We went boating the following day, taking a lunch from the deli along with some chairs, umbrella, blanket, and a big rubber tire tube. It was Labor Day Weekend—the last big weekend of the summer, although I’ve always enjoyed the later weekends in September—and we planned to enjoy it to the max. I drove the boat out of the harbor, turned left, but grounded it around half way to Crane’s Neck. The beach there is deserted. There’s a big marsh behind the beach and no homes for almost a mile. A small creek leads to the marsh. At high tide the water rushes in and as it ebbs the water rushes out. It’s a blast riding a tube either way, especially because the bottom is only inches below the surface and it’s covered with thousands of rounded stones. Bouncing your butt is great fun as you rush by at twenty miles an hour.
I led Marta to the creek, sitting her in the tube a foot or two before the rapidly moving creek began. Marta looked as if she had a question. “Just keep your hands, feet, and butt up and enjoy. I’ll catch up with you inside.” I gave her a push before she could chicken out. She moved away so fast I couldn’t keep up even though I was sprinting up the beach. When I crossed the crest of the beach I found Marta in a tiny pool laughing like crazy. “How on earth did you ever find this? It’s hilarious.” I pulled her up as we walked back to the Sound, the tube on my shoulder. I explained how as boys Jimmy and I had roamed all up and down these beaches. It was just a matter time before we stumbled over the marsh. Our first excursions in the stream were done without a tube until we went home all black and blue. We had to promise to use a tube or inflatable raft if we ever came back here again; we came often.
Marta rode several times before we decided a rest was in order. I set up the chairs and umbrella; Marta carried the cooler and towels. We sat on the beach and relaxed—not a soul as far as one could see with the exception of the occasional boat that passed by. It was almost a half hour before Marta noticed how truly alone we were. That’s when she lost the top of her suit…and the bottom. I was lost in a book when I heard an “Ahem.” I looked up astonished. “Lotion me?” She spun around seductively, teasing me with her body.
“Did you want lotion from the bottle or my special brew from my special personal container?”
“Tell you what—let’s use the special lotion on my inside and the bottle lotion on my outside. How does that sound?” When I nodded she continued, “Let’s do the inside first, OK?” She pulled me up and my suit down before sitting on the blanket and extending her hand to me. I lay next to her in the shade of the umbrella, pulling her soft supple body to mine. We kissed, gently at first as our passion grew. In minutes we were all over each other—we couldn’t wait to couple…to become one. I moved over Marta, spreading her legs as I settled between them.
I placed my head at the junction of those long shapely legs, stuck out my tongue and licked…and licked…and licked. I enjoyed watching Marta squirm under my ministrations. She almost jumped when I pushed my tongue into her tunnel, rubbing gently against her ultra sensitive G-spot. “Peter,” she groaned, “I need you in me…please.”
I leapt forward, kissing her tender lips with mine as I thrust my hard cock running with pre-cum into her waiting canal. Marta showed her appreciation by wrapping her arms around my neck and her legs around my waist. We were engaged in a dance of love and lust, one in which we wiggled and writhed together for what seemed like an hour but was really only minutes until Marta reacted—clamping her thighs around me as she screamed non-stop for almost a minute. At the end she came—shaking, shuddering until she collapsed beneath me drained and covered in a sheet of sweat. I pumped her four more times until I spread my lotion over her womb and vaginal walls. It leaked from her pussy and I watched amazed as she rubbed it into her abdomen and stomach. She lolled on the blanket, closed her eyes and fell asleep. I covered her with a towel to keep the sun from her delicate skin.
We went fishing the following day, rushing the blackfish season just a bit. Fall fishing for blacks is different than in the spring when the preferred bait is sandworms or bloodworms, although clams are sometimes successful, too. In the fall there is only one bait—green crabs. Marta was comical when she first saw the crabs in a plain brown paper bag. I dumped them into an old plastic bucket and covered them with a damp towel. I reached in and grabbed a big one, flipped it over onto its back and cut down the middle. I quartered the crab, removed the legs tossing them overboard and showed Marta how to run the hook through the leg holes. She looked at the big chunk of crab and wondered, “How can a fish get that huge thing into its mouth?”
“I don’t know, but it does. This is the best bait, by far. Just try it.” Marta shook her head as she lowered her hook into the water. After twenty minutes she had yet to get a bite. She pulled her bait in and I changed it. This time she got a nibble—just a little one—but that was followed by a strong bite, one that almost tore her expensive rod and reel from her hands. Marta raised her rod and set the hook, cranked the handle and brought her first black of the fall to the boat. Even after I had netted it she commented, “I still don’t understand it—there’s no way this fish can get that big piece of crab into its mouth.” Then she put on a new piece and went back to work.
On Tuesday I went back to work, spending the morning in a series of meaningless meetings. I had arranged for Marta to meet me for lunch. Tony drove her to school where we joined some of my fellow teachers at a fine restaurant that just happened to serve an outstanding burger even though it wasn’t on the menu. Marta told me that she had been given a new project—modernizing a logo for a well established Fortune 500 company. It would be a challenge and would keep her busy for weeks. Marta explained that she had done this before and that she usually created at least six logos to submit to the company. She stayed with me all afternoon helping me set up my classroom for the opening tomorrow.
We still made love three times a day trying to get her pregnant. The only problem was that I was wearing down. As much as I loved Marta there were physical limits that even I couldn’t break. I woke up in the morning, made love, grabbed a quick shower and drove to work, stopping for coffee and a donut on the way. This all changed one Thursday in early October. I hurried home to do my duty, finding three home pregnancy tests on the kitchen counter. They all said, “Yes.”
I almost fainted from the combined joy and relief. Marta told me she had made an appointment with her gynecologist for the following Friday. It was late so I could go with her. We agreed to say nothing until we knew it was official.
I had been uneasy about Marta being home by herself. With the threats against her life eliminated there was no longer any reason for Tony to be here. I made a suggestion to Marta. I had a student last year whose dad, Russ Sullivan, trained guard dogs. He and I had spoken several times while his daughter Amber was my student and he liked me. Amber had a wonderful experience as my student, blossoming both intellectually and socially. I asked if it were possible for a dog to be both a family pet and a guard dog. “It’s not only possible, that’s the preferred way. When a dog feels he/she is part of a family there’s a natural tendency to be protective. A trained dog is just as loving, but even more protective.”
The following afternoon I took Marta to meet Sara, a nine month old spayed female German Shepherd. She was a beautiful dog; she and Marta hit it off immediately. We made arrangements to come back over the weekend for mutual training as Russ transferred the dominant human in Sara’s life from himself to Marta and me. We took Sara home Sunday afternoon; she was a bargain at $2,500. I walked her around the perimeter of the yard with her at “heel.” We did it again later; I walked and she followed. She stayed within the confines of the yard as Russ had promised she would. I felt much better when I went to work Monday knowing that Marta had not only a companion, but a protector, as well.
We had team teaching in my school—four teachers (English, Math, Social Studies, and Science) all sharing the same students—and this year I had a new member, a Math teacher named Paul DeVito. He was younger than me by a few years. Over the first three weeks of school I learned he was an excellent teacher and a great guy. I invited him to a cookout the last weekend of September. “Come at two. We’ll watch football and drink some beer before dinner. I have someone I want you to meet.”
“Please, Pete, don’t tell me you’re fixing me up! I’m OK, honest.”
“Yeah, right, that’s why you go home and work every afternoon…every evening…and all weekend. You’re new to the area and you don’t know a soul. I have just the person for you—she has a great personality.”
“Oh no! Please, spare me! The last time someone did me a favor like that their dog was better looking.”
“Well, Celia is my wife’s best friend. She’s gorgeous, sexy, fun, and I’ve known her all her life. She’s like a sister to me. I think you’ll be perfect together, besides the worst thing that’ll happen is you’ll get a decent meal for a change.”
“OK, but if she’s a dog I’m never talking to you again.” I laughed all the way to my next class. I told Marta about my plan and she approved immediately. She called Celia, inviting her, but not telling her about Paul. I also called Jimmy and Andrea, inviting them. Saturday Marta and I rose early, cleaned the house and prepped the ribeyes I planned to grill for dinner. Jimmy and Andrea arrived first, followed about ten minutes later by Paul. Celia was last—she was almost always late—so Paul got a good look at her as she walked through the door. I could see that he was surprised. I introduced them to each other, getting the expected reaction from Celia. She pulled me into the kitchen. “You’re fixing me up? Me? Do I look like I need fixing up?”
“No, Celia, but Paul is a great guy and he’s new in town so he knows nobody. Why not be nice to him and give him a chance? He works with me and he’s a wonderful teacher. He’s smart and funny, but he’s a bit shy. Just give him a chance…do it for me…please.” Celia shot some daggers at me but turned to the living room, smiled and sat next to Paul, engaging him in conversation. Twenty minutes later they were still talking. At halftime they walked outside, taking a couple of beers with them. The third quarter was almost over when I checked on them again. They were walking the back yard and Sara was keeping them company, playfully nipping at Celia’s shoes from time to time. I saw Celia make the first move as she reached for Paul’s hand. He took it as they continued to walk. I returned to the game.
At 4:30 Marta brought out some hors d’oeuvres. I called outside, but Celia told me they were OK. At 5:30 I started the grill and cooked the steaks by six. We all talked over dinner and later played some silly board games. Jimmy and Andrea left at nine. Celia pulled Paul up from the couch saying, “We have to go, too. Thanks for a great time.” Paul looked like a deer caught in the headlights.
I saw Paul first thing Monday morning. “That Celia is some woman. She came home with me and we fucked all night, but Sunday morning she made me get up and go to Mass with her. Then we went back home and fucked all day. What an incredible woman!” I felt great that they had gotten along so well. Now it was up to them to see where it went. I wondered what Paul would think when he learned that her father was head of the Long Island mob.
That moment came a few weeks later when he came running into my classroom during our planning period. “Omigod…omigod…you…you…you’ve killed me. Her father is going to kill me. When he finds out I’ve been fucking her I’ll be dead. Thanks a lot, buddy.”
“Relax, Paul nobody’s going to kill you. I assure you Papa already knows. For one thing he knows Celia. He knows Celia can be wild and he knows she has slept around in the past. I promise you he knew that first night when she didn’t come home. Are you dead yet? Of course not, so stop worrying. Trust me…he’s much more interested in marrying her off and getting her out of the house. As long as your intentions are honorable you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Oh, yeah? She invited me to dinner Sunday…with her family. What am I going to do?”
“Do…nothing—just go and enjoy the meal and the company. Jimmy and Andrea will be there—you already know them—and so will Marta and I so you’ll know almost everybody. You’ll love Mama and, frankly, you’ll love Papa, too. Just relax and be yourself. Celia obviously likes you a lot—she’s never invited anyone to dinner before.”
“I hope you’re right. I’m too young to go on the lam.”
I made arrangements to pick Paul up and drive him to the Pelligrini estate. We stopped at the gate as Tony greeted us, “Hi, Pete…Marta, so I guess this is Paul, eh?” I nodded as Paul smiled nervously. “Yeah, you’re one lucky dude hooking up with Celia. Man, she is one hot…oh, sorry, Marta.” He opened the gate and we drove up to the house. The family was there to greet us. Celia ran to the truck, pulling Paul to her and greeting him with a passionate kiss. I saw Paul cringe.
Celia led Paul to the head of the line, introducing him to Papa and Mama. Papa extended his hand; Mama hugged him. I could see Paul relax when he shook hands with Jimmy and kissed Andrea. Marta and I greeted everyone next; I patted Paul on the back as we walked together into the house. Once he had a chance to relax everyone got to meet and know the real Paul; he was witty and sensitive. He treated Celia with the ultimate respect. Nobody reacted at all when Celia sat in his lap, wrapping her arm around his neck.
Dinner was the usual “ordeal.” Fortunately, Marta and I had warned him what to expect so he paced himself throughout the meal. As usual, the women helped Mama clean up and serve the dessert. Marta distributed the cannoli, giving me a kiss instead. We laughed our way through the rest of the evening until it was time to go. I went to round up Paul, but Celia headed me off, “We’ll be taking my car, Petey and thanks. I hate getting fixed up…usually, but not this time. You were right. He is wonderful.”
“That’s funny,” I whispered in her ear as I leaned down to kiss her cheek, “that’s exactly what I told him about you.” She kissed me back and the four of us took our leave.
We were back at Casa Pellegrini at Thanksgiving, seated around the huge table. The Pellegrini tradition is to tell everyone what you are thankful for before eating. This is usually just a sentence or two, but this year it seemed to go on forever. Celia went first; “I’m really thankful that I’ve finally met someone I can love and trust. Despite my initial misgivings I’m thankful that my ‘brother’ Petey had the sense to convince me to give Paul a chance. Thanks, Petey!”
Paul went next: “I’m also thankful for Pete’s intervention in my life. Here I was minding my own business as a happy bachelor and now…. Uh oh, I think I just goofed.” Celia came to his rescue by kissing him and showing everyone the ring she had been hiding up to now. “OK,” Paul continued,” I'm especially thankful for Celia. As you can see I’ve asked her to marry me and, for some reason I can’t fathom, she’s said ‘yes.’” Everyone rose to congratulate the couple. I could see a huge smile on Papa’s face as he shook Paul’s hand.
Next was me: “I’m thankful that fate brought me to Marta, that I was able to save and protect her. More than that, I’m especially thankful that she loves me enough to want to spend all her days with me. I also want to thank all of you for your help and support through our ordeal.” There was polite applause when I finished.
Marta was last. “I think everyone here knows what I’m thankful for…being alive and rescued by the most wonderful man I’ve ever met. I’m thankful for all the help everyone in this family has given me. I’m thankful that I have a real family—my own was nothing like this. And, finally, I’m thankful that I am…PREGNANT!”
Again everyone was up to congratulate us with kisses and back slaps. It was almost five minutes before everyone was seated again. Marta continued, “I’m not quite done yet. I’d like to ask Celia if she would be our child’s godmother and Jimmy if he’d be the godfather.”
Both readily agreed before Jimmy spoke, “I’m thankful we can eat now.”
Paul and Celia were married just before Easter; Celia was three months pregnant at the time. Marta had an uneventful pregnancy, sharing her most intimate moments with…Sara—our dog. The school year was almost over when the principal’s secretary came to my classroom door. “It’s time,” she told me, “someone named Celia—is that Mr. DeVito’s wife?” I nodded nervously. “She called to say Marta’s on her way to the hospital.” I ran out as fast as I could. I jumped into my car and drove. The trip was a blur—I remember nothing of it—until I reached the hospital. Then I couldn’t find a parking place. Finally, I ran in, got directions to the right area. A nurse helped me into a gown, cap, and booties. I felt silly, but Marta was thrilled to see me. I kissed Celia and then Marta. I held her hand through the entire birth. It was incredible. Six hours later I was the father of a beautiful baby girl. I was never happier as I hugged Marta and kissed her, telling her for the thousandth time, at least—“I love you.”
NOTE: While this is a work of fiction all the geographical deions are real and based on my own experiences. Likewise, all the fishing information is also as I have lived it. Unfortunately, Marta is merely a figment of my imagination.