Forbidden Love

Forbidden Love

By

Jamey O’Donnell

I’d been coming into this hardware store for over 20 years and never once thought to ask about the woman working the cash register. She is most definitely a fine specimen of a woman, that’s for sure, but I always figured she had a man working his tail off to keep her happy. I know if I had been her man, that’s what I’d be doing.

She must be close to 50 years old, but she doesn’t look a day over 35, and those perky tits of hers just keep on perking. There’s not a gray hair on her I can see, nor is there a wrinkle anywhere to be found.

Anytime I’ve come into the store to buy a box of nails or something else, she could always be found behind that counter, ringing up a sale and wishing the customer a nice day. I myself made a habit of asking her for a box of bullets whenever I was in there, which she kept on the bottom shelf behind her, just so I could see her bend over and show me that fine ass of hers, and most times I didn’t need the bullets, so I must have at least 300 rounds at home I haven’t used.

Turns out she’s the owner of the store and inherited it from her father many years ago after passing away, probably from working in that store and giving his heart and soul to it. I never remember seeing him, so she must have owned it ever since I’ve been coming in there after moving into town.

Finally, one day I asked her name, and she told me her name was Rose, but I could call her Rosie, so I did every time I saw her.

When I first saw her, I was still married to that spawn of Satan I call my ex-wife, so I didn’t pay a whole lot of attention to Rosie at first. I had enough trouble at home with out daydreaming about another woman, but as soon as me and Dorothy got divorced, I began to entertain the thought of what it would be like to be between the legs of Rosie, giving her everything I had to give. She was my go to fantasy whenever I felt the need to relieve myself, and the fantasies I had about her never came close to what she was really all about.

One thing was certain. I had to know this woman on a personal level, and that was exactly what came to be, though now I am torn between telling her the truth or just keeping my mouth shut.

It was a year ago last April when I had come into the store for a couple rolls of duct tape, and there was hardly anybody in the place. Rosie was stocking a shelf with one of the various things you could find in there, and just so happened to be right next to where she kept the duct tape in there.

I snuck up behind her and reached around her to grab a couple rolls, and in so doing, my crotch rubbed up against her backside, and instead of being offended, she looked over her shoulder and smiled satisfaction toward me, as if she’d like me to grab more rolls.

“Excuse me Rosie. Pardon my reach” I said.

“No excuse needed” Rosie answered. “Am I in your way?”

“Not at all. Nothing I can’t handle.” I said.

“I’m sure of that Bill.’ She giggled.

Aha. Sexual banter. A perfect opening for more conversation, something I had been trying to figure out how to start with her, and now it had begun with no planning on my part.

“I’ll meet you up front at the counter when you are ready Rosie” I told her.

“I’m always ready” she responded. More sex banter.

Nice.

“Is that going to do it for you today Bill?” she asked me.

“Yep. How come your husband isn’t here working with you stocking those shelves?” I asked.

She looked at me quizzically, then giggled a bit.

“I’m not married, that’s why. Do I seem like the type that would be married?” she asked.

“I just figured that a fine-looking woman such as yourself would have a man attached to that ring on your finger” I said to her, pointing to the ring on her wedding finger.

“That’s not a wedding ring. That’s to keep men from hitting on me here at the store, and most of the time it works.” she said with a crooked smile, as if to suggest that’s what I was doing, and though I wasn’t aware, that’s exactly what I was doing, but the same could have been said for her.

“How come a good-looking stud like you doesn’t have a wife at home” she said, pointing to my wedding finger that did not have a ring on it.

“I was married once, but she almost killed me from sadness. It was not what you’d call a happy marriage. I’ve been divorced now for almost 5 years.” I answered. “So tell me, what do you do with yourself when you are not working here?”

The question popped out of my mouth with no forethought behind it.

“I watch a lot of TV and read a lot of books. Boring stuff. That’s what happens when you ward off men with a wedding ring. You go home alone, but considering most men aren’t worth my time, it’s better that way.” She said.

“Maybe the right man hasn’t come along yet?” I said.

“Maybe. Maybe the right man hasn’t asked me out on a date yet?” she said.

She just opened the door for me. It was wide open and all I needed to do was walk right in, which I did.

“Do you like Italian food?” I asked her. “There’s a great Italian restaurant that just opened up about a mile outside of Boise. How would you feel about having dinner with me one of these nights after you close up shop?”

She thought about it all of two seconds.

“I would love that” she answered. “It would have to be on a Sunday though. The store isn’t open on Sunday, so that would be the perfect time for me to go!”

“Sunday it is then. How about this Sunday?” I asked.

“Perfect. Let’s do it.” She said, and then grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and wrote down her address for me to pick her up.

“I’ll be there to get you at 7” I said to her, and walked out of the store, walking on clouds I hadn’t tread on for many years.

It had been a while since I had taken a woman out on a date, and to be truthful, there hadn’t been many women that interested me enough, but Rosie was in a whole different ballpark.

She was probably a good 5 or 6 years older than I was, but she was finer than any woman I had ever seen in the Boise area since I have lived here, so age wasn’t a stumbling block I would let get in my way.

Besides, it’s not like she was old enough to be my mother, so we weren’t talking about a lot of years difference.

I was super excited for Sunday to come, and it couldn’t come soon enough.

When it arrived, I put on my nicest silk shirt and trousers, and just a hint of cologne, and got into my Chevy Silverado, proceeding to her home just off the property of Boise State College, a stately old Victorian home that was well maintained, obviously passed down to her from her father along with the store.

I parked in the gravel driveway and walked up to the veranda, then rang the old time doorbell.

When she opened the door, she almost took my breath away.

Stunning is a word that doesn’t seem to measure up to how gorgeous she looked to me.

She was wearing ruby red lipstick, a beautiful white summer floral dress, and high heeled fuck me pumps, showing off her legs and everything else she possessed.

She opened the screen door and asked me inside, and when I walked into the living room, I was floored by the perfectness of it. The home itself had to be built in the early 1900’s, and all the furniture and knick-knacks inside of it complimented each other, as if they were all made especially for her house.

There were lots of pictures on the walls, pictures of family and old photos of the hardware store back in the day, and pictures of her as a little girl with her mom and dad. It was like stepping back into time, to a time where there were a lot less worries in the world, where time stood still.

Her not being married seemed to make a lot more sense to me now, as it would be hard to imagine a man fitting into this shrine of her past, as everything was so in tune with who she was and where she came from.

A stranger, a man with no ties to this house would ruin everything, I thought.

This is exactly how it should be and should never change, which was probably a strange thing for me to be thinking since I wanted to be part of her life, but I immediately came to the conclusion that if I were to be a piece of her puzzle, it would have to be at a distance, and I was ok with that, and at that moment, it was enough to just be there.

“Give me a couple minutes and I’ll be ready, ok?” she asked as she walked into the kitchen.

“Take your time” I answered her. “We’ve got the whole night” I said, with the hint of the possibility I would be back inside her home before the evening ended.

On the way to the restaurant, we talked about a variety of things, how she was very close with her father and mother, how her mother passed away before her father, and how she felt her mother’s passing contributed to her dad’s passing, probably from a broken heart.

I also started to get a glimpse of her romantic heart, as she told me she had never even been close to being married, but longed to meet a man she could fall in love with and share her heart, but the time never seemed right, nor did the man, but I was hoping to change all that.

Over dinner, we continued our conversation over several bottles of wine, and she began to open up even more to me, telling me she was adopted as a baby.

Her parents could not have children, so they adopted her from a very young woman that lived north of Coeur d’Alene, up in the panhandle, which was coincidentally where I was from, and they raised her as if she were their own flesh and blood, and loved her as much as two people could love a child, and she in turn loved them the same, but soon after she graduated from Boise State with a degree in business management, she began to wonder about the woman that had given birth to her.

She wanted to know why she was given up, and she also wanted to know about her roots and her heritage.

After searching through records that were sealed, which she found a way to open, she found the woman and met with her briefly, shortly before she died, and the answers to her questions were answered for the most part, allowing her to move on with her life with a peacefulness she may not have had going forward.

Her birth mother was 16 when she had her, and the father was an 18 year old boy that enlisted in the army, leaving her to deal with her pregnancy at home with her parents.

After a lot of convincing, her parents finally talked her into giving the baby up for adoption once it was born, and two days after she came into the world, she was picked up by her parents and brought down to Boise to be raised as their daughter.

The birth mother had always wondered about her and was glad that she found her after all those years, giving her peace of mind and closing a chapter of her life that needed closing.

From that moment on, Rosie decided that she would not bed down a man unless she was either going to marry him, or she was using protection to make sure she would not end up like her birth mother.

Unfortunately for Rosie, she had never met a man she considered marriage material, so she had used a lot of birth control throughout her life, leaving a part of her empty, missing out on what could have been, had the right man come along.

It would be one of her biggest regrets, not having a child.

We talked about me, my horrid marriage, and my childhood as well, and my desire to meet a woman I could have a loving relationship with, without the drama and the constant upkeep of supporting a woman incapable of supporting herself, needing me to be the sole breadwinner in order for the family to survive.

I didn’t go to college, so I was not in the same class as men who did, forcing me to work jobs that didn’t necessarily suit me, but had to be worked to pay all of the rent and all of the bills.

Mind you, I make pretty good money and always have, but the thought of doing all the work while my wife sits on the couch all day watching soap operas and eating bon bon’s never did sit too well with me. It would be nice to share the burden of life’s expenses with someone contributing, instead of getting fat and doing nothing.

By the end of dinner, Rosie was feeling no pain, and neither was I.

I opened the truck door for her first, and after she got in, she reached over and opened my door, kicking it out a little so it would be open for me once I got around to my side of the truck .

Class woman, I thought to myself. As soon as I got in the truck, she sat next to me on the bench seat, and put her arm around my neck, then leaned over and planted a big wet kiss on me, tasting her lipstick and wine, while telling me how much she liked me.

The way she kissed me was unlike any kiss I had ever had before.

It was sensual and loving, and it felt like I was home. It was natural as the clouds in the sky, and I wanted more, so I turned to her and stuck my tongue in her mouth, kissing her long and deeply, never wanting it to end.

I started the truck and pulled out of the restaurant parking lot, driving down the road toward her home, and she must have noticed how aroused her kiss had made me, because she put her hand on my leg and began stroking me through my pantleg, then she unzipped my pants and pulled it out, then laid down on the seat and put me in her mouth, making it extremely hard for me to drive and stay in my lane.

She continued as I drove, never stopping for air, and just as I was about to climax, she stopped, sat up, and said “Not yet”.

I was surprised I didn’t veer off the highway from my excitement, but continued driving as I was totally exposed, with her looking at me and smiling.

As I pulled into her gravel driveway, she reached over and put me back in my pants, then zipped them up.

“Let’s go inside and finish what we started” she said as she opened the truck door.

I didn’t need to be told twice.

Once inside the door closed behind me, she asked me to unzip her dress, and the fun started in her living room, continued into the kitchen, and culminated upstairs in her bedroom.

I’m in my late 40’s, and I can tell you that we did positions I hadn’t done in 20 years, with most I’d never done period. I was amazed at how athletic and pliable she was, but more amazed at her absolutely perfect body.

Her breasts were magnificent, natural, and stood up like soldiers at attention, and her ass was something to eat dinner off of.

She literally had the body of a 30-year-old, and it was all I could do to keep up with her.

I tasted her everywhere, and she tasted like honey.

After several bouts of every kind of position you could imagine, with no orifices left unattended, we finally stretched out on her four-poster bed spent, falling asleep at around 3 in the morning.

In my years as an adult, I can honestly say this woman schooled me in the art of sex.

Not only did I last longer than I ever knew possible, I came three times, and that has never happened before.

I stopped counting her orgasm’s at 5, because they just kept coming.

Before we nodded off, she turned on her side toward me and said “Wow”

I knew then we would be doing this again, and I couldn’t wait to recharge my battery for that day.

I woke about 7 that next morning with her straddling me.

This woman is insatiable, I thought to myself.

“Good morning. You were magnificent last night” she said to me after giving me a kiss. “I have to open the store at 9, so why don’t you come downstairs, and I’ll make you some eggs before you go.”

“Good morning. Nice way to be woken up. I’ll be down in a second.” I said to her as I reached down for my pants.

Watching her make my eggs at the stove, wearing nothing but a sheer little kimono, made me think how lucky I was to be with this beautiful woman, and I didn’t even think that I myself might be late for work. I too had to clock in at 9, but the thought of it completely escaped me, still mesmerized by the charm of her house and the sexiness of its inhabitant.

She set the plate down in front of me with a cup of coffee, and I began to eat while scanning the kitchen, taking in all the eye candy from all the years the house had been standing, stuff from her parents and things she had added along the way.

Then I saw something that didn’t add up..

I saw a picture of someone that looked familiar to me. Very familiar.

It was a young woman in her early 20’s, smiling a gorgeous smile, and looking very similar to Rosie, but I had seen this picture before. It had a familiarity to it.

It was an old picture, at least 50 or 60 years old judging by its patina.

“Who is that?” I asked, pointing at the picture in question.

“That’s my birth mother. She gave it to me when I found her before she died. Wasn’t she beautiful?”

I began choking on my eggs and she got up from the table to pat my back, but I ushered her away.

“Went down the wrong pipe. Sorry” I said to her, telling her I was fine, but in truth, I was anything but fine at that moment.

I was more confused than anything.

“I’m going to jump in the shower. Just leave everything on the table and I’ll take care of it. Do you want to get together again tonight since last night was so much fun? Or is it too soon?” she asked.

“No, I mean yes. No, it’s not too soon. Yes, let’s get together tonight” I answered her. “By the way, what was your mother’s name?”

“Rebecca. Rebecca Prescott.” she answered, and my balls were suddenly in my throat.

After she left the room, I got up from the table and moved closer to the photograph to get a better look, and my fears were not swept away as I had hoped.

Even though I told her I was from the Coeur D’Alene, there was no way she could possibly know, especially because I don’t believe she ever asked me what my last name was.

Bill Prescott is my name, and the woman I was looking at in the photo was none other than a very young photo of my mother, and I thought to myself, of all the cruel tricks God could play on me, this one took the cake.

I was 80% sure I had just spent the night and had torrid sex with my sister, a sister I never knew I had.

I immediately got up from the table and raced out the door to my truck, driving away in a cold sweat and wondering how God was going to strike me dead, not for the illicit act I partook in, but for wanting to do it again, sister be damned.

Incest was something Mormons and hillbillies did, not normal people.

I had to be sure, so I went home and searched through all the old boxes that contained the photographs my parents had stowed away before they died, and after several boxes opened, I found the same exact picture that had been propped up on a shelf in Rosie’s kitchen, only this one had writing on the back that said “15 years old, Freshmen Year, Aquinas High School, Coeur D’Alene, Idaho”

I called in sick to work and spent the day pacing the floors throughout my house, wondering what it was I was supposed to do.

If I told her that she was my sister, who knows what she’d do. She might even kill herself from the shame, or she’d sell the hardware store and move as far away from me as she could, and who could blame her?

It’s not like it’s my fault, but I could understand her wanting to run away.

If I did tell her, it would definitely be over between us, which it should probably end anyway, but what if I didn’t tell her? What if we just continued on our path, and I kept this secret all to myself? I would know, but nobody else would.

The truth of the matter was I already had feelings for her. To say I was in love would be premature, but I was certainly heading in that direction. The carnal bliss that we shared last night was immeasurable, at least for me, and I’m pretty sure it was for her as well.

After an afternoon of deliberation in my head, I decided that regardless of my feelings for her, I had to tell her the truth, which would be difficult any way I tried to present it, but it had to be done.

I arrived at her house just after 8. She had closed up shop at 6 on the button, then came home to prepare herself for another night of marathon fucking.

She sat on the couch next to me, then straddled me and stuck her tongue in my mouth, and she could feel me getting hard underneath her.

That is when I stopped her.

“Rosie, sit down next to me. I have something that I need to say” I said, my voice quaking.

She got off my lap with a serious look on her face, probably because of the serious look on mine.

“That picture of your mother in the kitchen. I recognized it immediately because I had seen it before. I went home to look through my family pictures just to make sure.” I said.

Her face started to change even more, becoming more intense.

“That picture is of my mother too. It was taken when she was 15 at Aquinas High School in Coeur D’Alene. I have the same exact picture at home”

She gasped, then moved away from me on the couch.

“You said her name was Rebecca Prescott. That was my mother’s name. That’s why I choked on my eggs this morning” I said, hardly able to get the words out.

We both sat on the couch for a good hour, not saying a word to each other, but the one thing she didn’t do that I expected her to do was cry. She instead just looked away, as if she was thinking about what to say, then she suddenly got up and went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

I was seriously thinking she might come out of the bathroom with a gun and shoot me, but then the door opened, and she walked out stark naked, leaned against the wall and said,

“I won’t tell anyone if you won’t”