spend time together.”
“What the hell do you call what we’re doin’ now?” He bites back.
“No-huh.” London wags her finger. “No negative energy. That is the last thing we need for this.”
“This what , exactly?” Runt questions from the blanket next to me.
“You’ll see,” London swears. “You ladies ready?”
The five lined up women all take the same position of their right leg lifted up on their toes and their thumbs all hooked into their jean shorts. They wait for the appropriate beat before they begin moving. We watch them together as they maneuver in perfect synced steps backwards and forwards. They clap their hands, travel them upwards, and spin. Each woman unique in their own way places a small flare on the few coordinated motions.
Each of us watch the woman we love, completely entranced by the creature who holds our entire reason for existence in the palm of their gyrating hands.
At the end of the performance, we clap and cheer, gathering a few chuckles from the onlookers.
London’s beam threatens to blind everyone in its radius. “ That was a Little L exclusive line dance with a twist.”
I question, “And what was the twist?”
“All the weird hand shaking and ass bouncing,” Blake answers like I’m an idiot. “Were you not watching?”
Instead of snapping at him verbally, I lean behind Runt, and pop him upside the head.
“Ou!”
“The twist movement was something I borrowed from a rainstorm dance I learned when I was in Arizona.”
Big Foot lightly laughs. “There’s no way-” A fat droplet lands on his face. His skepticism vanishes instantly. “Sonofabitch!”
We all laugh at him while London gives him a cocky look.
“I didn’t think witchcraft was real,” Abby says, a worried twinkle in her eye.
“It’s not witchcraft,” Eddie reassures. “It was just a co-”
Another droplet falls from the sky right in his eye. “Damn it!”
London tosses her hands in the air and spins gleefully in a circle.
“It’s not witchcraft,” I take up explaining. “It’s just nature being in tune with London.”
Pure coincidence in my opinion, but this is the kind of shit my girlfriend believes, and who am I to say she’s completely wrong? What if she really does have a 1-800 hotline to nature? The world is a weird and mysterious place. We were raised to be open minded.…Never realized that might include bizarre remedies like a dab of pure spring water behind the ears to cure headaches and connecting with the clouds.
“Hell, let’s all do it!” Big Foot states rising to his feet.
Not one to argue when the oldest has spoken, we join him and allow London to begin dance instructions. The music shifts to covers of more recent country singers and every one of us croons along. We move around together, clapping, twisting and at times all of us Shaw men purposely miss steps to grope the women we can’t wait to get home.
During the early portion of our dancing the drops are few and far between, yet as we continue they become more frequent. When the rain finally begins to truly come down, we erupt into laughter while London spins in a happy circle again. The down pour sends some people rushing to collect their things, running to the covered areas for shelter, and cursing the abrupt change of weather.
“Shit, should we get goin’?” Eddie asks, arm slung around Sienna’s shoulder, their faces shielded by their cowboy hats. “We know how much you hate gettin’ dirty, Oliver.”
My face meets London’s.
She doesn’t hesitate to volunteer her happiness for mine. “If you wanna go, Hot Stuff, we can. I know how much hate the mud.”
“Not nearly as much as I love you.”
Her face lights up, and our lips smash together.
We let our tongues remind each other of what’s to come when we finally do decide to leave. The ten of us grab more to drink, Ollie, Runt, and Big Foot non-alcoholic, and return to dancing. We abandon the rain summoning and simply sway to the music still blaring from the performers.
About two hours later, the final band is starting. The rain has stopped, and we’re all covered in mud from splashing around. We’re all out of beer. London’s flask has run dry, and Sienna’s bottle of Wilcox Whiskey has managed to be emptied too. Unsure if the buzz in my system is from the booze or the beautiful woman grinding against me, I simply let my smile stretch as wide as it can go. My arms cradle London closer to me in the position we’re sitting in.
I gently sway us to the music and whisper in her ear, “I love you, Sunshine.”
“I love you too, Hot Stuff.” She lets her eyes fall shut. “Can’t wait until you make love to me tonight.”
My teeth nip at earlobe. “Hell, I can’t either.”
With the way I’m feeling right now, I won’t .
The ten of us manage to make it through one more song before we collectively agree it’s time to pack up. We gather everything together, repack the trucks, and head back for my parent’s property.
This time instead of sharing a flask and feathering touches, we’re sprawled out on our sides, out of sight, lips sealed together like they fear permanent separation. My hand graciously travels back and forth across the damp skin of her tiny stomach. Each gentle stroke receives me an excessive shudder followed by a whimper. Our tongues roll around one another in unhurried circles while our bodies grow eager to be closer.
There’s a sharp pound on the side of the truck that tears us apart.
My cheeks become crimson at the realization we have an audience.
Big Foot chuckles and tips his hat up. “Never thought I’d catch you of all people neckin’ in the back of my truck. ”
London erupts into snickers.
Can honestly say I never thought I’d be one of those people either.
He tosses us a dry blanket before making a grab for the wet ones. “Why don’t you try campin’ out for the night?”
The suggestion has a salacious connotation I’m beyond grateful for. Getting London moaning and naked where we can possibly be caught by little eyes and ears dampers the desire but doesn’t kill it completely. As hard as my dick is right now, anything that isn’t coming inside of London’s pussy or a Texas sized tornado, doesn’t have the power to make it disappear. Even the latter might not do it. Dying from sex in a storm would be a helluva way to go.
“Thanks, Big Foot.”
My oldest brother gives us a final nod and starts off the direction his wife is waiting.
After assuring there’s no more risk of additional interruptions, my mouth aggressively descends London’s. She meets the impact with equal force. I toss the blanket to the side, and we hastily begin to free ourselves from the wet confines. Boots end up against the closed tailgate. Shirts thrown miles away and shorts slung over the edge. Our bodies oscillate between letting one another dominate the situation. With London on top of me, my fingers thread themselves through her messy strands to anchor us together, but she abruptly pulls away. Turns her slender frame the opposite direction. Positions herself with her hands pressed to my thighs and round ass taunting me. There’s no opportunity to make the obvious objection for protection. London emerges my dick deep into her soaking wet heat. My entire body bows off the bed of the truck from the inconceivable feeling at the same time a roar is ripped from my chest. The absence of the barrier binds us in ways more intoxicating than any of the alcohol that touched our lips tonight.
Our verified bill of health was exchanged a couple months ago yet we made no effort to change our sexual situation. The test was done as courtesy to me. London knew I would take her word, but wanted proof she is clean and just as fully committed as I was. Shortly after, I showed her the same results, and we celebrated with sex in the shower, making us late for dinner with Matty. That was one case when London was right about being tardy. Some things are worth being late over.
London’s head tips towards the stars yet my attention stays planted at the one in my lap. The beautiful, burning ball of life that has illuminated all of my strengths and empowered me to move past my weaknesses. I wind my hand around the end of her braid, tugging it in tandem with my thrusts. An unearthly energy whirls around us as we fill the cool air with sensual cries and passionate praises.
Suddenly, London’s nails cut into my skin and her back arches harshly. “So…so…close.…”
The announcement threatens to make me come long before it’s time.
“Just…a little harder.”
Fulfilling the request becomes more than just a basic task. It becomes my life’s mission. I drop my hands to her hips and begin to pound viciously. Each pump is brimming with a barbaric devotion to having her come on my cock.
She breaks with a loud shout into the dark night, “Oliver!”
Her pussy begins to ceaselessly pulsate, milking my dick in the process. Our bodies continue a gluttonous grind for what feels like hours. The fierce groans rapidly falling from my mouth feel oddly foreign. They don’t feel the least bit familiar. Which makes sense. Having London’s pussy swallow my cum like it’s starving is something new , so the sounds I make because of it should be as well.
When our orgasms finally fade, the two of us don’t rush to sever the connection. We simply slow our movements. Soften our touches. Give our aching lungs reprieve.
Eventually, we settle ourselves under the dry blanket. Her face is pressed against my heart, and my arms have her caged in. She hums her satisfaction, and I do the same.
And I truly am satisfied. I’m content on every level in every aspect of my life. This is the happiness everyone else in my family has. I couldn’t be more thankful to finally have it too.