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CLIMBING THE FAMILY TREE, CHAPTER TWO
When Cindy found her biological father, she and he experienced something very common among people who meet their biological parent of the opposite sex for the first time as adults:
Instant sexual chemistry and instant sexual attraction.
Cindy did not tell her husband, that loyal, high-earning dentist, that she was going to start looking for her biological father. Cindy had already told her husband so many lies and half-truths about what had happened when she went to Parador to visit her biological mother. It was easier to tell him that the entire experience had been such a rush (an absolutely true statement) that she was going to let the excitement and the new energy of having met her biological mother settle back down (a half-truth) before doing any more climbing of the family tree.
While it was true that after having seen up-close how her mother lived in Parador, on her mountain-top goat-farm, and having become intimately familiar with her mother’s community, Cindy knew, for her own sanity, that she needed to let all that energy settle back down, far away, in a distant latitude. However, what was not true about what Cindy told her husband, was that the feeling of being there, face to face, breathing the same air as her own birth mother, was such a high, such a rush of amazing, big, birth-parent energy, that Cindy knew she had to repeat it, and soon. And her unknown birth-father was Cindy’s best shot.
Plus, Cindy’s mother had given her a clue: she had heard from one of her Stateside friends, a woman whom she had known since long-ago, from back in those times when Cindy’s mom was a loving young woman with a baby on the way and no ring on her finger; but that old friend told Cindy’s mom recently that the man who had knocked Cindy’s mother up with Cindy–a then-young, then-married man who had a passionate affair one summer with the young but legal clerk in his office (Cindy’s birth-mom)–was still alive and living not too far from where he and Cindy’s mother met, loved, and made life (Cindy), sent out into the world in a bushel of reeds, now returned to find them both.
Cindy did not tell her husband about those new clues to her biological father’s existence, such as his name and location, that Cindy’s birth-mother was able and enthusiastic to provide.
Nor did Cindy tell her husband, whom she dutifully and enthusiastically (seeming) did fuck immediately upon returning home from her trip to visit her mother in Parador. And whom Cindy kept fucking with regularity enough to make her absolutely above any suspicion by him, not that the happy-go-lucky and work-obsessed dentist suspected her of anything at all beyond being a happy wife. He was sure she was happy to fuck only as frequently as he wanted to and only in the ways that he wanted to. He was a confidant man, on the top of his game, professionally. But she did not tell him, that, from their first returning and reuniting fuck and through every subsequent fuck back in their marital bed in their marital home, she did not tell him that it felt… different.
What felt different? He felt different. The way she felt him when she felt him when he fucked her, or, when she let him fuck her, he felt different to her. The reason for this, she thought, was that she had been still sore when she came home to him.
When she fucked her husband that first night back after he picked her up at the airport, she was still sore, and she still hurt, but she could not let him know that. So she gave herself to him and seemed as glad to see him as he was to see her.
But she still was sore in places and it was okay, pain-wise, because when Cindy and her husband fucked that reunion night, she could feel that he was not touching her in those places where she was sore, where she still ached from how she had been stretched and pounded.
When her husband made those sounds he makes and came in her, Cindy caught herself–her mind was millions of miles away–well, thousands of miles away, in Parador, but there she was, naked atop her naked husband and his cum was dribbling out of her.
Welcome back Stateside honey.
Welcome back, indeed.
So Cindy put it off and Cindy tried to be the dutiful and loving housewife again.
She tried. But, in a matter of weeks, she decided to try other things, instead.
That big, birth-parent energy.
Cindy went to the local library and did the searches on the library’s icky free computers, so that there would be no record on any of her home devices.
A landscaping company bearing his name. Oh, my. Oh, my!
She got a new, cheap phone, a burner phone, which she kept hidden in a makeup bag. She memorized the number almost immediately. She was dying to use it.
When her husband took her body for a maintenance missionary ride on a weeknight, it was those ten digits in her mind, that she repeated over and over, matching each thrust and then closing her eyes and seeing that secret telephone number over and over again, like winning lottery numbers while mecidiyeköy escort her husband hit his simple pleasure-release inside her.
Jackpot.
Her birth mother was right.
Her birth father was a two-hour drive away, conveniently located at the same highway exit as the largest, closest outlet malls.
It was as if he moved there knowing what perfect cover it was, Cindy thought to herself. She loved that outlet mall, in particular. She wondered if she had ever seen him there when she took her daughter back-to-school shopping.
Her husband did not even hear her when she mumbled something about going outlet shopping that day, while he was busy in his morning shower-shave-out-the-doorness. He gave her a “sure, have fun,” and a kiss, and Cindy’s heart did flips and her lungs stopped working for a moment.
But once he was gone and the kids were at school, she could breathe again.
A fresh state road went direct to the outlet malls. Two lanes in each direction, divided. Cindy’s present last year for being such a good housewife to such a successful dentist was a red two-seater Lexus. The kids called it “Mom’s Car,” but Cindy never thought of it by that name.
At all. Ever.
But she was a good mother, so when they do call it Mom’s Car, she smiles and moves the conversation along. Nags, if necessary.
To Cindy, the car was Red, and she and Red did more and more things together, now that she did not have the kids to ferry around all the time in the SUV. Big Grey, Cindy called it, but only to herself.
But, now, trips to the spa, trips to yoga, trips to massage therapy, trips to cut-and-color appointments where the co-eds had theirs done: Cindy took those trips in Red. Including the trips to cosmetologists where she and the co-eds fought back tears while some of the sweetest aestheticians she had ever met caused her pains not even felt during childbirth.
But even when her husband took her for granted, took her perfectly pristine, waxed pussy for merely satisfactory, Cindy knew Red always knew how good she looked.
Well, still looked.
“Who are you kidding, you look better than ever, especially after Parador,” her inner voice, which she attributed to her sportscar because it was her inner-voice of pure confidence and satisfaction, told her as she wound over those low, southern hills.
She and Red drove fast everywhere these days, but they especially drove fast to the outlet malls.
A two hour trip?
They made it in ninety minutes.
And then… no plan at all. Drive around, look for a landscaping truck? Yes, that felt totally sensible. Red agreed. Three-quarters of a tank of gas. Lovely weather to cruise around the exurbs like you’re a successful housewife thinking of moving her family further out, someplace even more… private.
Private. Yes, Cindy thought. Away from prying small-town eyes.
Cindy drove around lazily for two hours, getting a feel for the layout of the remote southern town where the outlets had been built.
Red’s convertible top down, perfect country day exurban air blowing through Cindy’s long hair.
Her rack just happening to look just amazing in this just-so-casual top and outfit she just-so-casually plotted out in her mind during so many trips to and from the Organic Grocery Chain.
She eventually found the county buildings, huddled together near the interstate, that passed for the town’s square. All of the county’s services were there, fire, police, ambulance response, and the town itself was listed as unincorporated. A region that had once been nothing but poor farms on weak, swampy land, surrounded by a whole lot of wilderness, had been transformed. Thanks to the interstate going one way, and now this state road going the other, there was prosperity out of swamps and for that prosperity, the guardians to take their cut.
The cluster of county services buildings, all hailing from when the outlet mall first went in twenty years ago, led Cindy through access roads to the other, newer proof the exurb’s non-retail commercial wealth.
Cindy, in an exploratory mode, took Red for lazy loops around the impeccably-landscaped corporate center behind the county buildings, pristinely curated and manicured complexes of anonymous modernist boxes, surrounded by ample parking with many shade trees.
The office complex gave way to more retail-level white-collar businesses. There were a series of medical offices. An investment counselor. A home-loan company with a friendly name. And then, in a corner of this larger development, taking up its own square of the development… with most of that a considerably large, fenced-in yard, a functional main building, connected to a greenhouse and more mixed indoor-outdoor space… a parking lot full of heavy-duty Silverados with matching side-logos, it was an obviously outdoorsy business…that had her biological father’s last name on it.
The sign above the door of the main building.
The melikgazi escort name on the logos of the trucks.
Whose’s landscaping company did those logos say those trucks belonged to?
Her Daddy’s landscaping company.
Cindy felt a rush of terror and joy at once, in every joint of her body.
His name, his property, Cindy thought.
You don’t have his name, but you know you’re his property, Red thought.
Hush, Cindy told Red in her mind. Oh you hush.
Cindy wanted to park and go inside. But, she thought, if she went in, and if the people there knew her father well and if they saw a strong resemblance but had never met her before or heard of her before… she could not cause a scandal as her way of introduction.
No.
She had to be patient.
So, she parked in one of the parking lots nearby, where she could observe the cars in the landscaping company’s parking lot.
Her Daddy’s landscaping company’s parking lot.
Oh my god oh my god oh my god why are we doing this?
In Cindy’s mind, Red just smiled.
She turned off her engine and rolled her windows up, closed her convertible roof. In this day and age, she could merely be a rich housewife, parking while talking on her cell phone. How much nicer to be parked and having a phone conversation than doing so while driving, as so many people seemed to do in this day and age, as well. Cindy was highly critical of distracted drivers.
Once she felt safe in her make-shift observation post, Cindy felt calm and peaceful.
Watching and waiting, and the longer she watched and waited the more she could dream about all the different possibilities. All the things that could come. That would come.
But because the Universe wanted this to happen, per Cindy’s understanding, it only took slightly more than an hour.
“I see that’s where I get my height from,” Cindy thought immediately. “Naturally tall, naturally slim… well, was, this is just, natural spread with age, I can see why my mother smiled the way she did when she was recalling him for me.”
And then he got into a heavy-duty Chevy Silverado in the parking lot. One of the pickups that had the tasteful logo of the landscaping company on it. Her Daddy’s landscaping company. Cindy was certain now.
He put the truck in gear, and pulled out of the parking lot, headed down the road to the interstate.
Cindy roared her two-seater to life.
She bounced around behind him a tasteful distance, following him to the shops nearest the outlet mall, where he drove his pickup through the Coffee Chain’s drive-thru line. Cindy observed from the Coffee Chain’s parking lot; watching the truck order, then exit.
Then Cindy followed.
She followed the Silverado down a sleepy, exurban country lane, houses few and far between but the lawns and plantings expertly laid out and maintained. The truck turned a sudden left down a blind turn, Cindy sped up the follow, only to find herself nearly on top of the Silverado now on the new street he turned off onto.
She braked fast, and when it was clear she was leaning heavily on her brakes, the Silverado swerved in front of her, pulling the cab of his truck far enough forward to be risking a dent to the truckbed, only, which was now obstructing her lane.
Cindy was a good driver and the Lexus was regularly maintained. She stopped with two meters to spare, at least.
But he was looking right down at her from the cab of his truck.
He had his window rolled down. Aviator sunglasses on. Movie-star handsome, like an older star who was a Major Star decades ago, but has aged gracefully into a face that is still as handsome. Even wiser now, too.
But that curl to his lips, friendly but maybe not so, when he said, “Okay, red sportscar, why you following me?”
Cindy recognized that curl. She recognized all of that expression, honestly. She had seen it in the mirror and in photos friends took of her, a thousand times.
And now with that look, he had asked her a question.
She knew she did not need to say anything to reply to him.
She put the red sportscar into park. She pulled the level that began the automatic convertible.
He was a patient man. He saw the convertible opening. He waited while it did.
The top of the red sportscar came down slowly, slowly enough that Cindy could see his face change as more of her face came into view.
His look was quizzical, and she saw that. But then she took off her sunglasses, and his face came apart.
She knew he knew why she was following him, and he looked like he knew it.
When he regained his breath, he said the name of her birth mother in Parador. “You’re her daughter.” It was not a question.
“I am.”
Holy shit why am I crying? I was not supposed to be crying when this happened! Cindy thought to herself. Hold those back, you did your eyes fully before this drive!
“Wow,” he said. “You look great.” He looked at her: a beauty, a quarter-century meram escort younger than he, sitting in the driver’s seat of a red imported roadster. “Nice car. Like to drive?”
“Love it. Nice truck.”
“Thanks.”
“Like to landscape?”
He laughed. “It’s a living.” Casual at his success. “Hey, let’s not just sit here–” he put the truck in park, stepped out of the cab.
Cindy was alarmed. “But, we can’t block the road–“
“‘Course we can,” he said, “nobody ever comes down this lane, why else do you think I picked it?”
Cindy laughed. Undid her seat belt. Opened her car door. His hand grabbed the door as it opened, and he holds it open for her.
The glint of sun off his wedding band on his left ring finger.
“And I fell right into your trap,” she chides herself, out loud. She stands up, out of her car. Her eyes going up his legs, his middle, hips, chest, his shoulders, his neck, his face, his eyes. His aviators are off. His eyes are the color of her eyes. Oceans during thunderstorms.
He wears the sturdy fabrics of a man who works outdoors to tame the outdoors and make it beautiful. She can picture his employees liking him, admiring him. She can sense he is a leader ready to lead his people wherever they are and wherever they need help. He smells manly and clean to Cindy, he has the confident and healthy smile of an older man who has a fleet of trucks with his name on them, working for him at this very moment.
“It’s great to meet you,” he says as he is putting his arms around her.
As she smells the greatest scent she has ever smelt on a man in her entire life. She is enraptured in this man, in his scent, though they met perhaps a minute ago. Cindy’s eyes are closed and her face is in his neck. This is not a nice-to-meet-you hug, this is a come here, nuzzling hug, because Cindy has made it so, because Cindy cannot stop it from being so.
“Greatomeetyoutoo,” Cindy says into his neck.
“I can’t believe this,” he says, his hands in her hair, smelling her hair and smelling how safe and lovely this woman is.
He asks about her birth mother, yes, I am her daughter, Cindy confirms again. I was adopted right after I was born, my adoptive parents have now passed and I went on a mid-life crisis quest, Cindy babbles out. She laughs and he laughs. Married to a dentist. Great healthy kids.
That’s great, that’s great, he says. I had no idea she had a child. She disappeared for awhile, but I had no idea she left to deliver, to give birth.
“She did,” Cindy said.
“Thank god she did,” he said. “So, what were you hopin’ for?”
“Oh, you know,” Cindy said. “To get a good look at you. See if I could pick you out of a crowd.” She teased him.
He laughed. “Oh?” he said. “Not lookin’ for a lan’scapin’ job? You drive one of those but can you drive a triple-mower?”
She laughed. They were there alone, on a shady country lane in the middle of nowhere, relatively speaking. The air was warm. The air smelled sweet, like something was in bloom somewhere.
Cindy looked up into his eyes.
He looked down into hers, and at her waiting lips.
He kissed her but she kissed back immediately.
Never had a kiss felt so right for either of them. Or deepened so slowly, so gradually, so sweetly… so intensely deep.
Right there on a lonely country road. Perfect place as any for a family reunion.
“You kiss so good,” Cindy told her Daddy, taking a quick breath. “So do you,” her Daddy told her, running out of breath himself, but getting right back to kissing his long-lost daughter as soon as she was ready.
She was ready quick. Her hands explored his arms, she caressed across his chest. “You’re so strong,” she told him, feeling his muscles.
“The better to hold you with,” he said, flexing for her and letting her feel his body to her delight.
“Oh, Daddy, let me suck your fingers, please,” Cindy said, and the older man, old enough to be her father because he was her father, let this thirty-something beauty nurse daintily on the tips of thick, yardworker’s fingers, first one, then two at once. Her eye contact making it feel extra-sinful, extra-electric, sending signals directly down to that spot on the underside of the head of his cock.
Flexing so hard in his cotton boxer-briefs, in his cotton blue jeans.
“You don’t have to say it,” he said.
“But I do have to say it,” Cindy said. “I’m Cindy. I’m your daughter. You’re my father, and it’s natural that we love each other.” And then she put his fingers back in her mouth, deeper. Not merely sucking the tips anymore, but showing him what her mouth could do.
“Oh my god,” he said, more from sensations she was giving him than from her words.
“You can say it,” she said, his fingers still in her mouth, so it came out “youcazhayt.”
“Oh god,” he said, taking in a breath. “You’re my daughter, Cindy. Oh my god, I guess I’m your father.”
She took his fingers out of her mouth. “Guess so,” Cindy said. “Why don’t we sit in the cab of your truck awhile and talk, ‘kay?”
He nodded. He let her guide him by the wrist, back to the open door of his truck.
She went around to the other side, lifted herself up to the passenger door, pulled the handle open and there she was.
“Wow,” she said, pulling the passenger door closed behind her. “Every southern girls favorite place. In the truck with her Daddy.”
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