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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
material. If you do not wish to read this
type of literature, or you are under age,
PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
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Author Note: This story carries a copyleft. It can be
modified and reprinted anywhere and in any form the
reader feels would be appropriate. I would prefer that
no one do so for profit, as I am giving this freely.
Any published reprint or reinvention of this work must
be copylefted as well, and I must be cited.
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The Gregson's - 2
by Erosscribe (erossscribe@mac.com)
***
A continuation of The Gregsons, in which John flies
from his home in Berkeley to the Philadelphia
International Airport, all the while reflecting back
on his life. (Fm, 1st, nosex)
***
Author Note: I would be grateful if you dropped me a
note at erossscribe@mac.com, as I'm fascinated as to
where the work might go and how it might be reinvented.
Thanks. This work is dedicated to Shannon, Cass, Karly,
Kayla, Danielle, Britt, Jess, Alanna and last but
certainly not least, Nikki.
Story Characters
Elmer Vanderhoven, 68
Gudrun Vanderhoven, 62
Mary Smith (nee Vanderhoven), 41
Bob Smith, 45
Me (John Smith), 18
Abigail Smith, 43
Adam Grossberg, 46
Lauren Smith-Grossberg, 20
Lisa Vanderhoven / Anneliese Gregson, 35
Archibald Gregson III, 63
Amelia Gregson, 15
Amanda Gregson, 13
Melinda and Melissa Gregson, (twins) 11
Llewellyn Gregson (Lil), 9
Robert aka James aka Arthur Harrington, 66 (Chauffeur)
Reginald Butler, 55 (Butler)
Jacques Bellamont, 33 (Chef)
Brynja Bjarturdottir, 22 (Housekeeper)
Soleil Bingham, 19 (Gardener)
In This Chapter:
Me (John Smith), 18
Lauren Smith-Grossberg, 20
Robert aka James aka Arthur Harrington, 66 (Chauffeur)
Chapter II: Travels and Travails
After many phone calls back and forth, the details of
my trip were finalized. Because the Gregsons wanted me
to come out on Thursday to be ready to leave on Friday,
I would have to fly to Philadelphia, where I would be
picked up. However, the only flight that they could get
on Thursday was sold out, except for First Class, so
I'd have to make do.
I detected a note of glee in Anneliese's voice as she
informed me of the travel plans, but... whatever. For
$6750.00 to look after 5 girls for 9 weeks on a
beautiful island I'd fly around the world to the left.
I was also instructed to bring a set of afternoon
formal wear, a set of evening formal wear and an outfit
that "would be memorable." After the last part of this
announcement Anneliese practically cackled, but I don't
think she knows who she's dealing with.
I love vintage clothes. They take you to another time
and place, and you can often get something amazing
really cheap. Problem is, I have nowhere to wear them,
so I just fold them up and put them in the closet. I
had just gone to a vintage store after finishing
finals, and part of my haul was a cape in red and black
velvet. It looked like a bullfighter's cape, except it
had a red and black Velcro closure around the neck so
you could actually wear it. On me it was down to my mid
– thigh, but I'm 6'3", so it was probably meant to be
full length.
I also scored these utterly ridiculous black skintight
stretch velvet pants with a thin white vertical stripe
and black lace cuffs. The last two items I snagged
before I stopped myself were a made in France French
black wool beret and these great 70's-era black leather
boots with black and white psychedelic sparkly swirls,
sporting a two inch Cuban heel. I packed my latest
madness of an outfit into my already full duffel bag
and somehow managed to zip it closed. With a
getup like this I am ready for whatever strangeness
might come my way.
I was completely packed and ready the night before,
because I had to be up at 5 Thursday morning. It's on
these mornings that the existence of the nuked 3 second
Blueberry Pop-Tart comes in handy. Here's the deal: The
plane left at 9 from SFO and there was some type of
security alert where you absolutely had to be there two
hours early.
Dad was out of town and there was no way I could ask
Mom for a ride. If there's one thing she hates more
than getting up early, it's driving to the airport.
Since my goal was a stress-free journey, I decided to
make a reservation with one of those van services.
They're really cool, except for the fact that they pick
you up at your house. This sounds like a great deal,
until you realize that they pick everybody else up at
their house too, which leads to a lot of aimless
driving around.
So, to get to the airport at 7 the van was picking me
up at 5:30 – and this was for a 9 AM flight. Leave at
9, get to Philadelphia around 3:30, promptly lose 3
hours, and then the drive to NYC will take another 2
and a half hours, I was informed.. If I'm very lucky, I
could be at Aunt Anneliese's place by 9 PM. Subtracting
the time change, that's 12 and a half hours of vans,
limos and airports. This is why enlisting a sleepy,
grumpy Mom to kick things off would not have been a
smart move.
Since there was no traffic on the roads, of course we
get to the airport at 6:40 – and no one, I mean no one,
is there. I hadn't flown in a couple of years and I had
heard about all of these high security measures, but I
whizzed right through, barely questioned, and ended up
at my gate at 7:25, an hour and 15 minutes before they
started boarding.
I don't know if you've ever had one of those moods
where nothing appeals to you, but I was in one at that
moment. I had my sketch pad - but drawing didn't feel
right. I also didn't want to get detained for possible
terrorist activity. Sketching inside an airport – just
enough to get me busted.
I had my new, cool 8O G video ipod, (thanks for the
graduation gift, Mom) but nether music nor the complete
Season 2 of The Hills (yeah, yeah, I know, but you have
to begin with the first season of Laguna Beach, as The
Hills is a most worthy spinoff of that seminal show]
and move ever forward to understand the depth and
complexity of the work) nor my music collection fit the
moment. (On that front, Mika's Life in Cartoon Motion
is THE album of summer 2007. Doesn't matter when it
came out, it's a summer album, feel-wise. In addition,
LICM also serves as a great score for a reading of the
Dancing Wu Li Masters.)
I went to a just – opening gift shop and bought a copy
of Wired but I didn't feel like reading, so I thought.
One of those deep life-considering thinks. (I'm aware
that's not a proper use of the word but it should be,
so I'm trying to start it. Thanks for your support.)
One thing I realized while reviewing my life is that
you ( the reading public) know very little about me. I
don't quite... participate. In life that is. I'm the
recorder, the observer, the notator. That's why I draw,
take photographs, and write -- it allows me to be part
of an event without being in it. That's one of the
reasons this summer feels like the beginning of
something – I'm being thrown right in the middle of
things. That's not exactly true.
I've been at the center of things before. I'm the
captain of my school's volleyball team. But we don't
believe in competition, so if you show up for practice
you're on the team and the person who shows up the most
is the de facto captain. That would be yours truly,
captain of The Bay School Buccaneers Men's Varsity
Volleyball Team.
The only reason I started playing was because I'm tall
and it looked like fun. The more I played the better I
liked it, so I kept playing. On a normal team I'd be a
setter, but here I'm just "He Who Gets The Ball Over
The Net." Not an official position, I realize, but it's
a fairly ad hoc team. Let's see-more about me. Ooh.
Vitals: I'm 6 foot 3 and 180 pounds with black hair to
my shoulders and bangs, black eyes and (I've been told)
a nice smile. Not buff, but I have a few muscles. I've
been called cute a few times, too. Whatever.
I'm not really interested in the whole dating thing -
it seems like I wouldn't have enough time to make art,
and that's really my passion. Also, it's not like girls
are falling at my feet. Don't get me wrong, I'm not an
outcast or anything. I have friends. It's just that all
of my girl friends are just friends, or else they only
talk to me to figure out how to snag another guy on the
team. I had a gf once, when I was 13, and that worked
out incredibly badly, so I just do my thing. I did have
one good experience, actually. It was with my cousin
Lauren two years ago over Easter Break. I'm not sure if
any of you have any swoon-worthy cousins, but Lauren
definitely is one.
** Tangent Ahead **
The whole Lauren Easter weekend thing is pretty
interesting. Lauren is the daughter of Dad's older
sister Abigail. We don't talk much about Dad's family,
mainly because there isn't much to say. Neither he nor
Aunt Abigail is in contact with them at all, and the
last time I saw them (or so I'm told) was when I was
born. Aunt Abigail is 42, and she went to the
University of Wisconsin to get a degree in sociology.
At least she thought she wanted to get a degree in
sociology. After finishing her first year, she knew
that not only didn't she want a degree in sociology,
she didn't want to go to college at all. There was
something she wanted, though. He was 21 and wanted her
right back.. His name, for the record, is Adam
Grossberg. So he graduated, they got married -- and it
wasn't the best idea ever. Aunt Abigail had been
working at various cafés and record stores to help them
survive while Adam went back to Wisconsin for a PhD in
Sociology. (I hear it's tough to get into Grad School
at the same school you went to undergrad, but I
wouldn't know.)
Their marriage is going along. It's pretty rough, but
they are making it work, until Abigail discovers she's
pregnant. That was the last straw. Adam couldn't deal,
but with the help of thrice-weekly therapy he managed
to hold on for almost another 2 years. When my cousin
Lauren was 1, he got his Ph.D and moved out, and they
ended up getting divorced after 7 years. My Aunt was
left with a problem. There was no way she could support
herself and Lauren while working at a café. So she had
to figure something out.
It seems everyone in my family (on both sides) makes up
their minds to do something and just does it. Aunt
Abigail decided she wanted to fight wildfires. She
joined the Forest Service, passed the tests, and is now
a Squad Leader on the Lolo Hotshot crew out of
Missoula, Montana. The Hotshots don't jump out of the
planes, but they do just about everything else related
to fighting a wildfire. Aunt Abigail mainly stays in
Montana and Idaho, but has been sent all over the
country to help put out fires. The Hotshots (yes, that
is their official name) are the elite, the SWAT team of
wildfire firefighting,, and my Aunt is one of them.
Pretty cool, huh?
Meanwhile, Adam became interested in
participant/observer sociology, where he would live in
a community for a year or two and then write about the
ways the community functioned or not and his
experiences of being a member of that community. From
that he developed what he called "Sociological
Puppetry" where he and the community would use puppets
to create a piece addressing what they saw as the major
issues in the community.
The idea was that making art about a community problem
gave people enough distance to be able to brainstorm
ways of solving that issue. Eventually Adam got burned
out on sociology altogether, as he went deeper and
deeper into puppetry, especially experimental puppetry.
Now he is making a living as a experimental puppeteer,
touring around Eastern Europe and Asia. Lauren is going
to Williams College and concentrating in Maritime
Studies. She thinks eventually she wants to work with
dolphins somehow -- she just isn't sure how yet.
Somehow, Adam and Aunt Abigail have remained friends,
even through all the craziness.
This brings us back to Easter 2005 at Aunt Abigail's.
She and Lauren live about forty-five minutes outside of
Missoula in—well, it isn't a log cabin, but it might as
well be. They have a stream in the front yard, a one-
horse barn in the back, and two Kuvasz (Hungarian
Sheepdogs.)
They own a TV, but they've covered it in multicolored
candle wax and hung it from the ceiling as an objet
d'art. They have a cell phone for emergencies but no
home phone, and there are no computers to be found
anywhere. There are books. Lots and lots and lots of
books. Lauren goes swimming and hiking and in the
summer and snowboarding in the winter. Abigail ice
skates when there are no fires to be fought. They talk
about living "close to the Earth." So there we all are
for a few days over Easter. Adam joins us on Easter
Sunday, explaining that a booking fell through and that
as a Jew he happened to be free.
** End Tangent **
Returning to our regularly scheduled story, I'd just
turned 16, Lauren had just been accepted into Williams,
and she was flirting like crazy with me. She must have
gotten every recessive gene in the entire pool, because
Lauren looked like none of us. At all. An All-American
girl. Gorgeous, but not exotic. Blonde hair, blue eyes,
36-24-36. Fresh-faced, scrubbed and cheery with little
apple cheeks. A I said earlier, swoonworthy.
When I was 5 and she was 7 we played a bit of "I'll
show you mine if you'll show me yours", but since then
we had been solid friends, nothing more. The occasional
AIM, but mainly the type of friend who only exists when
you are with them. It was very odd, then, to have
Lauren flirting with me. Pretty openly, too. Not like
anything in a porno mag- I mean she still kept her
clothes on, but she would smile at me, wink, drop
things and bend over-- that whole deal. So I just
figured it was all in fun and going nowhere, until she
knocked on my door late Easter Sunday night.
"John- it's Lauren. Can I come in?" It must have been 2
AM, but I tried to pretend I was cool and awake.
"Sure. I was just lying here thinking about the long
drive home tomorrow."
I quickly covered up so she wouldn't notice my Star
Trek : Deep Space Nine pajamas. Lauren walks in,
smiling, and sit down on the bed next to me.
"John, I know I've been teasing you the last few days,
and that isn't right. I've um, uh, never kissed a boy
before, and I was kind of hoping you'd make a move,
but, um - can I kiss you?"
I'm a bit shocked, but I lean in the way you see in
movies, cupping her chin in my hand, and she kisses me.
Not that I have much to compare it to- but this was a
really nice kiss. Long, soft, exploratory, followed by
a much more passionate and deep kiss. We must have
kissed, varying tempi and insistencies, for at least 20
minutes, until a soft chime goes off in my head and I
realize that this is the point where a male is supposed
to try to touch a girl's breast.
So I make a clumsy attempt, and am simultaneously
pushed away and hugged. Lauren has thrown her arms
around my neck and is whispering "thank you thank you
thank you..." while occasionally stopping to kiss my
cheek.
"Um, Lauren? What's going on?"
"Remember when I said I'd never kissed a boy before?
Well, that's exactly what I meant. I've kissed lots of
girls, though."
"OK, so what are you thanking me for?"
"Promise you won't get upset?"
I look at this beautiful girl in my arms and whisper
"Nothing you say right now could upset me."
"Ok then.... I always thought I was a lesbian, because
I really like girls, but I had never done so much as
kiss a guy, so I wasn't sure."
"And now?"
"Now I'm sure I'm a lesbian, and I owe it all to you.
Uhhh...Um, not in a bad way. I didn't mean...." Lauren
is turning beet-red as she tries to turn this into a
positive.
I begin to chuckle at the absurdity of it all and end
up shaking-laughing, tears streaming down my face.
Pretty soon Lauren is laughing too. As our hysteria
dies down, she leans in and whispers, "I'll make you a
deal. If you can promise not to try anything, I'll
sleep with you tonight –- just sleep-- and I'll tell
all my friends what a good fuck you are."
"Um, Lauren, aren't most of your friends lesbians?"
"Well, now that you mention it...yes they are. So much
for that idea." We collapse into giggles again and fall
asleep wrapped in each other's arms. Right as I'm
drifting off, Lauren whispers in my ear, "I'm a Next
Generation girl, myself." and kisses my earlobe. That's
it, folks. Welcome to the sum total of my sexual
experiences.
It was at this point in my think when I realized that
they were announcing a last call for US Air flight 940
nonstop to Philadelphia. The flight was pretty
nondescript, except for the food. I don't eat a lot of
meat but since it was breakfast time and I was in First
Class, I tried the Eggs Benedict with a Mimosa to wash
it down. Severe rockage occurred.
For those of you who haven't had "Dude, Where's My
Car?" drilled into the back of your brain- this means
it was delicious. I was on the aisle next to an older
couple. She complained about absolutely everything, and
he ignored her and read The Wall Street Journal and
Business Week. I think I caught him reading the same
Business Week twice. I decided to watch the movie,
since it was "complimentary to our first class
passengers."
I'm assuming this means it was unfriendly or possibly
downright nasty to those in coach. The movie was
actually the most surreal part of the flight. Here's
what I heard: "Our in-flight movie today is.... Snakes
On A Plane, starring Samuel L. Jackson and Julianna
Margulies. We hope you enjoy it." Snakes On a Plane ON
A PLANE? Are they kidding me? No one else seemed to
notice, but I thought it was a bit of an odd choice,
especially since the film heading West was Nacho Libre.
They now have an Eastbound movie and a Westbound movie,
which I don't remember from my last flight. The plane
landed, and I made my way to baggage claim, where I was
met by a British Chauffeur who insisted on calling me
Master John. It wasn't so much that he was British, it
was that he was the stereotype of the British servant
come to life.
The best analogy I could give would be Alfred from the
Batman films. Here was his introduction: "My name,
Master John, is Robert Harrington. However, due to my
position Lord Gregson insists on calling me James. As
in: Home, James. The children, on the other hand say I
remind them of some awful character from a movie and
insist on calling me Alfred. Lady Gregson chooses not
to use my name at all. You, Master John, have your
choice."
"I think I'll stick with Robert, thank you."
"No, thank you Master John. It will be so lovely to
hear my Christian name again." He fell silent.
I later learned that Robert did not speak unless
directly addressed, as a good servant should. I'm not
sure if anyone has ever been to the airport in
Philadelphia, but getting the bags at baggage claim
takes a long time. A very long time. Eventually we
struck up an odd sort of conversation, which consisted
of me asking questions and Robert answering them.
Apparently, the story goes something like this:
Robert was three years older than Uncle Archibald.
Archibald went to Europe immediately after his 18th
birthday, to celebrate the release of his inheritance.
He met Robert in England. They struck up a friendship
and toured around Europe together. When it was time to
leave my uncle wanted Robert to New York with him, as
he intended to buy an apartment in the Village. Robert
refused, saying that it was not proper to take Uncle
Archibald's money and do nothing in return.
They struck up a deal whereby Robert would act as a
live-in servant, chauffeur and friend, and Uncle
Archibald would pay him very well to do so. That was in
1962, and Robert has never left my Uncle's side since,
except to go on vacation. I had a feeling that there
was a lot more to this story that I wasn't privy to
yet, but then my bags arrived, Robert took them, and we
walked out to the stretch limousine.
To be continued?
Copyleft 2007 - No rights reserved.
I'd love to know what you think, especially as I intend
this to be part of a much longer work. Feel free to
send feedback (especially positive feedback) to
erosscribe@mac.com.
Thanks!
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Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.
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