The Voices in my Head 4

The next day at work, another slow day, I called Sandi, asking her to join me for lunch. She readily agreed and met me at the shop as I was punching out. She asked to go to the coffee shop we’d been at yesterday. Once we’d ordered, she held my hand nervously across the table.

“Daddy had a long talk with me last night,” she started, “I was so scared, it was like he could see right through me.”

“I know what you mean,” I said, “your father is very perceptive.”

“I had to admit we’d had sex,” she said, “but I didn’t tell him any details.”

“Yeah,” I said, “he knew, probably from dealing with kids from church.”

“He’s making me see a doctor on Friday,” she said, “one who deals with girl stuff. He’s going to put me on the pill.”

“He worries about you.” I said, “but he didn’t say we needed to stop seeing each other.”

“That’s right,” she said perking up a bit, “but he says you need to use a condom.”

My phone rang with Peter’s ringtone. He wanted to know where I was and promised to be here in a few minutes. He hadn’t eaten lunch yet, so after we hung up, I ordered for him.

I saw Peter’s beat up pickup pull into the parking lot and a moment later her ran into the shop, spotting us and almost running to the table. Sandi scooted over to make room for him. He was excited, barely able to speak coherently. It seemed he’d seen and old, abandoned farm house while working today. The owner was a friend of his boss. He’d had a quick look at it. It needed cleaning and paint and the yard was overgrown with weeds, but overall looked livable. He wanted us to look it over as well.

He wolfed down his lunch, urging us to eat faster. I paid the tab while he asked the owner to let him leave his truck for an hour or two. We were soon on our way, Peter pointing out turns and arrived at the old house.

From the outside, the clapboard siding showed a lot of bare wood, it was a two story house with dormer windows in what I guessed was the attic. We worked our way through the weeds, and onto the wide front porch. I had half expected the porch to be a creaking rickety disaster in the making, but it felt firm and solid. The door was not locked so we made our way inside. It had high ceilings, easily ten feet. There was a lot of dust, but no scattered trash. The first floor held a large living room with a big fireplace, a formal dining room and a huge kitchen with a walk in pantry. There was a small bathroom and a door that revealed a dark set of stairs and the slightly musty smell of an unfinished basement. Upstairs were four large bed rooms and two full bathrooms. Another door revealed stairs up to the attic and two more large rooms that could be used as bedrooms or storage. The floors and stairs were solid as well, not creaking at all.

Outside was a large overgrown yard, a large shed, apparently used as a garage and an old barn housing some farm equipment. There was a big propane tank beside the shed and I spotted overhead power and phone lines. There were two big yard lights on tall poles.

“It’d take a lot of work, but it’s just what we need.” Peter said.

“We couldn’t afford this.” I said, “The rent alone is probably more than you and I make together.”

“Nope,” said Peter, smugly, “The owner build a new house a few years ago and just wants someone to take care of this place.”

He pointed across a field, to a large house and barns clustered together, probably a mile away.

“He doesn’t have time to keep this place up since his family outgrew it, my boss said he’d probably only charge a token rent.” Peter said in an excited rush.

I had my doubts, an old conservative farmer might be reluctant to rent to a bunch of collage kids. Peter was sure his boss would be willing to negotiate for us and if our parents signed some sort of assurance papers, there shouldn’t too much of a problem. We went back to town, dropping Peter at his truck. Sandi and I went to the park, spread a blanket and talked about her fathers attitude and how he might not let her move in with us. Peter and Becky joined us after an hour or so. We discussed the house and its possibilities for a while. For the moment we agreed to treat it as though, Peter and I were going to be the renters. We broke up and headed home for dinner.

Over dinner I broached the subject of moving out when I went to collage in the fall. My father didn’t dismiss the idea, but launched into a long talk about the expense and potential problems of living alone. I explained that Peter and I would likely be sharing a place and that he’d been looking at a place that was probably cheaper than an apartment in town. We talked about my job and how it might interfere with school. I had already decided to cut back my hours to go to classes full time. Grants and student loans should fill the the income gap.

Peter called after dinner, telling me he’d pick me up in a few minutes. I was puzzled, We usually used my car as his truck was normally reserved for work. I was waiting outside when a large SUV pulled up. The passenger window went down and Peter waved me over. He introduced me to his boss, George, and told me we were going to talk to the owner of the house.

A few minutes later we pulled into a wide graveled driveway that went around a large two story farmhouse. I could see farm machinery in the big barns but the house itself held my attention, a bright white building with a red tile roof. There seemed to be kids everywhere, ranging in age from about five to sixteen or so. George, led us to the front door. It was answered by a heavy set man, who ushered us in to sit around a large kitchen table. A competent looking, stout woman poured coffee for everyone and sat down with us.

“Cal,” said George, “These are the kids I was telling you about. They’re looking for a quiet place to liveand study when school starts up this fall. I think you could do a lot worse than to rent the old house to them.”

Cal, the farmer and owner, sipped his coffee, thoughtfully looking us over.

“Big place for a couple of kids,” Cal commented, “probably throw a bunch of wild parties and end up burning the place down.”

“They’re good kids, Cal,” George said, “hard workers, never been in any trouble, don’t make no trouble around town.”

“Still a big place,” said Cal

“They might sublet a couple of rooms,” said George, “To help out.”

“I don’t know,” said Cal.

“Let them have it, Cal,” said the woman, “ you been moaning about the old place sittin’ empty ever since we moved in here.”

“Now, Martha,” began Cal.

Martha cut him off, “You don’t let these boys have it, you’re a damned fool!” she said raising her voice the tiniest bit.

Cal visibly deflated, agreeing to let us rent the house.

“They can fix it up,” said George, “keep the vermin in check, probably improve the property value too.”

“We got some old furniture in the barn you kids could use.” added Martha.

“So, how much?” asked George

“Well, lets see,” said Cal, “I suppose . . .”

Martha cut him off again, “You boys pay me two hundred a month, you take care of utilities, keep the yard up and do the painting and maintenance.”

“Martha!” said Cal.

“You hush up Cal,” Martha said, “that’s my house, says so on the title.”

Cal settled back, sipping his coffee, “Yes dear.” Cal said.

“I don’t think these boys are packing that kind of money,” Said George, pulling out his wallet and laying two hundred dollar bills on the table, “You want to write up a paper, Martha?”

Martha produced a sheet of paper and quickly wrote out a simple rental agreement, pausing only to confirm the spelling of our names. She signed it, presented it to Cal for his signature and passed it to Peter and I. I ended up signing first, making me the primary tenant. I read it through, the terms were exactly what she had proposed, all laid out in the clearest script I’d ever seen outside of a text book.

“Jenny! I need you girl!” called Martha in a voice I was sure could be heard throughout the house.

In seconds a pretty blonde girl sixteen or so appeared. She nodded to George and looked over Peter and I.

“Yes Mama?” she said, in a clear sweet voice.

“”Take this to the office,” directed Martha, “make four copies, make a folder for rentals, file the original and two copies, then then bring the other two here.”

“Yes Mama.” she said vanishing.

I had a good idea who actually ran the fiances for the farm. I hid my grin with the coffee cup, sipping as I tried to grasp what we’d just done. I’d thought it would take weeks to get a place. Martha produced some homemade cookies and refilled coffee cups. Jenny reappeared, handing the two sheets to her mother.

“I put the file in the second drawer,” said Jenny, “in front of the one for the rottweilers.”

“Thank you, dear,” said Martha, “run along now.”

Jenny left the kitchen after giving me an appraising look. Martha handed us our copies, causing to bills on the table to disappear. We shook hands all around and George led us back out to his SUV and we headed home.

“Thanks for coming up with the rent,” said Peter, “I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”

“Even sooner,” said George, “I’m taking that out of your pay. Might have the crew out here to help some if work gets a little slow.”

We all laughed. I promised Peter to pay him my half as soon as I could get to the bank. George dropped us off and in a flurry of phone calls we got the girls and headed out to our house. Becky was thrilled by the old house. We explored with flashlights, looking into nooks and crannies. The shed was indeed a garage with room for four cars or tucks, or three and a spacious work area. The barn was a catchall of old farm equipment and several tarp covered piles of stuff, some of it the was probably the furniture Martha had mentioned. Sandi was looking pensive, worried about her fathers reaction and missing out on some of the fun we were sure to be having late at night when she had to be home.

In the morning I told my parents about our good fortune. They were both dubious, thinking we had been taken advantage of. They made some quick phone calls arranging to take the morning off from work. Mom had me load up a lot of cleaning gear and they followed me out to the house. Apparently all of our parents had the same idea, My father and Becky’s, Mr. O’Brien, along with Mr Fowler started checking everything. Peter and I followed along, trying to figure out what they were doing. The bounced on the floors and stairs to check for loose boards or creaks and squeaks that would indicate the need for repairs. They opened and closed windows and doors, checked door hinges, and thumped on walls. In the basement they inspected the foundations, exposed plumbing and all the odd little chris crossed bracing under the floors. Becky’s mom, along with peter’s mom and my mother looked grimly at the amount of dust in the house and started dusting, sweeping and mopping. Sandi and Becky helped them. In the attic, Mr. Fowler located a roof hatch that would let us get on the roof without a tall ladder. He climbed halfway out, looking around the roof and inspected the seal on the hatch itself, looking for signs of leaks. He cautioned us about actually getting on the roof without safety equipment. One missed step could easily result in a potentially fatal fall Outside, my father produced a huge pocket knife and scraped away at some of the flaking paint. He pronounced the wood siding to be in good condition, but the whole house needed to be scraped and repainted.

Mr. Fowler pulled me aside to ‘check out the garage’. Once we were in private he turned to me.

“Son,” Mr. Fowler started, “Sandra will be eighteen this winter, and is set to graduate mid term and start at community collage for the spring semester. If I let her move in herewith you boys she has to have her own room.”

I nodded, not quite seeing where he was going with this.

“Damn it boy,” He went on, “if she’s anything like her mother, she likes sex and probably wont give it up this side of seventy.” He drew a ragged breath, “I know she’ll be sleeping with you, don’t insult me by saying she wont. For appearances, if anyone visits, she has to have a separate room to show them.”

“I understand, sir,” I replied, “we’ll take care of that.”

“Just be good to her,” he said, “make sure she studies, and be careful. I’m not ready to be a grandfather yet.”

“I will,” I said, “she means the world to me.”

He swept me into a bear hug, surprising me.

“Just take care of my little girl.” he whispered fiercely.

As we walked back to the house he seemed to have gotten something in his eye.

I pulled Sandi aside and told her that she could stop worrying, and that her dad would let her know soon enough. She squealed with glee, hugging me tightly. By noon , the downstairs rooms were clean, walls washed, windows clean, and all the dust and cobwebs gone, the floors shone with a soft luster, the kitchen fairly sparkled. A car pulled into the yard, honking his horn. Dad had ordered pizza and sodas. He paid off the driver and gave him a fat tip for having come so far. We all stood around eating pizza and drinking soda from plastic cups for a while, then the adults mounted up and headed back to town. We stood there looking at each other and the newly cleaned rooms. I heard a commotion outside and went to see.

A pickup truck followed by a line of four wheeler motorcycles pulled into the yard. I was Martha and all of her kids. She started barking orders the kids started running here and there, somehow in all the confusion, getting things done.

“Saw you had company this morning,” she said, “waited till they were gone. Didn’t want to intrude. Got a few things here for you boys.”

She dropped the tailgate on her truck, revealing five big five gallon buckets of paint and a pile of painting supplies, brushes, rollers, and such,

“Put this stuff up on the porch, out of the sun and weather. She commanded, and walked into the house. When we had moved the paint and stuff onto the porch, we trooped back in. she was standing in a spot that allowed her to see most of the first floor. She was slowly turning around, looking at everything.

“You kids been busy.” She said, “It’s looking a lot better. I was in here last year, nearly broke my heart.”

She headed up the stairs, stopping when she saw the dust still there.

“Uh, we hadn’t gotten that far yet.” I said, apologetically.

She put two fingers to her mouth, producing a loud piercing whistle. We all winced.

“Girls! Get in here!” she called loudly.

There was a brief thunder of feet. The four girls stood in a quiet row, Jenny, the oldest on the left, the rest by order of height to the right. Jenny shot me a quick smile, sobering when her mother started talking.

“They got a good start this morning, but didn’t get around to the upstairs.” she told them, Get to it. Jenny, you do the bathrooms, you know what to do.”

“Yes mama,” the four chorused and set to work. Sandi and Becky went with them.

More noise grew my attention to the back door. The two oldest boys were wrestling in the top of a large table, the younger two followed with the legs. The oldest pulled a wrench from a hip pocket and began to assemble the table. I caught peter’s eye and jerked my head for him to follow, heading out the back door. The three younger boys were carrying chairs toward the house. In the barn I saw an even bigger table wit a central pedestal and legs stacked close by. We grabbed the table top and headed toward the house, passing the boys coming out for more chairs. Inside the kitchen table was almost together. The boy there directed us to the dining room. By late afternoon, we had a furnished house. There was the table in the kitchen with eight chairs set around it, a huge table in the dinning room with twelve chairs. Four more matching chairs were placed against the walls and leaves to expand the table were in a closet, Two sofas and a pair of easy chairs, covered in sheets to hide the stains left by years of children, as well as a big coffee table were arranged in the living room. Upstairs, there was a king size bed in the master bed room, a double in the room Peter had claimed as well as a full size bed in the other two bedrooms. Martha told us there were two sets of bunk beds that used to be in the attic rooms still out in the barn, but she didn’t see us needing them anytime soon so they hadn’t been brought in each room also had a desk and chair, and at least one dresser. The master bedroom had two. There were extra dressers in the barn as well. The enclosed back porch, Martha called it a mud room, had a washer and dryer, old but functional as well as laundry hampers. All the windows had curtains and pull down shades that would give us casual privacy and allow us to block the sun if we needed to.

“Why don’t you kids have the lights on?” Martha asked, “getting a little dim in here.”

“I haven’t had a chance to call the city.” I said.

She harrumphed and led me outside. Showing me the meter box and breaker panel. She opened it up and threw the biggest switch then let it slam closed. She told me one of the kids would come by and read the meter the first of each month and she would leave us a note telling us what we owed. She called for Frank, the oldest boy, telling him to check the well and house valve and turn on the gas and make sure the pilot lights were lit. Not long after, they all saddled up and headed home.

We settled around the kitchen table, exhausted, sipping room temperature soda and eating cold pizza. The fridge was running, but we wouldn’t have ice for a few hours yet.

“Why do I have the feeling those kids built their new house one morning,” I said, “and threw up the barns that afternoon because they were bored.”

Everybody chuckled.

“They even made the beds,” Becky said, “there were boxes of old sheets and blankets in the barn.”

There were pots and pans and dishes, even tableware,” said Sandi.

“If we had some groceries, we could spend the night.” I said.

“Check the fridge and pantry,” said Peter,dryly, “she had one of the girls run back to the house for a ‘few things’.”

“Guys, we can not screw this up,” I said, “there will be no loud parties, or crowds of people here.”

“That’s right,” said Peter, “we are going to have to keep this place neat and clean inside and out, all the time.”

The girls nodded in agreement.

We sat and talked about house rules, necessary, according to Becky, to keep us from arguing over things. Tomorrow we planned to move our personal stuff. A little later we had ice. We fixed tall glasses of the remaining soda and moved to the living room. Sandi and I on one sofa, Peter and Becky on the other. The shades were down and the room was softly lit by tall floor lamps. We made lists of things we would need and things we needed to do. Chores were divided between us.

The conversation ran down and we sat quietly thinking about our future in this miracle of a house we had fallen in to. I was idly fondling one of Sandi’s breasts, running a finger over the nipple when she sat up and pulled off her shirt. I pulled her onto my lap, kissing her neck and nibbling her ears. She held my hands to her breasts. Across the room Becky was sucking on Peter’s prick, with her lush, bare bottom up in the air. I slid a hand down to gently rub Sandi’s crotch. She dropped her hands to unbutton and unzip her shorts. My hand slipped inside her panties. One finger slipped through her folds, moving moisture up to her clit as she became wet. She sighed in contentment. I urged her up a little, sliding her panties and shorts down her legs until she kicked them off and away. She spread her legs wide, allowing me free access to every part of her. I slipped a finger into her pussy, gently probing, pulling it across her clit each time I pulled back. She moaned softly as her breath came faster.

Sandy twisted around to face me. She unbuckled my belt and opened my pants, tugging them down to expose my prick. She took me into her mouth, licking and sucking. With each stroke she took me a little deeper. She gagged slightly, managed to suppress the reflex and pressed forward, bumping her nose against my lower belly as she took my prick down her throat. She pulled back to catch a breath then pressed me into her throat again. I felt my balls tighten. The next time she slid her throat over my prick, I placed a hand on her head, not to force her, but to let her know I wanted her to stay there. My cum sprayed down her throat while she convulsively gulped pulling my prick a little deeper. We were frozen like that for several seconds, the feeling of her throat so intense I almost couldn’t breathe. She finally pulled back letting my prick slide out of her mouth. She gently licked and sucked until I was hard again. She crawled up my body, kissed me and whispered ‘doggy style’ in my ear. I slid out from under her, letting her position herself, knees on the sofa and her upper body supported on the padded arm. I moved behind her, positioning my prick and thrust my prick into her pussy in one long stroke until my balls gently slapped against her. She let out a long moan. I started stroking into her pussy, pulling back until I was just barely in her then slid back into her in long slow strokes.

We slowly increased our tempo. She moaned and gasped, her voice rising in volume and pitch. I ran my fingers gently between her ass cheeks, lightly grazing across her puckered sphincter. Every time I did this her ass would shiver and her pussy would clamp down on my prick. Squeezing lick a soft wet fist. I put my hand between us, collecting some of her dripping juices to rub over her ass hole, then inserted one finger gently to the first knuckle. She gasped and cried out, slamming back at me, her hips shaking out of control as she stroked herself on my prick and finger. She squealed as her orgasm swept over her body, I blasted my cum deep into her clenching pussy, roaring with one of the strongest orgasms I’d ever had.

Sandi collapsed onto the sofa, pulling off of my softening prick. I caught myself from falling on her, holding myself up, stiff armed on the arm of the sofa. We stayed like that, panting like dogs for a few minutes before I could heave myself up and climb off the sofa. I helped her slide down and stretch out and lay beside her. I held her gently, kissing her forehead, closed eyes and cheeks. She looked at me with wide shining eyes.

“O M G!” she said, softly, “that was, like, the best ever. Can you do that again?”

“Not right now,” I chuckled, squeezing her in my arms, “maybe after I recover, say in a week or so.”

“A Week!!” she cried, “You better not make me wait a week!”

“Okay, okay,” I said, grinning, “maybe in a few hours, but more likely tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” she pouted, “ I think I need some time to recover too.”

After a while I got up.

“No,” she moaned

I picked her up in my arms and carefully carried her upstairs, to the bathroom. One long hot shower later we lay on the big bed, cuddled spoon fashion. I the shower running in the other bathroom followed by some soft talk and giggling. I half expected Peter and Becky to join us, but they apparently went to his room.

An hour or so later, we made slow gentle love, and it was love I realized, not just sex. With minimal clean up, we settled under the covers and slept like the dead till morning.

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