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The Plumber's Daughter Chapter 3

The Plumber's Daughter Chapter 3

Posted by Beagle9690

January 2011

Author's Note: As in Chapter 2, I continue to delve into Marie and Patrick's past to put their romance and deep feelings for each other into perspective. Some people will not like this story due to the lack of constant vicarious sex, while others will like the romance.


“DAD, I…” “Your father stormed into the bathroom, darling”; Mom said as she returned to the line, "Don't worry, he'll get through this and I'll talk to him." I look forward to your visit and getting to know that special man in your life. From what I heard from their conversation, I am confident that Patrick will be a real test for my Dominic.”

After I finished talking to my mother, I went looking for Patrick. I found him in his workshop repairing the broken stock of a Brown Bess musket that one of his design friends had lost during the battle at Fort Niagara. When I entered the store, Patrick was grinning from ear to ear. “You must be tired of the endless conversations on the phone,” he said. He said, carefully placing the supply on the workbench and wiping his hands with a shop towel. - Why don't you get some sleep? I can prepare my own breakfast.”

"No, you won't." I'll make you pancakes, eggs and bacon, and that's the finale."

I insisted on playfully poking him in the chest. “Yes, my queen,” she said. Patrick said smiling and raising his hands in surrender. “You haven’t hugged me yet this morning,” he said. I added, nudging him further. "Are you ready for some hugs and kisses now, Pokey?" Patrick asked, suddenly grabbing me and pulling me closer for a hug and kiss on the lips.

"Do you think it would be wise to talk to my father the way you do?" Are you trying to confront him? “I was only telling the truth, Marie. In the end, your father will respect me for this; especially because his temperament and core beliefs are the same as you told me." "So you're trying to confront him?" "Sooner or later it'll happen, right? Your father will test me. Why not get it out of the way?" "What if my dad never likes you?" "Then he won't." I know you'll like it too; However, I will not allow your father to lay hands on me.”

"What if Dad does?" "He won't, Marie." "You don't know my father, Patrick, so make me laugh and tell me he knows." He chose my ex-husband and shook him like a terrier would shake a rat. That's what you said when I told you about it. “I will do my best not to harm him, my queen. At worst, we will be reluctant to get along. You can respect someone but not love them. What the hell. Maybe in time I will love your father.

"How can you be so sure? You don't know my father as well as I do." "Call it intuition, Marie. You have to trust me on this matter. Reserved respect is better than polite contempt or contempt. and I trust him even though I'm really looking forward to pancakes. Let's hope there are no unwanted interruptions." "Don't be so quick with the pancakes, Mr. Buchanan." I haven't finished kissing you yet.

I think I miss hugs and kisses from my Blue Knight. I hope Patrick is right, but I have to prepare him. As a child, I watched my father interact with his close male friends. Things are completely different with my ex-husband, Dad.

Dad and his friends laugh and joke over a glass of wine or a bottle of beer. Sometimes they argue loudly in heated debates and good-naturedly insult each other. Joe Sebastian had been one of Dad's closest friends since kindergarten, and Michael Carbone was a close second.

Dad despised the idiot, but was polite to him when the whole family got together. At best it was a contemptuous, neutral politeness. There were no good-natured arguments or insults. Dad's utter contempt and anger showed as he picked up his ex and shook him like a terrier shaking a rat.

The idiot and the coward literally got dirty. It took two private police officers and a janitor to get Dad to let him go.

Father Joe can argue and yell with the best of them, especially when he's drunk. In most cases, he is reserved and moderated to prevent the situation from getting out of control; Father Joe is a Roman Catholic priest who grew up in foster care, and his only real family outside of the church is us.

As I kneaded the dough, I thought about Susan. I wondered if we would ever love each other. Susan lives two miles from here. Patrick pointedHer house came to me on the way to get ice cream. But this morning I was tired and could hardly suppress yawning. The thought of sleeping late into the evening was very tempting. Patrick didn't notice and insisted that I go to bed straight away. I protested at first, but Patrick kissed my hands and said, "Please, I'm fine," and a look followed. I gratefully went to bed while Patrick made breakfast.


I'm happy to see Marie talking to her parents after almost a year. What is more important than family? I thought about going to see Susan, but decided it was better to wait until I spoke to Sam. My thoughts over the last few days have been like a small tornado swirling around in my head despite my external calm. Marie was exhausted and could barely keep her eyes open. Luckily she listened to her senses and went to bed with some persuasion from me, but not until I promised to wake her up at three so she could go shopping with her.

After Marie went to bed I called Sam and he brought fresh cold cuts; Sweet and sour cheese and freshly baked bread, and we spent most of the day shooting bulls over coffee and sandwiches in my shop while I exhausted my supply of muskets and started another project on my list of paying customers. Sam explained everything to Susan. He also said that Susan seemed to be coping better with the situation than he expected. Sam apologized for putting me in a difficult position. He still can't come to terms with White Cloud's almost silly behavior towards Marie. Sam is a man who has forgotten more about horses than I could ever hope to know.


When I woke up, Patrick was sitting next to me on the bed, gently rubbing my back. “I hope you slept well, Marie. It's time to get up. Sam is here to see you.

“I can't let Sam see me like this, I need to freshen up. What does he want?

"He wants to apologize." "But Sam didn't do anything wrong. He didn't know anything about me. “Then make him laugh. We'll wait in the store until you're ready. I look forward to trying your sauce. "What sauce are you talking about?" I asked, acting stupid and crouching down to touch Patrick's face. I assumed he meant my tomato sauce. “Definitely a stupid sauce,” he said. - said Patrick, smiling and lightly stroking my hair.

“What kind of stupid sauce is this?”…? No, Patrick, don't, stop! I screamed and realized it too late.

My love pushed me back onto the bed and started tickling me. Soon I was squirming happily and laughing as he kissed me all over my face.

"I won't stop until you kiss me...okay, keep it up...kiss me again, and now, one more time...don't you love stupid sauce?"

It was chilly that day and I found the cutest dark green sleeveless corduroy sweater in my closet. It was very feminine but modest, reaching almost to the ankle. This is a very comfortable piece with a ruched bodice, button fastening at the front and an adjustable tie at the back. Underneath I wore a soft cream silk blouse with a high collar and long sleeves. I also wore white stockings and black shoes. When I walked into his workshop to talk to Sam, it was obvious that Patrick liked that look.

Sam stood up and took off his baseball cap as I entered the workshop, just as he did when he walked into our kitchen with Susan and saw me for the first time. As a man of few words, it was a simple and sincere apology. He and Patrick have such a nice, old-fashioned way, and after Sam left, it was time to go shopping.

Macy's gave us an hour's drive to get to one of the big cities. Patrick waited patiently while the girl behind the makeup counter showed me different eyeshadows, eyeliners, and lipsticks. By the time we left the makeup counter, I had everything we girls needed to look beautiful for our boys. They also gave me free makeup. It was fun. In addition, Patrick helped me make some decisions.

On most occasions, which he prefers, I go back to my conservative, natural look. I also bought some more sensual eyeshadow shades for, let's say, nicer occasions when we're alone. This also included bright red lipstick, which Patrick really wanted to buy. Yummy, I'll put red lipstick on his cock when we get home.

Until that day, Patrick had never worn aftershave or cologne in his life. Surprised, I asked him why on the way into town. Patrick shrugged and smiled. Of all the men's perfumes on the market, Old Spice is my favorite.

I went with Patrick to a counter that sold men's perfume and asked the young woman behind the counter for a bottle and offered to buy it for him. “No, thank you, Marie. Women should smell beautiful, not men.” Patrick then quickly left the the devil who avoids holy water. I grabbed Patrick by the back of his denim jacket and pulled hard to stop him. Patrick hadn't expected that. I put my arm around his waist, leaned over and said, "When we get home, I'm going to put on red lipstick and suck your cock... your big cock."

"Maria!" - he whispered and looked around, - for heaven's sake, do you want someone to hear you? “Do you want me to say something, Patrick?” I asked. "No of course not"; - he answered and turned to me: “But…”. I kissed him on the lips, interrupted him, stuck my tongue in his mouth and watched his eyes widen. Then I raised my voice: "When we get home, I will..." Patrick put his index finger to my mouth and smiled.

“Okay, okay, you win. "You're really something, Marie, you know that. You're actually going to do it," he said. - said Patrick and removed his finger. “It’s such a small thing, darling. I would be very happy if you wore it for me." "Well, I guess cologne won't kill me." "Will you do it then?" - I asked and kissed Patrick again, less mischievously.

He sighed. "I have no choice, do I, my queen?" "You will make me a dandy and the dandy of your court."

“No Choice, Blue Knight”; and I kissed him again before turning to the clerk. She smiled as she watched us and nodded approvingly as our eyes met.

I handed her my Black American Express Card to purchase, took the cologne, removed the lid and squeezed some into my hand. I rubbed it on the sides of Patrick's face, behind his ears, along the back of his head, and through his hair. “You smell like a dandy lover,” he said. I whispered and brought my face closer to his, “Let’s get some groceries.”


I forgot how much I enjoyed something as simple as grocery shopping and meal planning with someone. There are many benefits to owning your own business and being your own boss. I am simply amazed and delighted by Marie's enthusiasm. We searched for the best ingredients. Marie took her sauce seriously...her tomato sauce, to be exact. Marie had to touch or kiss me for every item we put in the cart, and each time she whispered to me how good I smelled.

We bought cans of whole tomatoes, cans of crushed tomatoes, cans of tomato paste, and cans of tomato puree. We bought two bottles of extra virgin olive oil and fresh garlic; lots of it, plus fresh basil and fresh oregano. Marie made me promise to plant a vegetable garden near the house with tomatoes, basil, oregano and hot and sweet peppers. My promise earned me big hugs and more kisses.

We bought red onions, some pepperoni and a whole soppressata sausage. Have you bought fresh sweet carrots? Marie explained that the carrots were dissolved to thicken and sweeten the sauce. Don't forget eggs, Italian bread instead of breadcrumbs; Marie makes her own breadcrumbs and always puts a piece of mozzarella cheese in the middle of the meatballs. Mozzarella was just one of the cheeses we bought and I learned how to pronounce it correctly in Italian.

Then there was sea salt. I always believed that salt was salt, but Marie insisted that sea salt should be used in everything. Now let's get to the meatballs. we bought veal and steak; Luckily I have a meat grinder. Marie didn't like the Italian sausage in this supermarket. We bought the rest of the groceries except for the sausage and then went to a cafe known for its cakes and pastries. We placed an order and asked to see their phone book.

I got an education in Italian sausage by sharing our cake; a slice of blueberry and a slice of cherry. We gradually helped each other, as Marie explained: “The best sausage is always homemade because you have control over what goes into it and only use the best and freshest ingredients.” My dad's sausage is fantastic. Dad meets up with his two best friends every December 23rd. For them it is tradition.

They produce enough sausage to last a year and spend about fifty pounds on it. They drink wine. There is bread, cheese and olives; lots of black and green olives and lots of sopressata for sandwiches. Our Christmas Eve is Lent and we adhere to the tradition of the Feast of the Seven Fishes. After midnight mass, it's officially Christmas Day." Marie said with a smile, "Mom will fry a small piece of sausage and Dad will cut it into three pieces so we can share them before bed." "It's a wonderful tradition," said he. - I said and squeezed Marie's hand.

“When I was little, I would help turn the handle of the meat grinder before bed. Dad still grinds meat by hand. Remember that a good sausage should always be coarsely ground. It has to be freshcracked fennel. As much as my dad loves pepperoni, my dad always makes my mom's sausage mild. Before the minced meat is mixed with the spices, the men pour four glasses of wine to toast and our priest says a short prayer. “

“Your priest makes sausages with your father?” “Yes, Father Joseph Sebastian; Joe and Dad are best friends.” “Why four glasses of wine, Marie?” They said there were three men. Did your father let you drink wine while you cut sausage? “As part of the recipe, a glass of wine is poured into each portion of sausage mixture. When I was a little girl, I added a teaspoon of wine to a glass of water; just enough to add some color to the water. As I got older and on special occasions, I was allowed to drink half a glass of wine if I wanted. What holiday traditions did you have growing up?

“On Christmas Eve, my mother served cream of cod over mashed potatoes floating in butter. For Christmas we had a leg of lamb. At Easter we had ham, although my mother fried lamb chops for my father. Dad insisted on lamb on both of these holidays. When I was nine years old and started working on the farm, I was allowed to drink a glass of stout and cider on holidays, and that year I saved most of my money to buy Christmas presents. I bought a special gift for my mother. I hitchhiked into town and...” Marie interrupted her: “You hitchhiked when you were nine?”

"I did it, but I shouldn't have done it." Mom didn't drive and Dad was always working, and then we had hard times and money was tight. A milk truck with our raw milk picked me up on the way to the cheese factory a few miles from our farm and dropped me off in the town where Mrs. Clark and Susan had taken me. The Clark family never experienced hard times; Woman. Clark was a teacher and her husband was a veterinarian.

I didn't want to come because my parents would find out I was hitchhiking. They saw me alone in the store and arrested me. Wow, what a scolding I got from Mrs. Clark; She wanted to take me straight home and tell my mother until I showed her the Christmas present I bought my mother with my own money. She softened her tone and stopped talking to wipe her eyes with a napkin from her purse.

"Was it Susan, you know who Clark is?" "Yes, it was. Susan supported me. She convinced her mother not to tell my parents. Susan offered to help me wrap the gift. I actually went home with them and called my mom to let her know I was having lunch with the Clarks; It was Susan's idea.

But before I left, I made Mrs. Clark promise to stop hitchhiking, and she hugged me and kissed me."You promised? "Yes, but that doesn't count because I'm keeping my fingers crossed." "Did Susan know that you broke your promise to her mother?" Yes, and she didn't tell me because she wanted something from me.

“What did Susan want?” I asked. “I can’t tell you that, Marie; It's a secret and I haven't kept my fingers crossed. Susan took care of it.

"Why on earth don't you tell me, even after all these years, that you were children?" I wonder what he promised Susan. "Even after these years, I have not broken my promise, Marie, and since then I have kept my word to her and she to me." "You were a naughty boy." Yes, I was and will be a naughty boy when we come home.” “What did you buy your mother Patrick?” I bought her WhiteShoulders powder.”


Looking in the phone book, we found a few numbers to call and found a small Italian market where our sausage would be ground almost exactly to Marie's father's exact specifications if we brought them red wine. While we were at this wonderful little market, Marie bought our grated cheeses: Pecorino Romano, Asiago and Parmigianino Reggiano. We rub the pieces by hand. Marie also bought three large wooden spoons and warned me that they were only for sauce and pasta. Marie talked about all the appetizers she would make for me, like stuffed pepperoni with provolone cheese and provolone peppers with anchovies, her favorites. I said, "Wow, and I thought celery and cream cheese was a big deal," and for that comment I got playfully slapped on the ass with one of their big spoons. My biggest purchase of the day was a gallon of chocolate milk.


When we got home, I went upstairs to change into my house dress and Patrick took off his shoes and socks before putting the groceries away. He prefers to go barefoot whenever possible. While I was there, Patrick called from the bottom of the stairs, "Marie, would you please grab another white t-shirt from my dresser?" I spilled chocolate milk on him. I had no idea what box it was in To take a look, I opened the second one from the top. Most people have socks or underwear in their top drawer. I put my hand over my mouth when I saw it. It was so sad and so sweet and how much I loved him.

Patrick told me his mother died when he was nine, and I still have my mother and father. Oh, my dear brave man, my Blue Knight; this sweet, sweet boy. Patrick loved his mother so much that he hitchhiked into town to surprise her and buy her this Christmas present with the money he earned working on the farm.

I also noticed his mother's wedding ring on the chain, as well as his wife's ring and his own. His mother's ring was his magic ring. That Christmas, Patrick's mother was a healthy, strong, and energetic woman; However, on January 2nd, she died unexpectedly of a brain aneurysm. I took the powder out of the drawer and took the lid off the pink box. Almost all of the power of the dust was there. I closed my eyes and sniffed; That's what Patrick's mother smelled like. This is how Patrick remembered her at Christmas when she dressed it especially for him and wore it during the short time they spent together.


MARIE had a material and tender expression on her face as she brought me a clean t-shirt and said, "I love you, Blue Knight." "It's okay, Marie, it's just a shirt and the stain can be washed off." I rinsed it with cold water and applied stain remover to it before washing." "I love you because you are brave and kind and sweet and caring, Patrick." "Well, thank you very much, my queen. I thought it was my cologne. I said, stroking her hair, "I'm grateful that I found you, or perhaps I should say, we found each other, my love."

“You always seem to know what to say,” he said. Marie said, hugging me tighter: "And you are much more complicated than you say." You play the role of the average person so well. Will you sleep with me now? “Of course, my beautiful queen,” she said. I took her hands and kissed them. We went upstairs to our bedroom and I closed the door. We stood in front of a full-length mirror and a stained glass window in a black iron frame that hung on the back of the closed door. I gave it to my wife for her first wedding anniversary.


"I HAVE SOMETHING FOR YOU"; Patrick said quietly, bringing his face closer to mine as we looked at our reflections in the mirror, "As it should be, you're finally caressing a woman, my wife." Turn to the mirror and take off your clothes while I get her.

I quickly undressed and watched as Patrick pushed the large wooden chest that sat on the duvet at the foot of the bed aside onto the old, worn, wide floorboards.

The cedar chest is very old and is used to store bedding and blankets. Patrick opened it and pulled out a thin piece of metal; A gasket with a recess was cut into it and inserted between the floorboards. He pushed the spacer toward him, engaged the hidden latch, and lifted the board on the hidden hinge until it stood straight. This allowed Patrick to lift the board hanging next to him with his hand.

He knelt, reached under the floorboards and pulled out a small solid cherry wood jewelry box and a gold foil-wrapped package before setting the floorboards down and placing the chest on the carpet. I never thought there was a secret hiding place there; I wonder if there are more people hiding in the area, considering how long his ancestral family lived here.

Patrick stood up, put the jewelry box on the dresser, and came toward me with a gold foil bag. “These are the tears of an angel, Marie, and they have never caressed a woman's neck; even Anna Maria, and they will now caress yours.”

I peeled off the gold foil and revealed a red velvet box. I opened it and was speechless. Patrick kissed me on the lips. Tears now appeared, tears that had remained hidden for so long; a tear of love from him...along with a very long string of white pearls, tears of an angel, which must have been at least 100 inches long.

Patrick looped them three times and placed the beads around my neck where they rested between my breasts and almost reached my belly button when I looked down.

When I looked up, a single tear rolled down his cheek and Patrick took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. They were gifts of love, and Anna Maria must have died before he could give them to her.

I reached out and wrapped my arms around the Blue Knight's neck. I kissed his single salty tear and felt Patrick's precious love before I found his warm lips and kissed them. I took Patrick's hands like he always does mine and kissed them. "Thank you Blue Knight, your precious tear is the second best gift I have ever received and you are the first..." and I still held Patrick's hands and lifted his arms above his head to take off his shirt. Onceeverything was turned off. I let go of Patrick's hands, ruffled his hair and said, "Close your eyes, darling."


I closed my eyes as Marie began kissing and licking her until she was on her knees in front of me. Marie unbuckled my belt and unbuttoned my jeans, freeing my hard cock from its captivity. With a mischievous smile, my lover pulled my jeans down to my ankles so I could step out of them, followed by my boxers. Marie began to lick the tip of my penis with her tongue, fluttering and teasing. I reached down, still closing my eyes, and ran my fingers through her soft, thick hair.

Marie continued, licking and kissing my shaft before taking it into her mouth and starting to suck and lick it with her tongue. Marie was driving me crazy and she knew it. She continued to bring me to orgasm and then pulled out. My love took my hand and said, "Keep it closed, love." As she led me to the bed and helped me lay on my back and placed a few pillows under my head, "You can open your eyes now." Marie knelt to the side and looked down at me.

The pearl, imbued with Marie's aura, seemed to glow gently independent of any earthly light source when placed between her breasts. My God, how I loved her. My carnal lust was curbed by my love for Marie, but it was no less strong; Keeping my queen close will be enough for now. I sat up to kiss her warm lips, but Marie pushed me away and rode me, impaling herself on my rock hard cock.

I reached out and caressed and caressed Marie's firm, round breasts. I stroked her with beads and added hers to my aura while Marie rode me. Marie's eyes were closed in ecstasy. It was new to me, a woman at the helm, and I liked it.

I moved with her, matching Marie's rhythm and pushing up to support her weight. My beautiful Marie is light as a feather.

I waited for Marie's orgasm and held mine back, the dam of ecstasy threatening to burst with a merciless stream of my seed to fill her womanhood.

Marie was wild as she rode me, bouncing up and down on my cock. Her head was thrown back and Marie's hands were buried in her hair, pulling at it. She moaned and said, "This feels so fucking good... your cock is so fucking hard and I'm such a horny fucking slut with you... oh god, I love you, I'm going to cum, I'm going to." Fucking cum…” “Hold me, Patrick… I’m going to suck your cock, suck it, suck it,” he said. as her orgasm took over. Marie then collapsed on top of me, kissing my face over and over again and repeating, "I love you Patrick, I love you, I love you!" "I love you too. "Get on all fours, I'm going to fuck you hard, little slut."


I LOVE IT when PATRICK talks dirty when we're alone during sex, and I love it when we're not together and he refuses to do it. Sometimes I like being on top and he doesn't mind that at all, but pearls; Patrick rubbed the beads on my chest. This just made us both more excited and excited. Patrick actually likes me on top, which is good. I want to try many things with Patrick, everything sexy and naughty. Now he's going to fuck his little slut, me, hard and I'm going to experience another fucking orgasm.


MARIE WAS STILL NICE WET. Her musky, feminine scent was driving me crazy. I'm going to fuck my little slut with my cock. It's my turn.

I had no idea she was about to come back, and seeing my Marie in her pearls made me feel insatiable too. I fucked Marie hard and deep, just the way she liked it, a little rough. Marie is a woman who is not afraid of rough and hard fucking. My wife Anna liked to do it slowly and gently while we faced or turned away from me; I've never been on all fours. I was never at the top and neither was Anne. I'm glad Marie is more adventurous.


PATRICK PUT ME ON HANDS AND KNEES. He fucked me roughly and passionately with his big hard stallion cock. I love the way his balls slam against me as he fucks me with the pure, unbridled passion that is so characteristic of Patrick. His hand tangled in my hair and pulled my head back. I love having my hair pulled when we fuck like this and I love my Patrick. Later, before bed, I will take a bath with him. Patrick doesn't know that yet. We wash each other, change the water and then just hug and talk. He will love my Long Island granite bathtub.

I have so many ideas that my head is spinning. Then we will make love and Patrick will be slow and gentle. We seem to be in tune with each other's moods, it's just incredible.


Maria moaned and burned like before. It felt so good to have an orgasm after waiting for Marie, but I still had a hard body and continued pounding my queen with my cock. Marie literally screamed for me to pull her hair while Ifucked her and this time we came together and collapsed contentedly on the bed.


WE lay together in the warm glow while PATRICK ran his fingers through my hair. There was no need to speak. Patrick fell asleep and I covered him with a sheet before leaving. I let him sleep. Patrick definitely deserves it. I took a quick shower to make the sauce. Then I went outside to check on the horses. It was a good thing I did it. I'm no horse expert, but the broodmare behaved incorrectly.


MARIE WAKE ME UP from a very pleasant sleep. I dreamed about my wife Anne Marie. I dream about her often. I still love Anna and miss her. This love will never fade. I won't discuss this with Marie. I want Marie to feel that for me she is the only woman in the world and that Marie is in this world. Anne will understand; my dear sweet Anne Marie.

I dreamed that Anna came from heaven, she was given the gift of saying once what had been left unsaid before her death; that I should marry again and the angel's tear should reach my future wife. When she returns, Anne will watch over us from heaven. We all had dinner: Marie's sauce on manicotti with her wonderful meatballs. It was a pleasant dinner. Marie and Anne chatted like old friends and I basked in their warm and contented love until I said, "Patrick, wake up." There's something wrong with the mare!"


PATRICK dressed QUICKLY and we went into the barn together. He explained that the mare was in the early stages of labor, albeit a week early, and was clearly in distress. The signs were there; promotion and relegation; wagged his tail and sweated on his sides. Then the mare let out a stream of water and Patrick added: "Yes, and frequent urination." I'll stay with her for now. Please call your veterinarian. Doc Phillips' number is on the fridge.

I couldn't find the person. I left an answering machine and went back to the barn to tell Patrick. I didn't need it there so I went in to make the sauce. Patrick came an hour later to call the owner. He didn't contact her either and Sam left town to visit his sister. Even though he didn't say it, Patrick looked worried. Dinner was grilled lamb chops, broccoli with olive oil and garlic, and baked potatoes and ate in the barn while the sauce was made.

I prefer to make the sauce overnight and let it sit in the fridge for a day or more to allow the spices to develop their flavor. This is how my mother taught me, and this is also how her mother-in-law, my grandmother Sophia, taught me.

Patrick was in the stable all evening and late into the night. He had a cell phone with him. At three in the morning, Patrick came into the house and said, "I can't catch anyone, and the foal is in the wrong position." Susan isn't answering her cell phone or home, and I can't leave the mare at that moment. I need Susan's help. She is experienced in these matters. Doc Phillips took over her father's practice. You have to go to her house and pick her up." "It's three in the morning, Patrick, what if Susan doesn't come?" "Susan will come, Marie. At least we're neighbors and that's what people here do in emergencies, and besides, Susan always keeps her promises.

Susan's house is less than four miles away and her red minivan was parked in the driveway. I rang her doorbell and waited... for an answer. I knocked on the door, rang the bell and shouted: “ I know you're home. Open the door. I know we have differences and that’s why you didn’t answer the call,” he said. Still no answer,” Patrick told me the story about how he hitchhiked into town in a milk truck and you and your mother took him home. He didn't tell me what he promised you. "Go to hell!" Susan replied. “We can’t get to the vet. If you don't come, the mare may die during birth. I have no idea how to help Patrick give birth to a horse.” The porch light came on. Susan opened it and stood in the doorway and looked at me: “Does Patrick remember this?”

“Yes, he did it and he kept your secret”; I replied, “What did he buy his mother?” she demanded. “Patrick bought her White Shoulders powder.” “Tell me what he promised me?” - Susan demanded. “I asked, but he didn’t tell me”; and I told her word for word what was said. Susan sighed and said quietly, "Don't expect me to invite you to my house." Damn fine, you can wait on the porch while I get daddy's bag. And don't you dare thank me. I'm not doing this for you. I am coming now.

Talk about bad luck andclumsy; Susan's minivan wouldn't start and we had to drive together in icy silence. Susan immediately went to the barn and spoke quietly to Patrick. There was no point in being there for me. I went back to the house to try to call Sam or the vet. I failed.

Patrick returned to the house around six in the morning. Thanks to Susan, the mare and foal are doing well. Patrick was explaining technical problems when Susan went into the kitchen to wash her hands. We didn't talk. Susan looked at me and nodded, and I nodded back. I made us coffee. We all sat at the kitchen table with a cup and thought about our thoughts. Patrick took Susan home.

While Patrick was away, Sam finally received word to check on the horses. I made him breakfast and we talked a little. I also invited Sam to eat the sauce and promised to call him later to find out the time. After Sam left, I sat on the couch, waited for Patrick to return, and fell asleep. Patrick woke me up with a kiss on the cheek: “Come on, Sleeping Beauty, go to bed, we can both use that.”

“Is Susan okay?” You were right, she came. Why were you gone for so long?” “Susan will be fine”; He replied, “We talked in the barn and then we talked in her kitchen.” “I want to sleep now,” he said. Patrick took my hand and we went upstairs to bed, and we both fell over almost immediately as our heads hit the pillow.


I woke up with Marie's hand on my waist. My love was sleeping soundly and Marie was as close as possible. When I looked at the clock on the dresser, it was almost three in the afternoon. The mare and foal were doing well thanks to Susan, and making peace and coming to an agreement with her was another burden lifted from my soul. We communicated and remain good friends. What I didn't tell Marie was that Susan made me promise that I would always be her friend and that we would always be there for each other the day I hitchhiked.

If Marie and I break up, Susan will still be interested, but until then she will keep her distance. This is between me and Susan, and I will never tell Marie, and neither will Susan.

Women are much more complex than men, and if I live to be a hundred years old I will never fully understand them. If I understood them fully, they wouldn't be as interesting.

I went downstairs and found Sam at the kitchen table, sitting with a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper. We have the keys to each other's houses. “I have Dr. Contacted Phillips, Patrick. Doc's leg is broken. One of McCauley's Clydesdales stepped on him. It looks like Susan will be looking after her for a while, barring major surgery of course.

This girl missed her calling and had to pick up where her father left off. I will release the horses in another three days when the barn roof is finished. Thanks for checking them out. Did the girls fight again? "No, why do you say that?" "Oh, no reason, except the last time it cost me money. McCauley saw your truck parked in Susan's driveway. He said you've been there for a while. Did you sting her?”

"What kind of question is that, Sam?" "It's very simple"; He replied, "Did you sting her?" I would, and who knows? "Answer him, Patrick, did you stab Susan?" I turned around and saw Marie standing behind me, and boy, she didn't look happy. When Sam saw her, he stood up, took off his hat, and twirled her "hell" bells in embarrassment. I intervened again; I'm sorry, Patrick, but judging by the look on your face, the answer is obvious."

“That’s it Patty, I’m leaving. Sam, can you take me to the bus station? “That doesn’t make sense anymore, Marie.” There are no buses until tomorrow morning. If you want, you can stay with me tonight.


“Are you two crazy?” – Patrick asked in disbelief and I was able to suppress my laughter. "You're not going anywhere, Marie." Sam, however, couldn't keep a straight face and started laughing while patting Patrick on the shoulder, "We've got you, boy." You should have seen the look on your face. "This isn't funny, Sam, and you should know better." I would never do something like that. “We know that, my love. Sam and I had a nice chat about you when you were at Susan's.

“I still think you two are crazy,” he said. Patrick said, grinning and really being a good person, "All this nonsense is making me hungry." I know exactly what I want to eat.

They ate like they were starving and I couldn't get enough compliments on my sauce, especially my meatballs. Mine are better than mom's, if I do say so myself. Afterwards Patrick went upstairs to lie down in the bathtub andCheck out some of the new catalogs that arrived in the mail that day.

When I got upstairs, Patrick was fast asleep in the bathtub. This was very understandable considering the large lunch Patrick had eaten earlier. As I leaned over to wake him, Patrick opened his eyes and grabbed me, pulling my clothes toward him and saying, "Fool me once, shame on you, but fool me twice, shame on you."

"Are you crazy?" I shouted, “I’m dressed,” and he started laughing. I shouldn't have gotten angry, but I did. I planned to take an erotic bath with Patrick. “Behave, Marie. You had a little joke and I didn't get mad."

But I was angry and fought with him and tried to free myself. Patrick was like an octopus, and no matter how hard I fought, I couldn't break free. I struggled the more he laughed and kissed me, so I bit his hand... I regretted it immediately.

“God bless you, Marie,” she said. - he said quietly, letting go of his hand and getting up: - I was playful and tried not to hurt you. You didn't tell me to let go. I thought, "Well, Marie, now you've done it." Maybe you'll find out how far is too far."

I got out of the bathtub and the water flooded the entire floor. I would have slipped and fallen if Patrick hadn't reached for my housedress and caught it. “You’ve gone too far, Marie. Even Anne knew her limits. “ “Sorry Patrick, I got carried away. I didn't mean to bite you so hard. Patrick grabbed a towel, dried himself slowly and looked at me. I followed him into the bedroom. "Would you please talk to me?" What do I need to do to fix this?" He didn't say anything until he was dressed. "I love you, Marie, but I will no longer tolerate you trying to hit me, let alone bite me." You will learn to control yourself.

Patrick got up and went downstairs. I followed him, not knowing what to do. He was so calm. Patrick didn't rant, rage, or swear because that wasn't his style. "I'm going for a walk. Can you guess what will happen when I get back? Decide what you want to do." Patrick walked out the front door and closed it quietly behind him. I would feel better if he slammed it. What did Patrick mean when he said, “Decide what you want to do?” and what happens when Patrick comes back? "Stop kidding yourself, Marie," I thought, "you know what's going to happen and you'll achieve it." There's only one thing left for us to do: try to grease him up when he comes back."

I went upstairs to prepare for Patrick's return. I showered, washed and dried my hair and then curled it for him. Patrick loves playing with my hair. Curls will be a nice sexy touch. Thank God I finally have makeup on. I took my time creating a sexy and seductive look and applied the blood red lipstick Patrick had chosen for me. In the bottom drawer of his wife's dresser I found a beautiful red silk nightgown wrapped in white tissue paper. I wondered if Anne-Marie wore it on special occasions, like when she was pushing Patrick too hard. I had to smile at the thought, especially when I unconsciously touched my butt.

Very sexy nightgown with floral pattern and lace trim. It featured a mid-thigh slit at the hem and came with matching thong panties. Upon closer inspection it turned out that they had never been worn, everything was perfect. That is, if they had been waiting for an occasion like this. When I put them on, they fit like a second skin. Everything was perfect except for one little thing - the hair on my pussy. Although I keep it trimmed and shaped, it didn't look good with a thong. Would Patrick agree if I shaved everything off? I decided to surprise him.

Back in the bathroom, I put a towel on the floor and carefully cut off most of my pussy hair with scissors. As I was shopping, it occurred to me that I remembered the pink four-blade women's razor, but had forgotten my shaving gel. Before we went shopping, I scrubbed my legs with Patrick's razor and Dove soap. When you are in Rome it is good to do what the Romans did. I borrowed Patrick's shaving brush and shaving soap to create a nice, hot lather in a bowl. The soapy boar bristle brush felt really good on my pussy and I lathered it twice and shaved it until my pussy was as smooth as a baby's bottom. As I stood in front of the mirror and rubbed my bald pussy with my fingers, I thought, "I wonder if Patrick wants to shave me here when the time comes." I like that nice, clean feeling and I think I will Keep pussy like that.”

I checked my makeup a few times to make sure it was perfect and then applied my new Chanel Chance perfume. before heading downstairs and waiting for Patrick to return. Patrick liked itSmell when I first put it on him but now he's mad. It is not known when Patrick returned from his walk.

Regardless, I was ready to make it up to you and a nice smell couldn't hurt.

I found it difficult to sit still while I waited. I turned on the TV to distract myself without watching anything in particular. Patrick wanted to beat me up. I just knew it. I better decide what I want to do. Patrick has been very patient with me so far. However, I am a grown woman and a spanking is inappropriate, right?

But it will only hurt for a while. I'm sure Patrick wouldn't have left any bruises; He's not that kind of person. Spanking can help me because it reminds me to control my anger. After all, my beating is compensation for my well-deserved punishment. As I thought about this, I started to get excited; Part of the reconciliation after my beating...okay, I'll admit, the thought of him beating me turned me on a little. I went to the bookshelf and pulled out all of his family photo albums. Maybe they will help me decide whether to undergo a spanking.


As I walked past Susan's house, I thought, "Well, at least Marie didn't break her skin, but it hurt like hell." All married people have their arguments and disagreements. It depends on how you deal with them. When I was angry with my wife, which was rare, I always went for a walk or rode my scooter. Tonight it was a walk.

I will never fully understand women. Did Marie have in mind that I poked Susan when I was there? I admitted that she had two women from the sex club in my hotel room at the same time; explain why. Before I left I hugged Susan and she hugged me back. Before I left I also gave Susan a kiss on the cheek. I told Susan that I had feelings for her, feelings of friendship and devotion; she seemed to understand. Susan will keep her word and not try to come between us. Susan kept her distance while Ann and I were married and, like me, she always keeps her promises.

God forbid something happens to Marie. Now I have to admit to myself that Susan would be the one for me if that happened or if we broke up. Everything is so complicated.

I hate to hurt Susan, but what else can I do but be honest with her? I am indebted to Susan. I didn't want to hurt her and I don't want her to wait for me. Susan deserves to be happy.

Well, spankings always helped Anna. After that, none of us stopped. We never dug up old bones to chew. The best part of the spanking was always making up with Anne, usually after a day or two.


As I looked out the window I saw Patrick walking towards me in the distance. I checked my makeup one last time and touched up my red lipstick while Patrick checked on the horses. When my Blue Knight entered the kitchen he had a very gloomy expression on his face. Patrick was no longer angry; His eyes always give him away. Patrick stood with his hands clasped behind his back, fully clothed; Once a Marine, always a Marine. I saw his photos in a photo album. Patrick looks so good in his dress uniform and I love him so much. I put my arms around his neck, kissed him on the lips and said, "I'm so sorry, Patrick." Are you still mad at me?"

"No, Marie, but I have to do whatever it takes for you remember to take me seriously. You are not a child. Adults have a choice. Adults must face the consequences of their actions. There are some things I won't tolerate...not even from you. “You're going to spank me, aren't you?” - I asked and kissed him on the lips again. "Yes, darling. You gave me no choice. "Do you believe me when I apologize, Patrick?" "I accept your remorse, Marie, your apology." But as a Catholic, you know better than anyone that remorse always regret follows.” Patrick assured me as he held out his strong, calloused hand and I took it.


When I got home, Marie was waiting in the kitchen. Marie had a lovely time in the three hours I was gone. My lover looked incredibly hot and sexy and the biggest distraction was undoubtedly her game plan, a feminine trick. I knew so much about women. However, the spanking operation should begin without a bare bottom. Marie said she was sorry and I believed her. Marie is not a liar at all. My queen is strong-willed; He has a quick temper, a cheeky mouth and is perhaps a little spoiled. Marie also has a loving sweetness that stole my heart. My queen loves me and trusts me. This was confirmed when Marie handed me her pen.


PATRICK sat down on the KITCHEN CHAIR and let me lie on his lap while he held me with his left hand. He lifted my shirt but didn't bother taking off my thong. What was the point; both my asseswere completely open to his good right hand. “There is no turning back now, Marie. I'll hold you if you do too. You’re going to count to twelve,” he said. SLAP and the sudden pain left me gasping for air. Patrick would sometimes playfully pat my ass, just pat me, but now he could barely hold back.

“You will count Marie,” he said. SLAP: “Count Marie. Should I start with one? SLAP "Three" I blurted out through tears: CHEEK... "Four"; the slaps occurred six seconds apart, and according to SLAP - “six”; I sobbed openly like a child and was childishly punished. My bottom was beet red and burned terribly, SLAP, "seven"... SLEEP, "eight", I was determined to accept the punishment without shying away from it, SLAP, "nine"... SLAP, "Patrick, stop it..." . ;“Strike&rdquo ; please stop!"

"Did I hear you say one, Marie?" "Eleven, I said eleven!" My ass was on fire, SLAP…. "Twelve"; and then I went limp on Patrick's lap, my sobs wracked my body, my tears seeped into his blue jeans and I was grateful it was over. Patrick rubbed my back until I stopped crying. Patrick had me get up from my knees and we faced each other. My mascara ran, my makeup was smudged, and I looked terrible. “I must look terrible”; - I said, taking a deep breath and wiping my face with my hand. “I’m proud of you, Marie. You endured your punishment like a lady. and Patrick took a cold, damp kitchen towel and wiped all the makeup off my face, leaving red smudges of my lipstick on it.

“I have to tell you something, Marie; You're just as beautiful without makeup as you are with makeup, and few women can do that." "I have to tell you something, Patrick." "What is it, Marie? Can you tell me everything you know? Patrick said, holding me and rubbing my back. "I'm excited". I answered. “Yes, Marie, I know; I smell your sweet, musky, feminine scent, perfected by your perfume. I like your perfume.

"Don't you find it strange that I get aroused when I'm spanked?" "Not at all; you're a complex, passionate woman, Marie Antoinette. Either way, I'm fascinated. "You know what I think, Blue Knight?" "What do you think, my queen, do you want to make love now?" "It still hurts a little, but yes, you will be gentle, won't you?"


MARIE IS ABSOLUTELY FANTASTIC. My brave queen took her punishment without me having to hold her back. Marie fascinates me more than ever. Okay, I admit it. A small part of me loved spanking Marie. It was erotic and beautiful that Marie introduced herself to me, and I admit that too. I held my Marie tenderly, stroked her back and thought: “Thank God, I will never be able to understand women the way I should.” Marie is full of surprises, how can I be mad at her? I wonder why Marie shaved her pussy? I like it. Marie has such beautiful, plump labia that are hidden under all that hair. Now I can't wait to try it. I wonder if Marie will allow me to shave it? Hey, I like that idea." "Your wish is my command, my queen." We went upstairs to our bedroom and I took off my clothes. Marie pulled back the covers and got into bed, touching her bright pink bottom and wincing.


PATRICK was as gentle as a spring lamb to me as we lay on our sides facing each other and slowly made love. How much I needed Patrick's kisses that evening, and then we lay next to each other discussing our first adventure together in several days as Sam brought the caged horses to his farm. When we visit my parents; I hope to spend a few days with them; Patrick can sleep on the couch, but I sleep in my old bedroom. There will be no co-sleeping, assuming Dad even allows Patrick to be in the house. First we go to Long Island and spend a week there. Patrick is really looking forward to spending time by the sea on our private beach.

He said he always wanted to build an elaborate sandcastle like the ones you see on TV or in magazines. The closest he came to building a sand castle was when he built a pile of stones on the bank of a stream. I want to make love on the beach under the moonlight.

We also planned to rent a U-Haul truck and drive it back ourselves to bring his horse to our farm and any furniture and clothing I wanted to take with me after visiting my parents.

After visiting Long Island and my parents, we took our time driving back in the U-Haul truck. Patrick wanted me to meet people on the way home to our farm. Patrick also talked about the dynamite bull roast fundraiser that the Baptist church held every year and then a few days later; Weattended an Oktoberfest fundraiser at another church. In between these events, we were involved in a minor car accident in the parking lot of the restaurant where we had just eaten dinner. The situation spiraled out of control and the sheriff was called when the young man who hit us refused to exchange insurance documents and decided to argue with Patrick...needless to say; Patrick held him to the ground until the sheriff arrived. We rented another truck to transport the red horse, my furniture and clothes.

When we got to the Catholic church there wasn't much going on, so Patrick and I put on our aprons and got to work. We waited tables, serving knockwurst, sausages, sauerkraut and potatoes, as well as mugs of beer; It was fun. Afterwards we sat in the church kitchen with Father Dennis, whom Patrick called Reverend Dennis, and Jim and Bea Woodhouse. We ate the leftovers, drank beer, talked and laughed. We also spent the night at the house of Jim and Bee, our new friends we met at Oktoberfest. It turns out that Jim and Bee participated in Civil War reenactments and Jim's great-grandfather fought in the Battle of Bull Run. Jim showed us the sword used in battle. Patrick agreed to repair the hilt and crossguard in exchange for two dozen Bee's cinnamon rolls, which were delivered to the farm when they picked up the sword. Of course I had to make them a pot of sauce.

When we arrived, my parents were waiting for us in the driveway. Our red horse, which means motorcycle, was part of my adventure and I didn't tell my parents we were coming there. I wanted to surprise her and we managed to do that.

I have never enjoyed a journey so much in my life, sitting behind my companion on that red horse. It feels so good to feel the rumbling, throaty vibration of the engine between my legs, just as good as it feels to hold Patrick while I sit behind him. The wind in your face and the freedom of the open road felt so liberating. Damn leather corsets! I look sexy in my black leather jacket and tight blue jeans; Patrick says so. I'm his biker babe, right down to the black lace-up boots. Would some of those arrogant women I once interacted with at the art gallery be able to see me now?

We took a detour to my parents' house and spent four days sightseeing, even though the drive was actually only seven hours straight. I never realized how many small, quaint towns there are in upstate New York, and I'm amazed at how many friends Patrick and his wife made while visiting. One of the reasons for all the stops was to get to know me so Patrick could show me around. The first night we stayed at the Glenn Iris Inn in Letchworth State Park and then at a small bed and breakfast on the Hudson, where we traveled by motorcycle. I don't understand all the technical details of motorcycles, but Patrick does. This is a complete 1961 Harley Hydraglide Panhead with a 74 cubic inch 1200cc V-twin engine. It was Sam's car and Patrick keeps it in excellent condition. He explained many more technical points and compared it to new and old Harleys. All that matters to me is that Patrick takes me horseback riding.

Riding his Harley is something we will definitely do together. Patrick's wife was afraid of motorcycles and refused to ride with him. Patrick was so happy when I did it. The next day he bought me my leather jacket, helmet, gloves and boots. My riding lessons were limited to short rides on a different type of horse to get used to it. Essentially, I had to learn to shift my weight through the turn while also anticipating the road ahead. However, that didn't mean I ignored White Cloud, I was now responsible for all of her care, including her. I called Sam every day to check on her while we were away, and Sam held his phone to White Cloud's ear to hear my voice. Sam is amazed at how well she feels now.

My father's eyes nearly popped out of his head as I dismounted, took off my helmet, and shook out my hair. I stuffed my gloves into my helmet and handed it to Patrick. Then I went over to hug and kiss Mom and Dad. First I kissed and hugged my mother and then my father. As I hugged my father, I could see he was trying to look over my shoulder at Patrick as if to say, "What the hell are you trying to do to my daughter?" That was the first step - an angry look. That alone made the idiot nervous. Dad can be threatening and intimidating when he wants to.

“I whispered, ‘Be good to me, Dad,’ and kissed him on the cheek. "I promise I won't hurt him too much, darling." Patrick met his gaze with a slight smile. Dad let me go and Patrick came to meet them. “Mom, Dad, this is Patrick. Patrick, these are my parents. Dominic and Mary Bernardino. “I’m pleased to meet you,” he said. Patrick- she said with a smile and first gently shook her mother's hand. - Marie told me so much about you two.

Patrick held out his hand and Dad took it, squeezing Patrick's hand in his vise as if he wanted to crush it. He expected Patrick to try to break free. Much to my father's surprise, this was not the case at all. Mom put her hand on my shoulder. She nodded and smiled. Dad's confident smile turned into a frown as they both stood there, increasing the pressure. We could see the veins bulging in Dad's neck as he looked deep into Patrick's eyes. Dad changed tactics, put his other hand on Patrick's shoulder near his neck and started pushing... Patrick dropped my helmet and did the same. "Well, should I go and save your father?" Mom whispered.

“What do you think, Mom?” “Dad is fine,” he said. I whispered. “Well, right now it is,” he said. Mom whispered, “You know how stubborn your father can be. This should be over now. Dominic is always looking for a quick kill and now he's in trouble. Patrick is holding back, you don't understand. He doesn't want to embarrass your father in front of us. It would be better if it ended in a draw.

“Are you guys going to stand here all day?” - Mom asked. She stood behind Dad and looked at Patrick, and there seemed to be a silent understanding between them. “Not now, Mary,” he said. Dad grumbled, sweat streaming down his face. “Dominic, you promised not to hurt him. Give him a pass for me. How can he work if his arm is broken?" "But Mary, you heard what Mamaluke told me on the phone," Dad grumbled.

“And I heard what you said to him, so stop calling him names. It's a good thing he doesn't understand Italian. Talk about it like gentlemen. I invited Joe to dinner. I want you to promise him that when I count to three you will let him go. “I’ll do it if he wants,” he said. said Dad and looked at Patrick, “But I want to hear him say it.” - I give you my word, Ms. Bernardino. "Okay, then it's decided, one... two... three," Dad said, looking at Patrick, "but I want to hear him say it." They both let go of their hand and clenched and unclenched their hands several times. How I loved Patrick in that moment. I hope he knows what he's doing.

"Why don't you ladies come over to our house so this man and I can get to know each other better?" My father said, deliberately not mentioning Patrick by name.

“Yes, please,” he said. Patrick said with a smile: “We get along great.” Isn’t that true, Mr. Bernardino? Patrick hit my father hard on the shoulder, surprising him. Dad had to pull himself together not to stumble. Wow, that must have hurt. I thought, “Well, Dad, that’s step one, step two.” I bet you won't arm wrestle him now. “Yes, that’s how we are”; my father said as Patrick prepared for what was to come,

"We are making progress. We already agreed on something.” Dad hit Patrick even harder. From the sound of it and despite the heavy leather jacket Patrick was wearing, it must have hurt a lot. Mom and I looked at each other and smiled: “We’ll all get up together,” he said. Mom suggested, "Marie can help me in the kitchen while these two go into the living room and wait for Joe." I hope they don't break anything. Maybe Patrick would like a glass of wine?

We went into the house together and Dad excused himself and went to the toilet. Mom went into the kitchen to boil water for the pasta and I took Patrick into the living room. Once there, I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips. "I love you, Patrick Ian Buchanan." "I love you too, Marie Antoinette Bernardino," she said. Patrick said, putting his arm around my waist and pulling me close to him, "Your mother is a wonderful and kind woman." As they say, like mother, like daughter."

“What do you think of my father?” “The jury is still out on this one. What time is it?”

“It's about three o'clock, why?” - I answered. “Well, we couldn’t come here empty-handed. I arranged for a fruit basket to be delivered. You said that Dad likes to eat pears and oranges the most. It should be here already. By the way, which chair does your father prefer to sit in? "Don't you dare?" "I wouldn't think about it. I've annoyed your father enough for now. If I push him too far, I might not get dinner, and if your mother's sauce is anything like yours, I'll miss the feast."

As Patrick said this, Dad entered the room with a tray containing a decanter of wine and four glasses. I noticed that Dad had washed his face and put on a clean white shirt. I went to my father and hugged him: “I love you, dad, thank you.”I'll help mom in the kitchen." "I love you too, Princess, would you like a glass of wine?" "Two please." I'll bring one for Mom." Dad poured it and I left, hoping for the best.


“Well, you may have a network.” “Thanks”; I sat down in the chair opposite him. "Do you drink wine?" Mr. Bernardino asked: “This is homemade Chianti.” “Yes, I rarely get good homemade wine. My father made very good cider in a whiskey barrel." "I don't like you," he said. Mr. Bernardino said, leaning forward. "OK"; I replied as I sipped and enjoyed the wine, “I won’t lose sleep over this.”

“What do you think about wine?” “It's actually very good. When I drink wine, I prefer dry red wine. "Are you saying that to get a kiss?" "Kiss you, don't make me laugh." You asked me what I thought and I told you. You may not like my answer. However, the wine is very good. If it tasted like cleaning fluid and I didn't like you, I would say so." "Let me refill your glass. Didn't your father teach you that it's good manners to bring something when you're invited to dinner?

“He has…” Mr. Bernardino interrupted me: “Then you don’t show respect.” You come to my house empty-handed. You dragged my daughter around the state on a motorcycle like some kind of hooligan. Marie deserves better than you. The doorbell saved me. Father Joseph Sebastian entered the room with a huge basket of fruit, mostly oranges and pears, Marie's father's favorite foods. "Where do you want it, Dom?" They were already delivering it when I got here," he said. and when the priest saw me he said: “You owe me one, Patrick, give me a second.” He put a large basket on a chair and held out his hand for me to shake: “I am Father Joseph Sebastian or, like me my parishioners call, Father Joe." "I'm pleased to meet you, Reverend. I've only heard good things about Marie."

"Are you Catholic, Patrick?" "No, he's an indecisive Joe. He doesn't go to church regularly at all." "My mother was a Catholic and the reverend and I were baptized that way. I attended Mass with her every Sunday until she died, and occasionally with my father until I joined the Navy. I will attend any major Christian church, regardless of denomination, including Catholic ones. I met some great people that way and had a lot of great lunches or chicken dinners afterwards.”

“He proves my point, Joe; I-can't-decide-only thinks about his stomach, and he doesn't know how to properly address the priest. “I wouldn’t call Patrick a pagan, a dom or a bully because he rides a motorcycle.

Dom doesn't like motorcycles and thinks anyone who rides them is a hooligan, Patrick, and it's a great car. I saw this as I pulled into the driveway. What year is in Panhead? I guess it's the early sixties. “You know what escape is, Reverend. It was made in 1961 and once belonged to my father. "It's Father Joe or Father Sebastian, Heath, show some respect!"

“For God’s sake, the House of Representatives allowed this man to speak for himself. Do yourself a favor and pour me a glass of that bilge water you call wine. But he's right, Patrick, the preferred address is Father or Father Joe. "No disrespect intended, Reverend, but you are not my father." This is intended for my God, the Father of the Holy Trinity. John Ian Buchanan was my father on earth.

Dad is now in heaven with my mother and the Lord God our Heavenly Father." "I appreciate your honesty, don't be offended. If you'd like, feel free to call me Reverend Joe. Reverend is the correct title; However, I am not here in this capacity now. Can you hear that, Dom? Let me give you a hypothesis, Patrick. If you married Marie and returned to society and attended Mass every Sunday, would you address me as a father?

"You've been a great help, Joe, by taking his side," he said. Mr. Bernardino said as he handed the wine to the Reverend: “Now you will marry him to my Maria.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” I replied, waiting for the opportunity to say something.

“I’ve known this big idiot since kindergarten,” he said. Joe said, sipping his wine and laughing, "He's not so bad once you get to know him." Dominic is even worse. You'll soon learn to tolerate it, like we all do, if only for Marie's sake. By the way, Dom, this wonderful fruit basket is from Patrick and Marie." "Patrick and I are talking, Joe. Since you are not a priest today, if you want to eat,Shut up and listen. I thought, "Well, has he finally called me by name?" Although I have to admit he's a strong bastard. He can definitely keep up with Sam.”

"Why do you think you're good enough for my daughter?" "Why do you think that's not true?" "I don't like you". You don't show respect." "Yes, you already said that. Respect goes both ways, Mr. Bernardino. “Do you want my daughter’s money?” “No, I don’t need Marie’s money.” “I don’t believe you.”

"You are entitled to your wrong opinion, Mr. Bernardino." "That's true; how much money do you make? "How much money do you make and I will compare my bank book with yours every day." "If I didn't love my wife and daughter as much as I do, you wouldn't be allowed into my house." "Don't do me any favors, Mr Bernardino.” I never go where I am not welcome. “So you're a farmer.” “No, I'm a blacksmith and a machinist and I know how to run a farm.”

“Living on a farm in the middle of nowhere could be nothing special for my daughter. Do you even have running water? “Why are you looking for a job? I asked in response,” and I thought I saw a hint of a smile, but he caught himself and frowned, "Would you ever consider selling your farm and moving to the city?" If you don't farm, what difference does it make “Where do you live?”

“Our property has been passed down from father to son since 1786. This country is in my blood and generations of Buchanans are buried in the family cemetery.”

"So you're saying that from 1786 until now, no one in your family except you had the intelligence to take up a qualified profession?" "You have a big mouth, Mr. Bernardino," and I put down my glass of wine and stood up. “You are treading on thin ice if you insult my family; Would you like to resolve the situation now?”

The good Reverend Joe recognized all this and smiled, “He got you, Dom. You have crossed the line. You would hit Patrick if he insulted your family. Have you forgotten how Mary’s father treated you?” Mary's father did not want his daughter to marry the Italian Patrick. They wanted Mary to marry the doctor she was dating when she first met Dominic. Mary was a Presbyterian when they married, but after Mary's birth she converted to the Catholic Church."

"Wait, son," said Mr. Bernardino, pulling away, "sit down." I'm sure you come from a good family. I take back everything I said or concluded about her. It's you I don't like and I have a right to my opinion in my own home. Let me fill your glass with wine. You told me on the phone that you loved Marie.”

“It’s true, and I’ll say it again: I love Marie.” “Maria, Maria”; Mr. Bernardino called out, "Would you please come here?" and as they sang, "Marie, do you love this man, this Patrick Buchanan?" "Of course, Dad," he said. - I answered, went up to Patrick and squeezed his hand. “Did you curse him? Did you really leave it to him? That's my girl." "I did, but only after Patrick didn't let me hit him with the shovel or hit him in the nose."

"The saints protect us!" Marie hit you with the shovel and “You still wanted to come and meet us, Patrick?” Mr. Bernardino asked, “What did you do to make Marie so angry?” “Maria didn’t hit me with the shovel. Marie tried to hit me with a shovel. I took it away from her. At the time, I had no idea why Marie was angry. My wife was quick-tempered, there's nothing wrong with that. When Marie tried to hit me, I squeezed her hands until she stopped resisting and calmed down." "I can believe it. Why was my daughter even angry?" "Maria thought I was still married."

" So you got a divorce?" Mr. Bernardino, thinking he had found an opportunity, asked: "What did you do to make your wife leave you?" "My wife Anne Marie is dead"; I simply answered. “I'm sure your wife Anne Marie was a wonderful woman," he said. Mr. Bernardino suggested doing "The Sign of the Cross": "But in your case a holy woman could have done it better, much better."

Then Mr. Bernardino raised his glass and toasted: "In memory of the holy wife of Patrick." We all took a sip, and then Marie and her mother returned to the kitchen smiling.


"Are you still planning, to spend the night here?" - Mom asked. "Yes, has anything changed?" "No, nothing has changed. Thanks for the fruit basket. If you bring a bowl, I'll put fruit on the table after dinner.By the way, I made your favorite dessert - cannolis." "Can I have one now?" "No, you have to wait with the rest of us." "What do you think of Patrick, Mom?"

“I’ve been waiting for the opportunity to talk to you in person, darling,” she said. Mom took my hand and said, "We haven't heard from you in almost a year." Your father and I were so worried. You went back to college and it was good. But you took a wrong turn.

You spent money recklessly and dressed like a tramp. I couldn't believe it when you cut your hair, but I'm glad you're back to your God-given color.

You were never the same after the divorce, Marie. You were distant and sad. You stopped going to mass. We are your parents, Marie. We love you. You will always be our baby. And Joe, your adopted uncle, your priest; The person who baptized you, from whom you received your first Holy Communion, loves you. When we found out your bad friends died of an overdose, we were angry. We went to your house and no one was home. Nobody had heard of you in college. Joe asked for help and no stone was left unturned. They tracked you down at a private nightclub. The road there has become cold.

You can't imagine how relieved we were when you called. We had Patrick's phone number, name and address. Joe continued to research and obtained information about Patrick that was kept strictly confidential. He told us that you were in good hands and not to worry. You were safe. Do I like Patrick? How can I not like him? Patrick gave us our child back.”

When dinner was ready I went in to tell the men and then we all sat down to eat and Father Joe said a prayer. I noticed that Patrick crossed himself as he prayed. My father did not forget to remark: “I hear you say that you are not a practicing Catholic, Patrick.” Is it appropriate for you to make the sign of the cross?”

"Mr. Bernardino, "Patrick said firmly: "The sign of the cross is a beautiful and holy gesture." I was baptized a Catholic. My mother was Catholic and I attended mass with her every Sunday until she died. My mother taught me to pray as soon as I was old enough to talk, and that's how prayer begins and ends.

I carry the memory of my mother in the sign of the cross. All Catholics are Christians, although not all Christians are Catholics.” I looked around the table. Dad looked very embarrassed because my mother was glaring at him. Joe's father had a very thoughtful and understanding look on his face as he took a sip of wine while Patrick took it all in stride. He felt very comfortable in our family, as if my father's behavior was part of the way things were with us.

Patrick continued: “One of the meanings of the word “Catholic,” found in any good dictionary, is universal. But I will stop; I don't want to kill the question of Catholic poetry versus Christianity." "The Church's position is that from the moment you are baptized Catholic, you are a Catholic, Patrick," he said. Father Joe suggested, “And so logic dictates that you will die as both a Catholic and a Christian.” Wouldn’t you find comfort in the last rites?”

"With all due respect, Reverend, you are not the first priest to say that to me." "Then do you agree?" was the next question." "I'm open to the idea; My mother will probably like it." "Did your Catholic wife Patrick ask Father Joe? “She was a Methodist, like my father-in-law Sam. Anne Marie's mother was a medicine woman who attended church with her and Sam while maintaining the traditions and teachings of her Native American heritage; My mother-in-law had no contradictions, she recognized the beauty and wisdom of both."

“I admit that you are a Christian, Patrick,” he said. My father offered his first concession: "As a universal Christian and sometimes Catholic, don't you find it hypocritical not to practice the faith into which you were baptized?" "You and I can argue about this forever, Mr. Bernardino, or until we both die and are buried. However, I promise to secure you a place in purgatory if I go first.”

"Wow!" I thought, "Patrick plays the role of the simple blacksmith so well, and Dad isn't an idiot, but Patrick keeps surprising him and Father Joe doesn't seem the least bit surprised." The most amazing thing is that Dad is now happy with himself seems to be.”


Marie's father seems a little relaxed. He's not a villain and is just looking out for Marie. The good priest plays the role of referee well. There's more to Joe Sebastian than meets the eye. My instincts tell me he knows more about me than he's letting on.


Mom and I took itCONTROL at dinner after the conversation in Purgatory. Dad and Joe's father sat at dinner and listened as the three of them talked. Mom bombarded Patrick with questions about his family and his past, but especially about his reconstructions, and Patrick answered the topic with great enthusiasm. My Blue Knight has extensive knowledge of American history during this period. Mom and I cleared the table and started washing the dishes while they stayed in the dining room with the wine to digest the food and make room for dessert.

I tried to steal the cannoli from the fridge, but my mom caught me and made me put them back. I was scolded and then we hugged and I still had to wait for coffee later. Dad and Patrick are back; Ding Ding round three. Dad started telling jokes, trying to get under Patrick's skin. Ethnic jokes are allowed as long as they are not malicious. Political correctness remains an issue at the Bernardino residence, and our dinner conversations are sometimes not for the faint of heart.

Dad told all the Scottish and Irish jokes he knew, and most of them were laugh-out-loud funny, and many were offensively funny. Father Joe took action; perhaps it was the wine that loosened his tongue. They both looked at Patrick and felt him. Mom and I listened from the kitchen.

Patrick laughed with them and took everything in stride until they ran out of Scottish jokes. Patrick stood up and announced, "It's my turn, gentlemen." But first let me pour the next round of drinks, and after he poured them, Patrick didn't sit down, but walked around the table, circling them slowly, while he spoke.

"How do you know you're Italian?" Patrick asked, walking over and putting his hand on his father's shoulder before saying, "You can bench lift 325 pounds." You have to shave twice a day and still cry when your mother yells at you. “You know you're Italian when you carry your lunch in a grocery bag because you can't fit two capiccola sandwiches and four oranges in it,” he said. Patrick took four oranges out of the bowl, two in each hand, and began juggling them while spinning: "Two bananas and a pizzelli in a regular lunch bag," Patrick said. and then Patrick tossed them one by one to Father Joe, who caught them laughing as he rattled off more Italian jokes.

He stopped circling, put his hand on Father Joe's shoulder and asked, "How do you know if you're a real Italian?" "To which Father Joe replied with a smile, "You mechanic, plumber, electrician, accountant, travel agent , lawyer and priest are all friends or cousins." This made her laugh again and Patrick gave a few more examples: "You are Italian if you have at least 5 cousins ​​who live in the same city or on the same street and "All your cousins ​​are named after your grandparents." You'll know you're Italian if you've shaved thoroughly with a disposable razor at least once.

You know you're Italian when you make more than $50,000 for your first communion. Patrick made them both laugh and slammed the table. Mom and I sat in the kitchen, hugging each other and laughing until we cried; None of us expected something like this. Patrick must have heard us because he stopped to listen and took a sip of wine before calling out, "Would you like to join us, ladies, and not strain your ears?" Mom came out of the kitchen and sat down with them at the dining table. As we sat down, Patrick filled all of our glasses with wine.

“You know you're Italian when someone in your family is over 5 feet 7 inches tall,” suggesting his mother had an affair. “You know you’re Italian because your wedding party consists of over 28 people,” and Patrick took my hand and kissed it. “And you REALLY, REALLY know you’re Italian when you point at my dad: ‘Your grandfather has a fig tree,’” he said. Dad answered and then Patrick pointed at me: “You eat Sunday dinner at 2pm and on Christmas Eve you only eat fish,” Dad replied. and then to my mother, who pointed at my father and then said, "You think your mother's meatballs are the best." Don't tell your wife.

All eyes were on him as Patrick performed his finale, spinning his mother's porcelain plate on the tip of his index finger and circling us. “You know you're Italian because someone hits you with a wooden spoon or throws a shoe at you. You know you're Italian because you think it's normal to have plastic on upholstered furniture. “You know you’re Italian when you argue about what it’s called,” he said. and he listened to our answer and continued to turn the plate on his finger, and we all answered together, "Sauce or gravy."

You know you're Italian because you called someone Mamaluke. Maybe even your daughter's future husband, who you don't like. Think quickly, Mr. Bernardino. Patrick did sothrew a plate at him, startling Dad, who flinched before Patrick carefully placed it back on the table instead. “And finally, you know you’re Italian because you understand what bada-bing means? What does bada-bin mean? – Patrick asked, spreading his arms and looking at each of us in turn.

Then Patrick bowed to all of us, raised his glass in a toast and said: “Per la salute.” (For your health).

Continued in chapter4.



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