Message-ID: <54965asstr$1165313401@assm.asstr.org>
DomainKey-Signature: a=rsa-sha1; q=dns; c=nofws;
  s=s1024; d=yahoo.com;
  h=X-YMail-OSG:Received:Date:From:Subject:To:MIME-Version:Content-Type:Content-Transfer-Encoding:Message-ID;
  b=ndrTaySqFsj6ESFWigl1Smyvl8KMHeBCCBaTrBodt0HHajzK0floga6L/pNcASoPAWawseiqDuD1351ufFsfE6+QFFskfYMHEwN0hmrqnNEteC/QGiws2phk/21hO72CrozS97QVtCLjom1cjVONa2lAQDov8GkX/n33ktcyK4I=;
From: Rod OSteele <rod.osteele@yahoo.com>
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit
Subject: {ASSM} Foster Home 1 (Mf rom) Rod O'Steele
Lines: 639
Date: Tue, 05 Dec 2006 05:10:01 -0500
Path: assm.asstr.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by the author unless explicitly waived.  Non-commercial re-posts
to ASSM or similar venues are allowed provided copyright information
remains on the re-posted story.  As a courtesy to the author please do not
delete the copyright information.  No commercial reprints are authorized.

   The author relishes your comments at rod.osteele (at) yahoo (dot) com.
If you like this story, see my other stories at www.asstr.org/~osteele.

   WARNINGS: This story depicts consensual sexual activity between men and
women, or women and women.  Some of the participants in the story may be
under the age of 18.  If you are too young to read about sex please do not
read this.  The law says you teens should remain in ignorance of the thing
you think about the most.







   Foster Home



   The true feeling of sex is that of a deep intimacy, but above all of a
deep complicity.  -- James Dickey





   "Mike, I really need your help," Deanne started as soon as Mike picked
up the phone.



   "What is it this time," he said.



   He could hear the relief in her voice, "Mike, you guys are the best.  I
have a sixteen-year-old who lost her entire family in a car wreck."



   "Jesus," he said.  "Is she hurt?"



   "No.  She was at practice and the family was coming to pick her up.  A
driver dialing a number on his cell phone went over the yellow line at
sixty miles an hour."



   "Fucking cell phones," Mike fumed.



   "This kid has been through hell the last couple days and I don't want
her in a group home.  She needs a good family.  She's with neighbors at the
moment," Deanne said.



   Then it hit Mike; they had been talking about a she.  "Uh, Deanne.  I'm
single now."



   "What?"



   "Cyndi walked out on me.  She found a boy toy she likes better," Mike
said trying to hold back the pain.



   Deanne heard the pain in his voice, "Oh, Mike." Hell, if she wasn't
already married, she would have asked him to marry her.  He was the best
husband she knew.  What the hell could Cyndi be thinking?  Some women were
never happy, the Prince Charming syndrome.



   As a social worker placing kids, she knew thousands of families, from
the horribly dysfunctional to the supposedly normal.  She was stunned by
Cyndi's stupidity.  But she still had a problem.  "Mike, I know the
protocols.  Normally, I wouldn't place a girl with a single man.  I suppose
technically you are still married.  But you and Cyndi have helped what,
half a hundred kids, and half of them have been girls.  I need you to help
this kid just until we can find something more permanent.  She attends Oak
Crest High School.  That's walking distance from your house.  She grew up
in that neighborhood.  I don't want to change things for her if I don't
have to.  I'm sure it will only be for a few days.  Some family will
volunteer.  Please, Mike."



   This was usually true.  Most kids had been with them for a few days
until Social Services could find a relative to take the kids or until the
parents convinced Social Services to give the kids back.  It was usually
drugs or alcohol that led to kids being put into a foster home.  Maybe it
was an accusation, unsubstantiated, of molestation.  It was a hell of a way
to get even with a neighbor you disliked.  "God damn it, Deanne.  You
always know how to get to me," Mike grumped.



   "Mike, I don't.  The truth is you just can't not help someone in real
trouble.  Your problem is too big a heart," she said.



   He laughed.  "Okay, if the girl is okay with it.  The room is ready.  I
won't even need to paint it.  It's already pink," he said laughing.



   "She's outside my office with all of her bags packed.  I'll be over in a
few minutes," Deanne said.



   "Her bags packed?" he asked.



   "You are a peach," Deanne said, deflecting the question.



   "A plucked peach, sounds like.  See you in a few," he said.



   Mike quickly went round the house picking up and straightening.  He
hoped this really would be for a few days.  He remembered one kid who was
only supposed to be with them for a few days.  It turned out to be for four
months.  But she had been a good kid and they hadn't minded.  With no kids
of their own, Cyndi had loved being a temporary mom.  Maybe that was the
problem.  Maybe her boy toy would somehow get her knocked up even though
the doctors had told them the problem wasn't with him.  Maybe the
biological clock had ticked past him.  He wiped away the tears as he threw
some magazines away.



   The front bell rang.  When he opened the door, there was Deanne, a tall
attractive woman in her bright red business suit, giving him her patented
1,000 watt smile which was highlighted by her dusky skin.  Beside her was a
beautiful young woman.  Most kids who wound up in the Foster system were
young.  He wasn't used to seeing a girl like this one.  She was a brunette,
bangs cut straight across, and longish hair.



   Mike couldn't help but give her the full male inventory look.  Her lips
were full, eyes green, skin flawless, breasts full, waist small, and her
hips completed the hourglass.  In short, she may have been young but she
took his breath away.  He stood aside as they entered each carrying two
large bags.  Mike grabbed one from Deanne and one from the girl and led
them down the hall.  "This way," he said.  As he hefted the bags he
quipped, "You didn't mention she collected bricks and was bringing them
along."



   As he put the bags in her room, Deanne said, "Caryn, this is Mr. 
O'Neal. And never mind his sense of humor."



   "Hello, Mr.  O'Neal," she said.



   He took her hand, "Please call me Mike.  I'm glad to have you." He
gestured at the room.  "Make yourself at home.  The drawers are all yours."
Deanne motioned and he followed her, leaving Caryn to get used to her new
place.



   "Thank you, Mike.  I know this is probably a tough time for you." He
nodded.  "You're a saint.  I'm sure one of her friends' families will
volunteer.  I wouldn't be surprised if she is gone before she finishes
unpacking." Caryn came down the hall.  "Everything okay?" Deanne asked.



   "Yeah." To Mike, "Your house is beautiful."



   "Thanks.  It's yours now," he said trying to make her feel comfortable.



   She nodded and looked around.  Her eyes lit on his plasma screen TV
which covered a significant portion of the wall.  "Wow," she said.



   He laughed, "That's my toy, for watching football.  It's almost like
being there."



   Deanne asked Caryn, "Are you going to be okay?" She nodded.  "Then I'll
be going.  I have the keys to their house so if she needs anything, let me
know." He saw her out the door.  By her car, Deanne stood for a moment. 
"Look, I know it might be a bit uncomfortable with her being a teenage
girl. If anything weird or unusual comes up, call me.  Even at home; you
have my number." He nodded.  Deanne hugged him, "You are one of the good
ones." She jumped into her car, waving as she drove off.



   Mike took a deep breath and went back inside.  Caryn was still standing
in the front room.  He asked her, "Do you want anything to drink?"



   "No, thanks."



   "Okay, I have found the best thing is to set up the rules right away. 
It makes it easier that way." He also knew that it gave the kid a feeling
of stability in what had been an out of control world.  At least they had
some rules.  She sat and Mike sat on the couch with her.  Caryn looked
pensive as he went through the normal rules: clean up your own mess, call
if you are going to be late, etc.  When he reached the end, she looked
relieved.  "How do those sound?"



   "Just like my parents," she said.



   "Good," he said smiling.  "Caryn, I want you to think of this as home.
You aren't a guest here.  You are part of the family and I'm going to act
that way.  Don't be surprised when I ask you to help with the chores."



   She nodded and smiled, "You sound just like my dad." A look of loss
crossed her face.  "I guess we have something in common.  Mrs.  Walton told
me about your wife.  I'm sorry.  We both lost families.  I hope, well,
maybe we can help each other."



   Mike was surprised.  It was a very perceptive thing for her to say.  She
might even be right.  "I hadn't thought of it that way.  I guess we both
did lose our family." He looked up to see tears start in her eyes and in
one of those intensely human moments his heart went out to her in shared
pain and grief.  Both felt their own loss and the other's loss.  Mike held
up his arms and Caryn rushed into them.  They held each other, their arms
shielding them from the impersonal world which only seemed to cause hurt.
For those moments inside their arms, they were protected and comforted. 
They cried: each sobbing, each feeling the pain and yet, in some strange
way, comforted by the sharing of the pain, letting their pain join the
other's pain and somehow be whisked away by it.



   The tears stopped, the sobbing abated, and yet they held each other. 
Mike felt himself rocking the girl, enjoying the feel of her in his arms.
Touch, the most basic and most powerful of the senses, the thing we all
need in moments like this, calmed and filled them with contentment.  Caryn
felt secure for the first time since she had been picked up by the police
at her school and whisked away to a hospital, only to wait and wait and
wait until a neighbor had taken her home after the doctor told her no one
had survived the accident.



   In his arms, Caryn came to feel this is a good man.  She could have
stayed like that forever.  For Caryn, there was a deep connection with
Mike; he had become her family in those few intense moments, though she
didn't even realize it.  Mike felt something a little different.  He felt
her body pressing against his, her breasts pressing into his chest.  His
body knew this was a desirable woman and it responded.  Mike felt it and
slowly broke the arm lock in which they held each other.  Although neither
knew it yet, the healing of both had started.



   He wiped the last tear from her cheek bringing a smile to her face, the
first smile in days.  "What about dinner?  Can you cook?"



   "A little bit," she said, sounding like that little bit was very little
indeed.



   "Well, I can.  Want to learn?" he asked.  She nodded.  "Come on.  I'll
show you my Bucatini alla Amatriciana recipe.  Caryn followed Mike feeling
as though the world was real again, in focus instead of hazy.  Since the
accident, everything had seemed unreal.



   *****



   The next few days were a blur as Mike learned how busy the life of a
teenage girl was.  What with school, sports, homework, and the inevitable
text messaging, Caryn was going from morn till night.  Mike got tired
watching her.



   He was used to having dinner at the same time every night.  Instead, he
found himself adjusting to Caryn's crazy schedule.  But he made sure that
every night, they had the time to sit down for dinner, with her cell phone
turned off, with her usually helping the preparation.  Those were the
moments of sanity, reflection, and communication for both of them.



   Mike's loss was intense, but he also found himself unable to feel sorry
for himself knowing how much more Caryn had lost and how well she doing. 
In those moments of self-pity, he would think of Caryn's smile, and a smile
would find his lips.  She was his savior.



   It had been three weeks and Caryn and Mike had settled into comfortable
routine.  Dinner, followed by homework, then Caryn would change for bed and
join Mike to watch some TV.  She sat with Mike on the couch and snuggled in
next to him, as she did every night.  Mike looked over at Caryn, his arm
round her shoulders, a smile on her face.  Once again, he thought how lucky
he was that she had come when she had.  Then a worrisome thought occurred,
what would happen when she left?  That led to the immediate wonder, how
come she was still here?



   "Caryn," he said.  She looked up.  "Has anyone said they wanted to have
you live with them?"



   She looked away and shook her head.



   They hadn't been together all that long but Mike could tell that there
was something unsaid.  "Caryn." She looked up at him.  He smiled first,
then said to her, "Okay, tell me."



   She blushed.  "No one has volunteered to have me live with them."



   "Okay, but there is something you aren't saying." He could see the
thought crossing her face.  "That.  That thought right there."



   Caryn knew she was busted.  "I haven't actually asked anyone..."



   "What?"



   "I haven't told anyone I needed a place to live," she said looking down.



   Mike was amused rather than angry.  "How come?"



   Caryn heard the humor in his voice and looked up.  He was smiling and
looking faintly puzzled.  "I don't want to live with anyone else.  I hope,
well, I hope you like me."



   "Of course I like you.  Heck, you know that," he said pulling her closer
to him.  "So, what were you going to say when Mrs.  Walton asked how come
you were still here?"



   "I guess I hadn't thought about that," she said.



   "Well, think about it because she'll be calling soon, I imagine," he
said.



   "What should I tell her?" Caryn asked.



   "I'm going to give you a piece of advice that will hardly ever lead you
astray.  Tell her the truth." Nothing else was said.



   *****



   It was a week later when Deanne stopped by.  "Hi, Mike."



   Mike motioned her in, "Hello.  Checking on Caryn?"



   "Yeah.  I'm surprised she hasn't found a home.  She's such a nice girl,"
Deanne said.  Deanne looked at Mike and saw his smile.  "What the heck is
that all about?"



   "Caryn," Mike shouted down the hall.



   Caryn came scurrying from her room, saw Deanne, and skidded to a stop.



   Deanne looked at Caryn, back at the smugly smiling Mike, and back to
Caryn.  "Okay.  What is it?"



   Caryn looked to Mike for support.  He nodded.  She took a deep breath.
"Mike told me I should tell you that I haven't found..." Mike shook his
head.  She blushed and continued, "I haven't looked for a new family." She
saw the puzzlement on Deanne's face.  "Please Mrs.  Walton, can't I stay
with Mike?"



   Deanne looked over at Mike.  He shrugged.



   "Let's sit down," Deanne said.  They sat at the table.  "Okay, Caryn. 
Tell me what is going on."



   Caryn glanced at Mike.  He was smiling and nodded.  "Well, it's like
this.  I actually haven't told anyone that I needed a place to live.  I
mean, some people asked but I told them I was okay where I was."



   "I see," Deanne said.  "You know I told Mike that this was short term?"



   Caryn nodded.  "But the first night, when we realized how much we were
alike, and...  I just knew we could help each other."



   Deanne looked to Mike, "You knew?"



   "About her first night here?" Deanne gave him the eye.  "Oh, you mean
about her not looking?  I found out rather recently.  I advised Caryn to
tell you the truth about it.  I'm glad she did." Caryn and Mike exchanged a
smile.



   Deanne shook her head, "Oh, Lordy.  Why do these things happen to me? 
Young lady, you can't just decide to move in with someone."



   "What if he says it is okay?"



   "Did you ask him before you started telling people you didn't need a
place?" Deanne asked.



   "Well, no.  That just sort of happened.  I felt comfortable, I don't
know, like, with Mike I could go on living.  Then, it was just like I could
help him too.  And he is fun.  He's teaching me to cook," she hurried to
tell Deanne.



   Deanne looked to Mike.  He shrugged and smiled impishly.  "You're no
help," she said.



   "I wasn't trying to be," he said.



   Their eyes locked.  Caryn couldn't tell what was being decided but she
could tell that the two of them were mutually reaching some decision.  "You
are still married?" Deanne finally asked Mike.  He nodded.  "Do you think
Cyndi will sign some paperwork?"



   "I think so.  She keeps telling me she wants to be friends," Mike's
voice making it plain he could never be friends with the woman who walked
out on him.  "I can be friendly that long."



   "I'll drop by the paperwork tomorrow to make it a placement till her
graduation."



   Caryn's face lit up.  "Really?"



   Deanne glanced at Mike, who was smiling.  "Really," she said.



   Caryn was out of her seat hugging Deanne as she jumped for joy, then
over to Mike for the same hug.  She was ecstatic.



   "Young lady, you have to make sure you don't get into trouble.  If some
of the people in the department find out, well, they would make you move. I
want you to know that," Deanne said.



   "I won't get into trouble," Caryn said.



   "I know.  I saw your records." She stood.  "Both of you, I'm going out
on a limb here.  Please don't make me regret it."



   Mike hugged her, then Caryn hugged her again, "Thank you, Mrs.  Walton.
I'll make sure everything is good."



   They saw her out the door.  Caryn wrapped Mike in a tight hug, pressing
herself against him.  Once again, Mike was acutely aware of having a
beautiful young woman in his arms.  He tried to get it out of his mind. 
"Thank you, Mike.  You are being so good to me," Caryn said.



   "Sweetie, you are being good for me as well," he said and squeezed her.
"Let's have dinner."



   *****



   Time floated along for several weeks.  Caryn helped Mike fill the void
in his life.  Mike helped fill the void in Caryn's life.  They became
family without really trying, becoming closer and closer.



   It was late one night.  Mike had turned off the TV hours before and sat
reading the latest Hillerman book.  He glanced at the clock and knew he
needed to put the book down and go to bed or he would be a basket case the
next day.  He turned off the light and quietly made his way down the hall.
Outside Caryn's door he heard something strange.  He listened for a moment;
nothing.  He was about to continue when he heard it again.  He wondered if
Caryn was having a nightmare.  He quietly opened the door just a sliver. 
The lights were out in her room.  He heard her again.  Something about
these sounds was familiar.  Then he heard her talking quietly, "Mike... 
Mike...  Um, um, yes." A blush rose in his cheeks as he realized what he
was hearing.  As quietly as possible, he closed the door.  There was a
slight click as the latch caught.



   He hurried down the hall as quietly as he could, taking a deep breath as
he closed his door behind him.  He leaned against his bedroom door, trying
to get the sounds from his mind.  He quickly readied for bed.  But sleep
would not come.  He kept hearing the urgency and desire in Caryn's voice.
"Mike," she had said.  "Mike." He put his hands over his ears.  "Mike,"
Caryn called to him.



   -------------------------------- Have a burning question?  Go to Yahoo!
Answers and get answers from real people who know.

	----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
	This post has been reformatted by ASSTR's
	Smart Text Enhancement Processor (STEP)
	system due to inadequate formatting.
	----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------

	
<1st attachment begin>

<HTML removed pursuant to http://assm.asstr.org/erotica/assm/faq.html#policy>
<1st attachment end>

----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format.  The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <story-submit@asstr.org>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-admin@asstr.org> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+