Penelope, Pen for short, always wanted to be a writer.  She had this yearning back in grade school when she was writing creative assignments for her ninth-grade teacher.  It continued throughout high school and into college.  Her writing improved steadily over the years, and she found herself majoring in American literature.

She was a lonely girl who read a lot.  She did not date very often.  Once a guy pinched her ass, but she ignored him.  The guy tried to take her out.  She paid little attention, so he left.  Socializing was not her strongest point.  She preferred a quiet, studious life without any surprises.  A little boring perhaps.  But she still enjoyed writing, and she wanted more of it.

What she liked most about writing was the creative process.  Starting with a blank sheet of paper, she could build a piece of writing from scratch.  It belonged entirely to herself.  Nobody else could enter this abode without her permission.  Writing was a way of personal expression.  If she felt happy, she could say that.  If she felt sad, she could share it with the reader.  She enjoyed complete freedom.

Writing allowed her to say whatever she wanted.  She could talk about her grandparents, who lived nearby and adored her.  She could talk about her dog, Ralph, a cocker spaniel, whom she loved more than anything else.  Writing gave her a chance to be herself.  She did not need anyone’s permission to talk.  It was pure joy from the first word to the last.  Pen loved that wonderful feeling.

But Pen did not live in a vacuum.  She did read the newspaper.  She knew about the scandals, elections, finances, and foibles of the world around her.  She was aware of the world.  She cared about warfare in the Sudan, famine in Zimbabwe, and economic chaos in Argentina.  She was a person of the world, mainly through the pages of the newspaper.  Pen saw herself as a global citizen.

Reading introduced her to a broad set of ideas.  She developed a multitude of interests.  She joined the Sierra Club, and she heard about their anti-Alaska drilling campaign.  She wrote letters to her Congressmen about this topic, just as the Club requested.  She even attended a local protest march against drilling, also organized by the Club.  She was active and engaged in many ways.

Pen was not a very sexy girl, but she did look nice in a bikini.  With a friend, she was sunbathing in a local park.  It was a warm, late spring day, and the sun shone brilliantly.  They had brought their towels and tanning lotion.  Two guys approached them, and they began conversing.  At first, it seemed very general, but eventually one of the guys wanted a date with Pen.

He introduced himself as Irwin, and he was a carpenter by trade.  He looked at Pen’s red bikini, and he immediately felt attracted to her.  Pen agreed to the date.  She thought Irwin looked presentable.  He was wearing yellow shorts and a tan top.  She did like him a bit.  It was enough attraction to get started.  Pen left her girlfriend and walked with Irwin to the car.

Irwin was talking to Pen about the carpentry trade.  It was his source of livelihood, and he had been doing it since childhood.  “It requires a lot of discipline,” he told her.  Carpenters are hard-working people.  The profession does not pay a lot, but it is very rewarding.  Irwin was very proud of the work he did.  He built cabinets, conference tables, and similar projects.

Irwin drove down the road to Gleason’s Diner.  He parked the car, and they both walked into the restaurant.  The Diner served sumptuous corned beef sandwiches, and they both ate hungrily, as Irwin tried to continue the conversation about the carpentry trade.  Pen listened attentively, but she was aggressively consuming the sandwich with abandon.

Irwin paid the bill and drove Pen to his house on Norwich Street.  It was only a mile away, and the drive was not long.  Pen was wearing a skirt and a shirt over her bikini.  She looked at the house.  It was a small bungalow with a wide front porch.  Irwin parked on the driveway and led her inside.  The house was neat and clean, two points which favored Irwin.

They both sat side-by-side on the couch.  Irwin asked Pen if he could kiss her.  Pen agreed, and soon they were necking and fondling.  Irwin was very much in the lead, and Pen struggled to follow him.  Generally, she was very submissive.  Irwin stroked his hands across her breasts, feeling the bikini top, and he thrust his hands into her groin.

After ten minutes, Irwin finally let up.  He looked Pen in the eye and asked, “Can I take your clothes off?”  Pen stood up, dropped her skirt, and doffed her shirt.  Then she removed the red bikini.  She stood in front of Irwin completely naked from head to toe.  Irwin admired her physique, for Pen looked quite sexy.  She had a thin body with wide hips.

Irwin placed his hand in her cunt and began stroking it.  Pen liked this treatment very much.  She enjoyed feeling his fingers in her vagina.  They felt very soothing.  Irwin told her to turn around, lean over, and open her legs.  Irwin’s cock entered her cunt from behind.  The fucking felt good.  It was deep and solid.  Pen had been fucked before, but this felt much stronger.

After a few minutes, his cock fell limp, and he withdrew from Pen’s body.  Pen turned around.  Irwin slapped her face.  Pen snapped to attention.  “Turn around and place your knees on the floor,” Irwin ordered.  Pen complied.  Irwin spread her legs apart and began kneading her ass.  For ten minutes, Irwin kneaded her, and she felt wondrously satiated.

Then Irwin pushed his cock into her ass.  Pen’s asshole was small, and the cock was wide.  The fucking was powerful.  Irwin went in and out several times.  He eventually exploded with an orgasm.  Pen could feel the strength of his muscles.  When it was over, Irwin flipped Pen over the couch.  He asked her for her number and then handed her clothes to her.

Irwin had fucked her twice, and both were sturdy and thorough.  Pen was completely spent.  She could hardly move a muscle.  Irwin drove her home and told her he would call her again.  Pen’s first date with Irwin was highly successful.  She had made love, and it felt great.  She could look forward to seeing Irwin again, and the next fucking promised to be just as good.

Pen had a pressing matter when she returned to her apartment.  There was an urgent phone message from her brother.  When she called him, she learned the bad news: their mother had died.  She had been suffering from breast cancer for several years.  She had undergone three surgeries, plus chemo and radiation.  It had gone into remission for a while but then it returned with vengeance.

They both cried over the phone.  Mom was much beloved.  She was the matriarch of the family, the pillar that everyone leaned on.  When she discovered her cancer more than three years earlier, it was sad news, but she was determined to fight back.  She would not allow cancer to defeat her so easily.  She read and studied the literature.  She listened closely to her doctor.

But as time passed, cancer proved to be a formidable enemy.  It was hard to confront because it appeared in different guises.  Doctors were confounded by its progression.  Mere surgery was not enough.  Years went by without any substantial progress.  Sometimes it did not worsen, but it also did not improve.  It was elusive and mysterious.  Many women suffered its horrifying fate.

Pen and her brother recounted some of the great moments with Mom.  There was an astonishing vacation in Vermont where the family enjoyed absolute peace and tranquility.  There were fabulous meals Mom had cooked with love.  They recalled moments when she led the way, helped the family move forward, did personal favors for each of her kids.  There was so much of Mom’s life to remember.

Pen flew home for the funeral.  There were tears in her eyes during the entire trip.  Her father met her at the door.  There were tears in his eyes, too.  Pen looked around the house.  It was the same house it had always been, but it felt different.  The hustle and bustle was gone, and replacing it was a somberness that touched her to the bone.  This was not really her house.  It had been her mother’s.

The viewing was very simple.  Her mother lay in the coffin, quiet and dignified.  She looked comfortable in her last repose.  She was wearing her favorite red dress.  She could have been sleeping.  Pen leaned over and kissed her lips.  This moment of finality entered her mind, and she realized that she would never again see her mother.  She would disappear into the ground forever.

Her father stood before the friends and relatives and delivered the eulogy.  It lasted fifteen minutes.  He recalled how they had met on their first date, how he had proposed marriage, and how they had sustained each other through all manner of hardships.  Tears flowed very easily throughout the room.  Mom’s closest companion was recounting their greatest moments together.

Pen climbed into her brother’s car, and they drove in the procession to the cemetery.  The coffin was lowered into the grave.  Pen lifted a shovelful of dirt and laid it on the coffin.  Her brother did the same.  Pen said to herself, “Mom is finally in the ground.  May she rest in peace.”  Pen watched as a succession of mourners laid dirt on the coffin.

When Pen returned home, she reflected on her mother’s death and the funeral.  She, her brother, her father, and a host of others saw her mother for the last time.  Her mother had fought cancer for several years, and although she had lost, Pen felt her mother had possessed courage.  She had battled the unknown.  She had done everything possible to defeat the cancer.  She had lived a good life.

Pen returned to her daytime job as a bank teller.  She took the bus to the TD Bank.  Her boss said a few nice words in regards to the funeral.  Then she was back on duty.  Every day was a long series of deposits and withdrawals.  It seemed that every customer wanted to deposit money into his account or withdraw cash.  Those two transactions occupied practically every minute of the day.

She took her lunch break at the usual time.  She ate a ham-and-cheese sandwich with an apple and drank a cup of coffee.  She chatted with her friend, Wilma, who was a musician.  She played the keys.  They were both using the bank to support their creative lifestyles.  Pen was happy that she had found Wilma.  They were soul-mates in a way, both hoping to make it big someday.

Wilma was eating fried chicken.  From Pen’s point of view, it looked delicious.  But she said nothing.  They talked about the funeral.  Pen gave her a brief account, and Wilma offered sympathy.  Her own mother had died years ago in a car accident, so she understood the loss.  Pen was in tears, and she wiped them off her face before returning to duty.

The loss of a mother was a tragic event, and Pen would think about it on and off for another month.  Life would continue.  She was hoping Irwin would call again.  She had told him about the funeral, and he had made a few kind remarks.  Still the loss was devastating.  Pen could feel that a pillar was missing, and she would have to continue without Mom.

She counted the cash twice at the end of the day.  Everything was in good order.  She took the bus home.  Dinner was fried rice with chicken with a small glass of wine.  Pen read the paper.  Then she wanted to write.  She thought that she should write a story about her mother and her long bout with cancer.  Should it be fiction or non-fiction?

She chose non-fiction.  A writer can choose either one, depending on how she feels.  Because Mom was a towering presence, she decided non-fiction would be more dramatic and realistic.  She would talk about Mom’s many hospital stays, the multitude of doctors she saw, the innumerable tests and blood withdrawals, and the final verdict in favor of cancer.

Pen thought this was a gargantuan task, summarizing the last few years of Mom’s life.  But at the same time, it was Mom’s last act of kindness which would help launch her writing career.  Mom offered her a career boost just when she needed it.  Pen was close to her mother, but while she was alive, Pen had never thought about writing on this topic.  Now was her chance to bring professional skills to the foreground.

Pen spent several weeks thinking hard about her mother’s fight.  She wanted her account to sound different from all of the other cancer battles, both won and lost.  Mom was a dynamic character with a sense of humor, a love of life, a zest for eating, and a joy of sewing.  Pen would try to bring out these qualities.  Mom could be a true hero.

Pen took about three months to write the story, and when she read it over, she was pleased with the result.  It sounded very much like her mother battling to her last breath, ultimately losing but teaching her children the strength and fortitude needed to resist.  There were small tears in her eyes, as she read it to her brother over the phone.  Mom had vitality to the very end.

She submitted it to Harper’s, a literary magazine, and she waited several months for a reply.  When the letter arrived, Pen was elated.  Harper’s had accepted it!  The magazine praised her sensitivity and forthrightness.  The editor told her the piece would break new ground.  He offered her a hefty paycheck, which pleased Pen a lot.  She immediately called her brother with the good news.

When the article appeared on the front cover six months later, Pen was overjoyed.  Her father congratulated her.  It was like a resurrection of Mom from the dead to the living.  There she was, offering the lessons of a lifetime in calm repose.  The article was widely read, and millions of people shared her titanic battle.  Although Mom lost, she became a hero to many.

In the meantime, while Pen was waiting to hear from Harper’s, she did not want to keep her love life on hold forever.  She felt her mother’s passing should occupy some time, but it should not derail her relationship with Irwin.  She decided to call him.  They spoke for several minutes with Irwin asking how she felt and whether they could meet.

It was a pleasant twenty-minute-long conversation with Irwin doing most of the talking and Pen attentively listening to her new boyfriend.  Irwin told her about the latest in the carpentry trade, asked a few questions about the funeral, and made pleasant chit-chat on a wide range of topics.  In general, their relationship was still strong.  Irwin had not forgotten about the two fuckings.

Irwin asked her for another date.  Pen immediately agreed.  The next day, following work, Irwin picked her up and drove her to his bungalow.  He ordered pizza, and they ate it in the living room.  When they finished, Irwin ordered Pen to strip.  She immediately complied.  She took off her pants, shirt, bra, and panties and left them on the floor.  She stood in front of Irwin completely nude.

Irwin led her down the basement, where a ping pong table held center court.  He ordered her to lie on her back on the table, then lift her knees and open her legs like she was having a baby.  Irwin examined her cunt, and she looked fairly beautiful.  Her clit was small, but it looked attractive.  Her pubic hair was thin, but Irwin thought it was acceptable.

Irwin placed his fingers inside Pen’s cunt.  He began spreading her apart.  Pen had powerful vaginal muscles, but soon Irwin had opened her by several inches.  He held her open for five minutes.  Pen lay supine as if she were pushing out a baby.  Finally Irwin got on the table and fucked her.  It was a royal fucking that lasted several minutes.

When Irwin got off the table, Pen looked quite satisfied.  She felt good.  Her vagina had proved capable, and she was completely relaxed.  It was a very successful fucking.  Now Irwin ordered her off the table.  He told her to suck him.  Pen was on her knees, and she complied.  She began licking his cock.  She started at the head, and soon she was licking the entire shaft.

The cock was hard, and Pen placed it in her mouth.  She went up and down dozens of times.  The cock went deep into her throat.  Soon, Irwin was ejaculating. He was producing enormous amounts of cum.  Pen was swallowing everything she could, trying not to choke on it.  Finally, Irwin fell limp, and it was entirely over.  Pen had done an excellent job.