Join Maid of Marvels and myself on a journey of sexual discovery between a widower and his older sister.

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We hope you enjoy it.

Gray and Maid


James Freeman was sitting in front of the open grave, next to his daughter Beth, who was holding his grandson Jimmy Jr. On the other side was his older sister Elinor. In the casket was his wife Joyce, of twenty-three years.

The headaches had started only two months ago, and now she was dead. A brain tumor the Doctors had said, inoperable.

He still had his beautiful daughter and his chubby little grandson. Only problem was they lived in Seattle. Beth’s husband worked for some big Software company up there. Then there was his sister Elinor, she and her husband lived in California. James guessed they’d both had enough of smelling cattle manure and long cold winters. Elinor still owned part of the family business, she had insisted though, that any profits been turned back into improvements of the ranch.

All the family friends had either left or were standing back at the ranch house waiting for James, to give their last condolences. James stood there watching the two men shovel dirt into the hole. He looked over at the markers of his mother and father as well as those of both his grandparents. Knowing he too would be laid to rest here along with the them.

“Come on James,” Elinor said twining her arm through his and leading him away. “I think Jimmy needs to be feed.”

Beth slipped her arm through his other one as they walked back to the house, the baby on her hip.

“So when do you leave,” he asked his daughter.

“Tomorrow noon,” she replied. “But I can stay longer if you want?”

“No, you get back to your husband. Besides, I think Aunt Elinor is going to stay a couple more days. Aren’t you sis?”

James was sitting at the kitchen table with a hot cup of coffee. He was thinking more than drinking. Thinking about Joyce mostly, and what he was going do without her. Sure, he could always find somebody to come in and clean the house, maybe even cook for him. But that’s not was on his mind. Not a day went by that he hadn’t told Joyce that he loved her. Probably told her that five or ten times a day. He had meant it every time as well. She had been his rock, his anchor in every storm. When the bottom had dropped out of the beef market, and the bank threatened to call the note due on the new corn silo, she had taken a full time job just to help make the payments.

Bastards, he though. Didn’t need that silo anyway. Them damn bankers are the ones who talked me into buying it.

There always was and would always be the love hate relationship between banker and rancher. When times were good, the banker was your best friend, but when they got bad, the banker was the first to be looking over the value of your property.

If it hadn’t been for Joyce, they probably would have lost the place. The new silo did increase profits finally, when the market came back up. He still had to deal with the bankers though, just to have operating capital every year. For the last five years his yearly profits increased, which made it a lot easier to deal with them. Even with the rising costs of fuel, insecticides, and herbicides, he showed a profit. He always thanked Joyce for her commitment to him and the ranch.

He smiled when he heard the old Ford pull into the yard. He rose and took a clean cup off the cupboard shelf and poured Elinor a cup of coffee.

“’Spose I should adjust that clutch one of these days too,” he said aloud to himself.

Elinor had been his best friend growing up. Even being three years older than he, she had played with him as a youngster, teasing him or helping with his school work. It was had to have playmates when you lived as far from town as they did, so they made do with each other. They did what all country kids did as children. They had their chores like picking eggs from under the hens in the coop every morning, and they had one milk cow, which at the age of eight, became his full time chore. But they had their fun times too, like riding the calves when they got big enough, or playing in the hay loft. It was Elinor that had dared him to jump into the hay wagon from the top of the hay loft door. When he said he was scared she gave him a gentle nudge that sent him flying. It took six weeks before his arm came out of the cast. They used to run down to the creek on hot summer days and swim naked. Momma took Elinor to town one day and bought her swim suit when she was twelve, they never did swim naked after that. Even he was told to wear an old pair of cutoffs, when they swam together, which he seldom did.

It was about that time that things started to change. Elinor started growing up, developing into a young woman. She spent less time with him and more time with Momma in the kitchen. He, starting spending more time with Dad, learning the daily life of the ranch hand. But he still liked to spend time with Elinor, when they could. He must have been in his twelfth or thirteenth year, Elinor must have been seventeen then. He caught her coming out of the bathroom in just her underwear.

“You got boobs,” he had said to her, “just like Momma.”

She punched him in the arm before slamming her bedroom door. It was after that, that he began to take a new interest in his sister. He began to look at her differently, trying to look down her blouse when he could, or up her skirt when they rode the bus to school. It was when he entered High School and met Joyce that he lost interest in her, she was after all, just his sister.

“Back so soon,” he commented as Elinor entered the kitchen. “They get off okay?”

He pushed the cup of coffee toward her as she sat down.

James was an austere man when it can to his emotions, always hiding them below the surface, but now he couldn’t contain them, it was such an intense cluster of overwhelming feelings. At first, there was the shock of Joyce death, then the disbelief that she could be gone from his life. Why her he kept asking himself. Then there was the quilt, maybe he could have seen it sooner, or taken her to a different doctor, something to stop her from dying. Finally, there was the anger, the rage. She was such a good woman, had helped so many, why was she taken. He wanted to lash out at somebody. The doctors and nurses, the hospital, anybody, it just wasn’t fair.

He let the tears fall, the emotions drain away, as he held his sister. She was the only one that he could trust with his emotions. She understood. For a long time he just held her, until the sobbing stopped and he gained control again. He held her close, putting his lips next to her ear.

“What’s for dinner,” he asked.

“Come on Rigby, you can run faster than that,” he yelled over his shoulder.

James knew he was too old to be racing down the path to the swimming hole like he was ten years old again. But then, that’s exactly why he was doing it, to feel ten years old again. To forget the last few days, the last few months, hell, to forget the last twenty years, he just wanted to shuck it all right now and be free of all the emotion, the pain, the sorrow, and just be ten years old again.

He reached the swimming hole first of course, and sat down to pull off his boots and socks, next came his shirt then his Levi’s and underwear. He jumped in the water and turned around just in time to see his sister strip off her blue jeans and shirt, then her bra and panties, and jump in next to him. They splashed around in the water, wrestling and trying to dunk each other. He was bigger and stronger than she, and there was no way she couldn’t push him under, but he had no trouble with her. He would hold her under for only a few seconds then she would pop up trying to force him down, and just to be fair, he would let her. They laughed and giggled and sputtered, just like they had thirty years ago.

To James, it felt natural to be like this again, with Elinor. When they were younger, she had always been there for him, no matter the problem. It felt like that again, when she had held when he couldn’t contain his sorrow any longer. She had done the same years before for different reasons; it seemed she was always there when it really mattered.

They splashed and played for only ten minutes or so, but it was enough to release the pent up emotions again, and to feel young once more. Finally, he stopped and looked at her. Her hair was matted and rivulets of dirty water were running down her face.

“Enough Rigby,” he said. “I’m ready for that steak now. Whadda ya say, you still know how to cook meat?”

“You still like it rare,” she asked.

“Yup,” he replied.

“Then there isn’t much to cooking it, is there.” She laughed.

He took her hand and led her out of the water to there discarded clothing.

“Ya know, Rigby, you still look like you did in high school,” he said looking at her naked body. “Must be that organic crap you eat? Me, I got myself a pot belly,” he added trying to push his gut out as far as he could.

“Pah,” she laughed, slapping his hard stomach. “You work to hard to get a pot gut.”

They bent and picked up there clothes and tossed them over there arms as they started back to the house.

“Is this right Rigby? I mean us….like this?” he asked, indicating them both being naked.

“Do you think it’s wrong,” she asked looking up into his face.

“Well………not exactly wrong. But mamma would sure have a hissy,” he chuckled.

They walked back to the house, their clothes draped over their arm, hand in hand, brother and sister, like they were seven and ten years old.

“If ya want, I can throw a couple of mesquite logs in the barbeque pit, while you shower. We can cook the steaks outside.......Rigby,....thanks for being my sis, ” he said releasing her hand.

James climbed the stairs smiling. It had always been fun growing up with Elinor, even though at times she could be a bit bossy. He reckoned that was the way of older sisters. He entered the bathroom and turned the shower on, stepping back to take his clothes off before realizing he had none on. He shook his head as he pulled the curtain back and stepped under the spray. He let the water wash over him before gabbing the bar of soap and rubbing it into his hair. Taking the lather from his hair he washed his face with it and the stubble on his chin and jaw. He then started at his armpits, then worked his way down his body. Leaning against the wall he washed his feet last, running his fingers between his toes. He stood under the water for a few minutes letting it rinse the lather away.

He stepped out of the shower drying himself as he looked in the medicine cabinet mirror. He turned his head sideways, then to the other side before picking up the red and white stripped can of Barbasol and applying it to his face. He didn’t know why he had shaved, he never shaved this late in the day. He shrugged it off as he headed toward the bedroom to dress. He put on an old pair of Levi’s and a plaid shirt with flaps over the pockets and little pearl snaps to keep them closed. He pulled on his most comfortable pair of Tony Lamas and headed back down stairs.

“Clean,” he yelled as he hit the last step. “Ya ready for them steaks Rigby.”

“If you are,” she yelled back.

“Slap em on,” he said entering the kitchen.

Elinor picked up the plate holding the steaks and they walked out the back door.

“Leave em moo’in,” he said as the first steak sizzled on the hot grill.

“Kick’in and moo’in coming up.” She laughed as she tossed the second steak on.

“Ya know, this here man’s work.”

“What, heating up a piece of meat?”

James caught himself blushing, taking the meaning of what she had said the wrong way.

“You want to do it,” she asked handing him the long fork.

“No, your doing fine,” he said putting his arm around her shoulder.

“Humph,” was her only reply.

They let the steaks cook until the juice rose to the surface, then Elinor turned them and let them cook for a few more minutes. Hot and sizzling she forked them and put them back on the plate carrying them into the house. They sat at the table and taking a steak each began to eat.

“Ummm perfect,” James mumbled around the hot piece of steak in his mouth.

“Man’s work,” Elinor commented, snidely, smiling across the table at him.

They sat and ate in silence for a while, each wrapped in their own thoughts. James thinking about when she would leave, and what he would do when she did.

“So when’d you say you was leaving,” he said breaking the silence before stuffing a forkful of baked potato in his mouth. A touch of melancholy in his voice, his eyes looking down at his plate.

“Ha,” he laughed. “Dance…if that’s what you want to call it. Kids don’t know how to dance anymore. But the hot fudge sundaes haven’t changed.”

When they’d finished eating James helped with the dishes, just like he done every night with Joyce. He and Elinor hopped in the old red Ford and drove to town, to ‘Puffs’. It was Friday night and the parking lot was mostly full, pickups cruised around the lot. Teens hung out in groups, some dancing to the music that blared from the loudspeakers suspended from the corrugated overhang. James found a parking spot between a brand new Mustang with two pretty blonde girls and a big Dodge Ram pickup, with two pimple faced boys in it.

“Nice truck, old dude,” the passenger in the pickup said.

“Old dude….” James sputtered, “Why you….”

“James, stop. I think he was giving you a compliment,” Elinor said reaching over and taking his arm.

A girl on roller-skates rolled up to the truck. “Hi Mr. Freeman…Hi Mrs.….” She froze as her eyes landed on Elinor. “I’m sorry Mr. Freeman…I forgot.” Her face dropping.

“It’s okay….Janie, is it?”

“Yes Sir,” she answered meekly.

“This is my sister Elinor. She’s here to help for a while…Two hot fudge sundaes please…big ones…with lots of hot fudge. Enough to put ten pounds on me,” he said, smiling up at the girl.

He felt Elinor squeeze his arm again at his attempt to ease the girls discomfort at her faux pas, at the expense of his own discomfort, his own pain.

Shortly she retuned with two of the biggest hot fudge sundaes they had ever seen, loaded with an abundance of hot chocolate.

“On the house, Mr. Freeman…compliments of Puffs.”

“Thanks Janie,” he said taking them from her, handing one to Elinor.

“So…is this how’s it’s going to be? People giving me free stuff just because Joyce died,” he said, a touch of bitterness in his voice as he watched Janie skate away.

“James, no…she’s just being nice. Don’t be like that.”

“I suppose,” he said, breaking the crust of hot fudge and scooping the sweet vanilla ice cream in his mouth. “I suppose.”

They sat and ate their sundaes, his mood improving with each spoonful, watching the kids have fun, dancing, laughing, teasing each other. Finally, a song played that Elinor thought they might be able to dance to.

“Can you still jitterbug…like Mama showed us,” Elinor asked, eyeing him mischievously.

“Old dude,” he quoted, “Let’s show em how it’s done Rigby,” he said pushing the door open on the truck.

The song wasn’t exactly big band swing music, but it was close enough. He led Elinor to the crowd of teens dancing. They parted as he and Elinor walked to the center of the group. He put his hand on her waist, taking her other hand in his they began to dance. It wasn’t a perfect jitterbug from the ‘40’s, more of an east coast swing, their Mom had taught them when they were teens, but still a jitterbug in it’s own fashion. All those dancing stopped and moved back forming a circle around them. Yelling and motioning to others to come and watch. He led Elinor into an underarm turn, and then a reverse turn. She laughed missing a step, but the memories coming back. The kids started applauding and cheering them on. James getting more elaborate with the steps as his memory came back.

“Go old dude,” he heard from the crowd.

He led Elinor into a free spin, taking her hands when she came around and going immediately into a double underarm. The crowd cheered again, laughing and clapping. The music ended, but not the cheers.

“Again,” someone yelled. “Play it again.”

The same song started over at the cheering of the crowd. James looked at Elinor, nodding his head. She nodded in return, laughing.

“Show me how, old dude,” the pimple face teen said, standing there, holding the blond girls hand.

James looked up at him, a slow smile crossing his face.

“Three steps out, three steps back, rock step,” James said, showing him the steps.

Before long, the parking lot was full of kids attempting the new dance, laughing and cheering. Twenty minutes later, James pulled Elinor out of the crowd.

“This ‘old dude’ has had enough,” he laughed, trying to catch his breath.

“Thank you James…thank you for the memories,” she said hugging him.

The drive home was pleasant, both of them humming the tune, chatting about the old times, their youth.

Three days later James took Elinor to the small airport, where she would take a connector flight to Omaha, and then on to California. He hugged her close, not really wanting her to go, but she needed to get home, take care of her own business.

“Til soon,” she whispered in his ear, kissing him on the cheek.

He took her face in his hands, his eyes sad and lonely, pooling with tears.

“I love you Rigby,” he said, kissing her mouth quickly, “now go.”

He turned her, pushing her toward the door and the plane. He didn’t see her walk through the door, as he walked away, nor did he see her turn her head back to him, a single tear running down her cheek.

He stopped at Harpers bar instead of going home. He was in need of a good stiff drink.

“A Bud and a shot,” he said to the bartender.

“Sure James, on the house,” the bartender said.

“No damnit, take my money,” the anger flashing in his eyes, as he pushed a twenty across the bar. “And keep em coming.”

Six hours later, James finally made it home. This was the drunkest he had ever been. He collapsed in bed, still dressed, vomiting on the pillow, unable to make it to the bathroom. He was amazed the next morning, as he clean up the mess, amazed that he had even made it home. He head ached like it never had and his stomach churned, trying again to invert itself.

Over the next three months, he busied himself for the coming Nebraska winter. The winter would be hard, as it always was, blowing across the sandhills of Cherry County, the temperatures dropping to below zero for days at a time. With 4,000 head of Herefords on the open range he needed to make sure he had enough silage, enough hay to keep them going through the cold. They would congregate at the wells and he needed to make sure all the heaters worked or the water would freeze. The coyotes would be on the prowl as well, looking for a meal of prime beef. He kept the Winchester 30/30 in the rack of the back window of the four-wheel drive pickup. The old red ford would never make it through the snowdrifts that were to come. As the temperatures began to drop, he started carrying a half-pint with him, just to keep warm, he told himself.

The dishes piled up in the kitchen sink, and the trashcan overflowed with empty TV dinner trays. James continued to busy himself as the snows began to fly, the half-pint becoming a pint, then a full quart, as the freezing weather moved in. A blizzard rolled across the hills one November night and he had to take the tractor out to make it threw the four feet of snow.

He kept in touch with his daughter, and with Elinor, telling them he was fine, the winter was hard as usual, but he would make it. That he was getting ready to put up the Christmas tree, just like he and Joyce had always done. Beth begged him to come and see them for Christmas, but he declined, saying he had to much work to do. He bought gifts for her and her husband, and several for the baby, mailing them off a month ahead of Christmas.

Elinor suspected he wasn’t fine, she could hear it in his voice. She knew him too well for the lies to be convincing.

James brought the Winchester in the house to clean, he had shot several coyotes and the rifle needed cleaning. He laid to on the coffee table in front of the couch, breaking it down, running the rod through the barrel, sipping at the quart of whiskey sitting there, Christmas music playing on the radio. Once it was clean, he reloaded it, leaning it against the edge of the couch, looking over at the tree.

It was Christmas Eve and the tree was just the way Joyce had always decorated it, with red bows and twinkling colored lights. He picked the bottle up to take a drink, but it was empty. He looked at the bottle, the tears welling in his eyes.

“Goddamn you,” he screamed, throwing the bottle against the wall, smashing it into a hundred little pieces. “Why,” he screamed at the ceiling, his anger turning to rage.

He stumbled to the Christmas tree, kicking at it, ripping at the bows and the twinkling lights until they went out. His rage consumed him as the tears flowed down his face. The tree completely destroyed he collapsed on the couch, sobbing into his hands.

“Why goddamn you….why did you take her…you son-of-bitch,” he wept.

His rage, the depression overtaking him, the loneliness flowing through like the bitter wind outside, biting gnawing at his core. He wiped at the tears, turning his head, his eyes falling on the 30/30 leaning beside him. He reached down, cocking the lever, pushing a round into the chamber. He placed the butt of the rifle on the floor as he placed his mouth over the muzzle, his finger going to the trigger.

The phone rang, and he sat there, posed, letting it ring. The answering machine kicked in finally. It was Elinor.

“James…are you there?....It’s me, Rigby….Well I just wanted to call and wish you Merry Christmas and…and tell you that your loved….Well, ok…Merry Christmas…I’ll call tomorrow…and don’t forget to call Beth…she loves you too.” CLICK

His finger slid off the trigger as he let the rifle fall to the floor, the sobs racking his body.

“Let me go James…there is another that loves you now. Let me go so I may rest in peace.” Joyce’s voice whispered in his mind.

Was he hallucinating now, he wondered? He stood and stumbled to the bedroom, collapsing on the bed, falling into a deep sleep.

James woke twelve hours later from his drunken slumber. He stripped as he made his way to the shower, leaving a trail of clothes behind him. He stood under the hot water, letting it warm his soul. He shook his head as the water splashed into his face. He finally grabbed the soap and took a proper shower. Getting out he stood in front of the mirror and shaved. He picked his shed clothes up as he went back to the bedroom to dress, tossing them into the hamper. Once dressed in clean clothes he walked to the living room, he knew the mess he would find. His heart sank as he looked at the ravaged Christmas tree, Joyce’s tree.

“I’ll get you a new one,” he spoke aloud, to Joyce.

He got a couple of garbage bags and started to clean up the drunken disaster. He saved the bows from the tree and what lights he could, but the tree itself was gone. He picked up the glass from the broken bottle, and the Winchester went back to its proper place in the gun rack of the pickup. Then started in the kitchen, washing dishes, carrying out bags of trash. He even caught himself humming some Christmas songs. Six hours later the house looked as if nothing had happened, as if Joyce had been there all the time.

He called Elinor and Beth, wishing them both a Merry Christmas, also lying to them, telling them he was fine, just busy with all the work around the ranch. There were times that one or the other had called, sometimes he answered and other times he was out working.

The days slipped into weeks and the weeks into months. Spring was in the air, although snow was still heavy on the ground. James hadn’t touched a drink since Christmas Eve nor did he have the desire. His attitude was much like the land around him, filled with anticipation and wonder of the coming spring. It would soon be calving season, one of the busiest times on the ranch. He’d have to hire some extra help. Probably the same men he’d hired for the last few years.

As the days went by the air warmed perceptively, and he caught sight of the Canadian geese flying back north to their summer nesting ground. He’d stand and watch them as they flew overhead, knowing a new generation would be born before long, the geese, the calves. He smiled to himself at the thought, A new generation, a new life, it was much the way he felt also. He was going to have a new grandbaby soon also. That thought brought an even bigger smile to his face.

He was standing in the kitchen preparing supper when the phone rang.

“Hello? James. It's Rigby. I need to come home.”

James could hear the distress in her voice, and knew something was wrong. Not alarm or immediacy, but he knew her so well he could hear the underlying stress, the inflections in her voice. He didn’t hesitate with his response.

“Of course Rigby, certainly you can come home,” he replied. “Just let me know when you’re coming, and I’ll pick you up.”

The conversation was short, she could tell him what was wrong when she got there. When he hung up the phone, it struck him that she had said ‘home’. California had been home for years, but she wanted to come ‘home’ now. The old cliché, “Home is where the heart is,” crossed his mind.

Maybe she can stay longer this time, he thought.

As he threw the steak in the fry pan, he thought of all kinds of reasons for her to stay, she could do the bookkeeping, she was better at that than he was. Joyce had always done it before, and besides, the old house needed a woman in it. It had been Elinor’s home before his anyway, if only by a couple years.

She belongs here, he thought absolutely.

He caught himself whistling as he flipped the steak in the fry pan.

“Besides, she cooks better than I do,” he said to himself.