textfiles/sex/EROTICA/T/trinit08.txt

                        Chapter Eight

     Delbert's father was head of the Jonathan Barrett Bible College
and one of Daddy's closest advisors and friends.  At fifty-eight,
old man Atkins was also the closest thing to a father-figure Daddy
had, and I had always thought of him as my adopted grandfather.
Indeed, among intimates, I called him Grandpa.  Even when I played a
sexy Bathsheba in a church play and Mr. Atkins couldn't stop looking
at me, I took it as disapproval from an elder.  I saw him pretty
much as Daddy saw him: a wise and kindly old gentleman.
     And that's what he was.  I don't intend to demean him just
because he also turned out to be a human being.  Perhaps the hardest
lesson I learned in life was that great personages remain great
personages for mature people even when we discover they are normal.
They eat, shit, have sex, feel, cry, laugh, fart, dream dreams,
experience disappointment, work, play, get hiccups, and do
everything the rest of us do.
     But I was barely nineteen that April, and I did not have the
maturity to appreciate this principle when I discovered my
grandfather figure was also a man.  Like Moses at an advanced age,
his eye was not dimmed nor his natural force abated.
     So I thought nothing of bouncing into Mr. Atkins's office in my
ragged jean shorts with the slit in one leg, and interrupting his
meeting with Daddy.  Daddy and I were going fishing, after all, not
to a White House reception.  After the usual bright greetings and
kisses, Daddy said he and Mr. Atkins would be another hour, so I
plopped down on the soft leather couch with a magazine.  I laid my
head back on the arm and threw one leg over the back of the couch
and started to read.
     Daddy cleared his throat after an embarrassing silence. "Uh,
sweetheart, we're actually in a meeting.  Why don't you wait for me
in the coffee shop?"
     I slapped the magazine against the floor and gave out a breath
of exasperation.
     "Let her stay, Jonathan.  Indeed, she may have some insights
into the problem."
     I looked at him with delight, but his eyes were glued to my
legs.  "What problem?" I asked.
     He grazed his way up my legs as he spoke, nibbled over my bare
midriff, crawled over my bulging halter, paused briefly on my lips,
and finally made eye contact.
     "We were discussing a change we think we detect in our people,
Trinity," he said to the exposed flesh of my inner thigh.  "A
preoccupation of some sort that has made our fellowship with the
saints feel distant and strained," he explained to my crotch and
belly.  "It is as though, uhhh --" he searched for his words in the
dimples on my stomach -- "as though a spirit is at work contrary to
the interests of God's people."  The jutting mounds of my breasts
expanded with the knowledge he imparted to them.
     When he made it to my lips, I couldn't keep myself from getting
playful with the old man.  I licked them sensually.
     "Uhhhhh . . .."  He lost his train of thought and journeyed
hopefully on to my twinkling eyes.
     I looked casually at Daddy who knew exactly what I was doing.
He gave me a scolding look that feigned disapproval.
     "How does it show up, exactly?" I asked Mr. Atkins.
     "A very perceptive question.  It shows up as eyes averted that
used to make contact, tension in families where peace had been,
absenteeism among formerly faithful staff members, teachers not
attending to routine, a subtle demoralization in our community.  My
own personal heartbreak was my son's behavior and his arrest,
behavior which I believe is symptomatic of this problem we must
resolve."
     He was right.  I did have some insight into the problem.
     "And then there are certain accounting anomalies."  He checked
with Daddy to be sure it was ok.  Daddy nodded his assent.  "Funds
are being shuffled according to the auditor, Trinity.  A most
disturbing thing.  There are expenditures for items we cannot seem
to find.  The paper trail for many of our functions seems to be,
let's say, less careful than it used to be."
     "Wow," I summarized insightfully.  What's going on?"
     "Satan," Daddy answered.  "We've done something that has
allowed Satan to bend the saints to his purpose.  I feared a
diminution of our purity of purpose when we expanded to a national
television ministry.  I should have heeded your admonition, Emmett,
and vetoed the Board."
     The secretary stuck her head in the door.  "Jonathan? Did you
want to see Junior Moreland?  He's waiting for you in your office at
the Tabernacle."
     "Oh, shoot!  I forgot all about Junior!  Gee, Sweetheart, we
may not get to go fishing after all."
     "Nonsense," Mr. Atkins said.  "You go keep your appointment
with Junior, and I'll entertain Trinity until you get back.  The
fish won't know you're late."
     Uh-oh.  Oh, well.  If Grandpa wants to play, I'm game.  Why
should he be any different from anybody else?
     Daddy left.
     "Put your legs down, young woman," Mr. Atkins said firmly.
"You and I are about to have a frank conversation."
     I rose to the challenge.  "My, Grandpa, what big teeth you have
all of a sudden."  I decided to push him to the brink.  As you've
seen, it was a reflex for me.  I moved off the couch and walked
around his huge desk and leaned the cheeks of my ass against it and
braced myself on it with both hands behind me.  It made my breasts
prominent.
     I looked down on him as I had his son.  He took his time
raising his gaze from my legs to my eyes.
     "So.  What's on your mind, old man?"
     "My son.  He confessed his sins to me.  He described his
'Goddess' in embarrassing detail, Trinity.  When he mentioned the
robe this young woman wore, I remembered your Bathsheba. It was you,
wasn't it?"
     We studied each other's eyes.  I was in need.  This wise and
kind old man might be the balm my disturbed soul needed. I
confessed.  "Yeah.  It was me, Grandpa."
     "Trinity.  Will you let me kiss your legs?"
     Well, shit!  I should've known.  Here I was thinking I may have
found a much-needed spiritual advisor, and he turns out to be an old
fool lecher.
     I pushed myself away from the desk and raised my leg high,
placing my dirty sneaker on the back of his high-backed leather
chair next to his face.
     "Kiss them, Grandpa."
     He rolled his head to one side and kissed my ankle
passionately.  I saw the tension leave his body.  He kissed slowly
up to my calf.  I reached down and ran my fingers through his gray
hair.  A dignified hair style just didn't fit what he was doing.  I
messed it up for him and caressed his head tenderly as he kissed.  I
felt sorry for him.  A decent old man with a decent old need.
     "I understand, Grandpa."
     He looked up at me, surprised, grateful for my saying it.
"Thank you, Trinity.  You can't know how much it means to hear you
say that, given who we are and what I'm doing."
     "You're still the same wise and lovely old Grandpa you were
before.  I don't think any less of you for having needs like this.
You shouldn't think yourself to be less than you are, either."
     I touched his face and guided it gently to my inner thigh
stretched out boldly in my brazen position.  "Enjoy it. Don't think
about sin or pride or shame or anything of the sort.  Just think
about kissing Trinity's legs as you've wanted to do for a year.
Poor Grandpa.  I had no idea.  If I had known, I would have let you
a long time ago."
     He kissed.  He pushed his face into the flesh of my leg, and I
helped him by pressing my leg against his face and moving his head
back and forth with my hand.  He kissed under my leg, he kissed my
inner leg, he ran his mouth along my spacious thigh.  He was feeling
the muscles of my other leg, tenderly and unhurriedly feeling me,
letting his hand know joy as he squeezed my taut, flaring calf,
running his hand up the back of my standing leg while nuzzling his
mouth and nose in the softness between my raised leg and the
womanhood he knew was hidden in my jeans.
     He slid out of his chair to the floor, and I put my leg over
his shoulder, my foot on the seat of the chair.  He pushed his face
into my crotch and inhaled through my jeans. I cupped his head at
the nape of his neck and pulled his face deep into me, rubbing my
leg on his face.  He wrapped both arms around my standing leg as he
rooted, and I pulled on him and hunched for him.


     It occurred to me that he was awfully old and that I might
break something.  I straightened up and took my leg off him, pushing
him gently back so his head rested on the chair. He felt my legs now
with both hands, and I let him.
     I wondered what a man his age who had spent his life in
Christian work knew about sex.  I was starting to need my pussy
sucked, but I didn't want to upset him by making him do something
that might never have occurred to him was something anybody ever
did.  So I just stood there in front of him and let him feel me and
look at me.
     Being careful was not something I was used to.  But then, I
also wasn't used to letting my adopted Grandpa, a treasured old
family friend, sit beneath me and lust on me.  If I let me be
myself, I was afraid it would scare him into a heart attack or
repulse him.
     But I had to do something besides just stand there, so I
started making slow fuck movements like a shy belly dancer. They got
bolder and bolder but I kept them slow.  Obviously, the old man had
an innate understanding of real sensuality, and sensuality is slow
and fluid.  Yes, he was practically drooling.  Beautiful young
Trinity Barrett, his favorite and probably only fantasy, actually
standing bare legged over him slow fucking the air he breathed while
he kept his hands on her calves.
     "Trinity," he said softly, confirming my hypothesis that he was
down there living a dream of me.
     "You didn't think in your wildest imagination that this could
ever happen, did you, Grandpa.  Trinity Barrett.  It's really me,
old man.  Look at me.  I'm real.  I'm the only reality on earth
that's better than the fantasy.  Lust Grandpa."  I added heavy
rhythmic breathing to my obscene hunching over his unbelieving face.
I reached behind me and undid the clasp of my halter and freed my
perfect young thirty-eights.  They frolicked in their unique dance
to the pulse of my body's erotic undulation.
     The old man lusted on my body as I have never been lusted on.
His lust was draining his strength, and I smiled compassionately
down on him, glad to be his dream come true and glad to be giving
him a gift he so earnestly wanted.
     But I was indeed Trinity Barrett, and I was not one to go long
without getting my own needs satisfied.  I unbuttoned my jeans and
pulled the zipper down slowly.
     "I hope you're ready for this, Grandpa, because I don't think
I'm going to give you any choice."  He showed his readiness for what
I was obviously going to do to him by helping me get my jean shorts
off.  I reminded myself to take it easy and not hurt the old man,
then I took his face and head in both hands and pulled him to me.
     He opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, and I let him
lick the hairs out of the way and lick my pussy lips open. I
hunched.  He fastened his open mouth in my cunt and started sucking.
     He sucked and I fucked, holding his head and face and humped-up
in the classic suck-me-off posture.  It was slow and maddeningly
sexy for me.  I entered an indescribable dimension of almost
unbearable prurience, a deep and unsatisfiable loin lust in the very
process of being satisfied.  It is that impassioned predicament when
your sexual being reaches critical mass that typically launches a
young person into orbit at the expense of sensuality -- not to
mention at the expense of the partner who momentarily ceases to
possess a personality or an identity.  So I endured the torturous
rapture because I did not want it squandered in the mindless tyranny
of orgasmic chaos.
     "Truh hnh uh," I heard him chant.  A mantra?  No, it's how my
name is pronounced when spoken into a gooey mask.  Ok, so it could
have been a mantra for the old guy, a chanting of the name that had
acquired such meaning and magnitude for him through its forbidden
nature and its having had to remain a secret in his needy soul.  I
had secured a higher and more forthright status, deeper and more
honest, in the mind of this beautiful old man of sincere integrity
than I had in the sleazy little mind of his wimp pervert of a son
who prayed to me as Goddess.
     He was losing it down there, mild muscle spasms increasing to
trembling and then to vibrating and finally to violent shaking of
his whole body.  My God!  What if he had false teeth and I was
fucking them down his throat?  I eased up to give him a chance to
pull away if he needed to.  He didn't.
     What was happening, of course, was that he was cumming in his
pants.  I didn't know how much a man of fifty-eight cum, but it
obviously felt the same way to him as it did to me.  He was having a
wild orgasm with the girl of his most secret desires doing to him
what he, uh, most secretly desired.
     I let him finish and felt him sag.  His arms lost their
strength, and his hands slid weakly down my legs and fell limp at
his sides.
     "My turn, old man."  I stepped one leg at a time over his
shoulders and tucked his face up in my crotch.  I held him tight
because I knew it wouldn't take long.  I would cum and let him loose
long before he could suffocate or drown.
     I gave myself over to the natural workings of my body, still
humping him sanely and with the sensuality of a mesmerizing snake.
He summoned up a momentary surge of vigor that enabled him to stick
his tongue up inside me while holding his mouth open wide.
     I went off like a shaken bottle of hot champagne with a weak
cork.  Even as I cum deliriously, I thought of how wonderful the
experience must be for him.  My legs he had only been allowed to
look at from a respectable distance for so long now squeezing his
face, my body glistening with sweat, my titties bouncing, the feel
of me all over him, drinking sex juice from a girl he had craved and
fantasized for who knows how long.  I got as much pleasure out of
doing it for him as I got out of doing it to him.
     When I was done in his mouth and face, I just straightened up
and let my arms hang at my sides.  I worked my leg muscles on his
face without moving them.  I figured he knew the scene was ending,
and I didn't want to just get off him abruptly like a cold whore
hollering "next."  This was the most important day of his life, and
I wasn't about to rob him of the chance to take mental and tactual
pictures he could enjoy in his head for the rest of his life.

     Well, I have to admit it was certainly a surprise day for me.
I never would have guessed old Mr. Atkins, Grandpa, my father's
mentor, a dignified man of wisdom and integrity who had known me all
my life, had come to see me as a woman and had found himself
involuntarily lusting on me.
     He told me he never would have made a play for me, out of
respect for Jonathan and our history, if I had not gone around his
desk and deliberately, brazenly made it impossible not to. In fact,
when he had said "Can I kiss your legs, Trinity," he was talking
from a state of total confusion I created in him by my bold
presentation and readiness.  He had said those words in his head so
many times in the last year that, in the jolting confusion of having
my legs so close and my attitude so compromising, he barely knew he
was saying them aloud.
     You know, we never did get around to discussing what I had done
to Junior.  Also, we never got around to discussing what was
happening in the church, the "demoralizing" of the saints by Satan
through some unseen hand.  I had a feeling old Emmett Atkins knew I
was that unseen hand, and for reasons of his own didn't want the
full truth.  He preferred his fantasy.  After this day, he preferred
the reality of Trinity Barrett and the memories I gave him.
     Loving old Mr. Atkins as a grandpa, even though I often let him
feel me or kiss me on the legs after that, made it hard to continue
doing what I was doing.  But I did.

--end Chapter 8--