Who Calls The Tune

Sat, 25 Apr 2009 18:41:49 GMT

WHO CALLS THE TUNE

The trip to Lancer had been long and hot, and you wondered, not for the first time, whatever possessed you to tell your uncle; of course you would love to accompany him. Uncle Charles had come to San Francisco from back east to visit his younger sister several months ago, when mother became ill.

Remembering the look on the doctor’s face as he told you that Mother, had only a very short time to live; he had looked so distraught, so sad. Dr. Richardson had found it so hard to tell you those words. He, himself, having such a hard time grasping that your mother, his dear close friend, was dying. Doing as you always did, you immediately took control, arranging for the butler to send a wire back east to your mother’s only living family besides yourself, and walked the doctor to his buggy, assuring him that, yes, everything would be alright.

It had taken several weeks for Uncle Charles to make the long arduous journey. By the time he arrived all matters pertaining to Mother’s pending death had been arranged, and time was being spent wisely, as it should, talking with her and helping her to die a quiet peaceful death.

Regrets, yes there would be some for her and for you, especially for you. So much you still had to share, particularly since having reached the age of twenty-one, you had finally stopped butting heads with her, and were becoming so close, sharing so much about each other. But for the most part, she was happy and content, thrilled even when her brother Charles arrived. Chuckling, you remembered the “private” talks between your mother and uncle,

As you rode in the covered buggy driven by a boy from the stable in Green River where Uncle had rented the horse and carriage, you remembered those days, listening through the partially opened door, as Uncle Charles assured your mother that he would take care of you. Not financially, as father had seen to that before he had passed, in that horrible train wreck. But rather make sure that you were settled “married off” as it were.

Mother and Charles had discussed taking you back to Boston and New York where he had his import business. But in the end Uncle Charles believed he would move most of his operations to the west coast. He rather thought he would enjoy San Francisco, you remembered him saying. And of course, he had, albeit so discreetly, as he needed to protect his image. Ah yes, his image.

Well even though you were a bit apprehensive about the arrangement in the beginning, the two of you had come to a comfortable understanding. You would protect Uncle Charles’ image, his reputation, so that his standing with the elite of San Francisco would not be threatened, and he would leave you alone, to pursue you own relationships, without trying to remind you, that young ladies of standing just did not do that.

For the life of you, you had never been able to figure out just what young ladies of good standing did. But he assured you, they did not do what you did.

Oh well, poor ladies of good standing.

Yawning and looking around, thinking back to last week when this trip had come up. Uncle Charles had been thrilled to find out that a dear old friend of his from his village in Scotland was living in Southern California. Murdoch Lancer, who had immigrated to
America a few years before him had not settled on the east coast, as he had thought, but had moved all the way across country.

Charles wanted to go immediately to visit him – not even waiting until he was invited. He would surprise his dear old friend, and if we were unable to stay at the ranch, well we would just go back to Green River. But by god, this being said by Uncle Charles, a surprise visit to the Lancer Ranch was just what was needed.

You remembered agreeing to go, just in case the welcome was very un-welcomed, so that you could be there for Uncle Charles. And let’s face it, you were looking for some adventure lately, as life in the City was getting extremely boring - the pickings just a tad bit slim.

Looking ahead, you noticed the arches with the large letter L encircled, and realized that welcome or not, you, and of course Uncle Charles, would soon know. Well better brace yourself, arriving at someone’s home, unannounced, that your uncle had not seen or spoken to in nearly twenty-five years could be disastrous to say the least.

As the buggy stops a very tall man walks out from the beautiful hacienda. You watch Uncle Charles get down and slowly walk up to him and reach out saying his name, as the man looks on. You notice that the tall gent, looks puzzled, but then slowly his frown changes to a look of pure delight.

“Charles, my god, I can’t believe it is you” Murdoch Lancer says, pulling Uncle Charles into a bear hug. Charles is over 6 ft himself, and powerfully built like Mr. Lancer, so you wonder if they will break each other in two before they let go.

Laughing Uncle Charles turns to you to introduce you to his long ago friend. “This is my niece, Charlie, named after me, Murdoch. I apologize for her appearance”, looking disdainfully down his nose at my white turtle neck sweater hanging loose out over a pair of faded jeans. “Charlie, believes that if it is proper for a young lady to dress for travel, then of course, you would throw on your oldest and worst clothes”

“Nonsense” Murdoch replies, although clearly you can tell that he also believes it is improper for you to come to his home dressed in this way. “Please both of you come in to my home”.

Turning away, he yells for someone called Jelly, and asked him to please see that our bags are brought in to the house and placed in two of the first floor guest rooms.

You follow your Uncle and Mr. Lancer into the house and see that there are others waiting just inside in a large, very well appointed room. Wondering about these others, you hear Mr. Lancer start to speak.

“Scott and Johnny, I would like you to meet, these most unexpected, but very welcome guests. This is Charles Stewart, one of my dearest and closest friend from Scotland and his niece Miss, I’m sorry, but I did not hear your last name”.

“Oh,” Charles says, “forgive me. Her name is Charlie Jennings. And it is Charlie, nor Charlotte. She is named for my father, her father and me.”

“Well Mss Jennings, and Charles, these are my two sons” Mr. Lancer moves back to allow his sons to shake hands with his friend.

You notice that the taller of the two keeps looking at you, and moves to come forward to take your hand. The other son, was it Johnny, also comes to greet you, but there is just something about this blond one. Looking away, you turn back to the conversation taking place between your Uncle and Mr. Lancer.

“Charles we were just going to sit down for a light lunch. Scott and Johnny have been working out on the range for several days straight and just rode in shortly before your arrival. We were just relaxing while lunch was being prepared, and I was just telling my oldest here,” looking over to the blond young man, “that he needs to go upstairs after lunch and take a rest. He really should not have stayed out with the crews these past few days, as he is just coming off being confined to bed with a severe case of influenza”.

Stepping in to sit down on the couch, you see a small shy smile begin to grace the handsome face of this man called Scott.

“Murdoch, please I am fine. I don’t need to be coddled.” Shaking his head, the blond raises his hand to stop his father, saying, “Okay, this one time perhaps you are right, and as I am not very hungry, perhaps our guest will excuse me, while I take my father up on his kind offer to while away the afternoon. I will of course join everyone for dinner.”

Having nodded his apologies, he walks out of the room to the stairs and you wonder just which room, in this massive house is his. Before you turn away from him, to join everyone for lunch, you see him look back at you and smile, as if he has caught you in speaking out loud those oh so private thoughts going through your head.

Lunch is enjoyable, but gratefully short. Mr. Lancer tells us, rather Charles, of how he came to California. His marriages, loss of his two sons, and finally their return. Haven’t been here long, you hear him say, “but we are getting along fine,” he nods to Johnny, who smiles back warmly, while seeming to duck his head.

There is now a three way partnership, Lancer tells Uncle Charles, but, and this is important he says, “I call the tune.” Then it is Charles turn, to tell of his adventure. Following his friend, but not finding him in Boston. Brief marriage, he says, saying married life was not for him. You smile privately, agreeing with this assessment.

His business is import and export, and he has found a new home in San Francisco. They laugh over old jokes, and then lunch is finished. The younger son, excuses himself, and tells his father that he will be in the barn most of the afternoon, attending to the much-needed repairs on a lot of broken tack that has been piling up in the barn. Mr. Lancer while nodding to his son, ask your Uncle, and of course by implication you, if you both would like to join him for a tour of the ranch.

Uncle Charles jumps at the idea, but only if the tour is in a carriage. It has been too long, way too long, since he has ridden, and he does not feel he is up to the task. Great, a graceful opening for you.

You of course would love to go, but could you postpone the tour until tomorrow morning, upon which time perhaps a horse could be made available for you to explore the ranch, with or without an escort, because you truly understand the demands of a working ranch? Besides you are rather tired and think a nap would do you good.

“Of course, of course, please Charlie, make yourself comfortable” Murdoch Lancer says, rising from the table.

After bidding them a good journey, you look around and find, quite to your amusement, that you are now alone. Walking back to the guest rooms, you look in several until you find the one where your bag has been placed. Closing the door, you reach down and lift the sweater over your head, and drop the jeans to the floor. Opening your luggage, you find the light loose dress, the only dress you have packed, and slip it over your head. Placing the light flat shoes on your feet, you leave the room and climb the stairs.

Curiosity you know will not only kill the cat, but someday may get you in serious trouble. Perhaps, but maybe not today.

You reach the top of the stairs and slowly walk down the first hall. Stopping at each door, you listen. Finally several doors down you hear the soft sounds of a person sleeping. And, because you cannot help yourself, you slowly open the door.

Coming into the room you walk quietly up to his bed. Sitting down gently your hand reaches towards his hair, and ever so softly your fingers move to push his blond hair back from his forehead, moving up and through his hair, down caressing his face as you gently move the tip of your fingers over his cheek, finally resting your hand softly on his shoulder and moving down his arm to take his hand in yours.

He sighs, and you look at his eyes, closed against the noon day sun, long golden eyelashes lying like a tiny fan on the tip of his cheek bones. You watch him breathe, noticing it seems for the first time, that his shirt is undone, exposing a lightly tan chest rising gently with each breath. In and out, you watch almost mesmerized as he sleeps, so soundly.

You start to leave realizing that your presence might disturb this needed, restful sleep. But as you start to rise and take your hand away from his, you feel him grip your hand, pulling you back, wordlessly asking you not to leave. And then looking at him you see the small smile, tugging at the corners of his mouth and you realize he has been playing with you, and slowly you move to join him…….as he pulls you towards him so that your lips may touch, in that first shy kiss, that you love so much.

Then his mouth opens, and you both begin to explore the taste and pleasures of each other, as your tongues touch and begin their playful rituals. You feel his hand come around and loosen the ribbon holding your hair, and then move to loosen your long hair, so that it falls gently down to him, tickling and caressing him, as you continue your long first kiss.

Moving to the side, he takes his other hand and with the skill of someone who has done this hundreds of times before, he removes your dress, and realizes with pleasure, that you have come prepared, having removed all else before.

And now it is your turn. Should you quickly remove his clothes, showing that you too have done this many times before. Or perhaps you should play shyly with him, pretending, if just for once with clumsy moves, that you just are not very adepts at this.

No. As you look into the blue-grey eyes that seem to know all there is to know, that say to you, what pleasure will be had should you just come to him, you know that now is not the time to hold back. Enjoy the moment, and take the gift that is being given to you.

Quickly now, you remove his clothes, using as little movement as necessary. Both it seems concentrating on the pleasure about to be given. To be taken. To be enjoyed.

Bodies now free to join and explore, the kisses coming harder and more passionately you move to join as one. The intense first pleasure you feel as he comes into you – is joyous. He moves you beneath him, moving his head back to look at you, his eyes taking everything you have to offer, leaving you to feel, for the first time that you can ever remember, naked and vulnerable.

As he moves rhythmically, slowly, deeper until you cry out, biting your lip, reaching to caress his entire being, you know that this pleasure has never been yours before. This is what you have been looking for, and you want to cry, for all that you longed for, and will long for if this ecstasy is never known again.

But for now, for this moment, it is yours. He is giving you pleasure few men are capable of. And as you look into those beautiful, knowing eyes, you realize that his pleasure is in giving this to you. That he is so sure of who he is, so comfortable in his own capabilities, that he is the one that will control this encounter and all others and those around him.

As he finally reaches his own ecstasy, he looks down smiling at you, knowing that you are his. That you may have stepped into his room uninvited, just as your uncle came to Lancer uninvited. But just like your uncle was welcomed, so were you. But as Charles may leave – you will only leave when told you are no longer welcome.

Remembering what his father said, you smile up at him, and know without any doubt that Scott Lancer is the one that calls the tune.

ctss

Who Calls The Tune