Kevin laid the diary on the kitchen counter after reading the first couple of sentences. “A lecture on the economic outlook for the 1930s, eh?”

Cassie gave him a thin smile. “Yeah, I have a feeling it was a wee bit optimistic.”

Kevin chuckled. “Y’know, I saw a Betty Boop cartoon this morning—”

“You were watching Betty Boop?!”

“Sure, why not? She’s hot, and the TV was still on channel 38 from the Sox game last night. Anyway, this one was from 1934 and had absolutely no plot. Just song after song—We’re in the Money, Happy Days Are Here Again, When My Ship Comes In—desperately trying to give the audience some hope.”

“Uh-huh. And you watched the whole thing?”

“Well, it was either that or the Smurfs, and Smurfette has a completely flat chest.”

Cassie shot him a look.

“So…” Kevin smoothly changed the subject as he handed Cassie a glass of water from the sink. “You think this Harvey Davenport might be your biological grandfather?”

“It sure looks that way,” Cassie sighed as she flopped into a stool at the breakfast bar. “Mamó and Grampa Lloyd were having trouble conceiving, so she got her loverboy Harvey to cum inside her while she was ovulating. It’s all right there in her diary,” she added, gesturing to the small leatherbound book lying on the countertop.

“Loverboy?” Kevin stroked his brown beard pensively. “I thought he was like fifty years old.”

“Well, whatever he was to her. She called him my true love, or my first love. Something like that. I don’t remember.”

“You know, you could look it up,” Kevin said with a hint of a smile as he nodded towards the diary.

Cassie shot him another withering look, then buried her head in her hands, her wavy auburn hair cascading down over her face. “Arrrgh!”

Kevin stood behind her and rubbed her shoulder. “Cass, do you want to know what I think aboot it, or do you want me to just let you vent?”

Cassie sat up with a sigh and tucked her hair behind her ears. “Fine, tell me what you think.”

“I know it’s a lot to proe-cess, and you’ll have to work through your feelings. But in the end, what does it matter? It’s not like this is Hatfield and McCoy, or Montague and Capulet. It’s just Campbell and Davenport, and so what? There’s no family feud there. As long as he wasn’t my grandfather, too,” Kevin winked, “then who cares?”

“It’s just hard,” Cassie sniffled. “My grandparents were the ones who raised me, you know.”

“You’ve never talked much about your parents,” Kevin ventured.

“There’s not much to tell. My mother was born in 1931—Harvey sent Mamó a congratulatory postcard I can show you—and I was born in 1949. You can do the math. They were both eighteen, just kids themselves. Maggie Campbell and Johnny McDougal. They tried to make it work for a while, but Johnny shipped off to Korea when I was two years old and never came home.”

“Aw, Cass, I’m soary.”

“It’s all right. My mother did the best she could, but she couldn’t keep it together.” She drained her glass of water. “Kev, can you pop these eggs in the microwave for fifteen seconds?”

“Sure.”

“Anyway, Maggie tried raising me alone for a couple of years, but at some point she got lost inside her own head and never came back to reality. I started visiting my grandparents for longer and longer stays until one time they just didn’t take me back.”

“Huh, I never knew all that,” Kevin confessed. “Here you go,” he added, placing the plate of eggs on the counter.

“Thanks.” Cassie ate her breakfast in silence for a moment, then squinted out the window. “Sunny today.”

“Looks like it might be a scorcher, eh?”

“I think I’ll take the canoe out for a spin before it gets too hot, clear my head.” Cassie pushed her plate away and stood up.

—

Whenever she went out on Lake Ossipee, Cassie left her troubles onshore. Paddling her canoe, knifing through the waves, the water glittering like a thousand white jewels—

A million white jewels?

A billion?

Reflections on the surface of a lake. Really, how could you hope to count them?

“Stop thinking so much,” she chided herself as she shipped her paddle and let the canoe drift. “Not every question needs to have an answer.”

Bobbing on the water, she closed her eyes and raised her face to the sky, feeling the warmth of the sun, hearing the waves lapping against the hull.

Adrift.

Untethered.

Floating.

Maybe Kevin was right. So what if Harvey Davenport was her grandfather? Did that really change who she was? On the other hand, Mamó’s diary said that both Harvey and Grampa Lloyd came inside her that night.

Was she a Davenport? Was she a Campbell?

If she didn’t know for sure, was she simultaneously both?

“Ugh,” she complained out loud. “I’m like Schrödinger’s cat, because we can’t peek inside my grandmother’s box!”

—

Returning to shore, Cassie saw her student teacher, Bruce, scanning the sand, occasionally brushing his brown hair out of his eyes before stooping and picking something up. As the canoe ground into the sand, Bruce helped pull it up onto shore before Cassie hopped out, her blue button-down shirt fluttering over her American flag one-piece swimsuit.

“Thanks for the assist. Beachcombing?”

Bruce revealed a fistful of long pine needles. “Just collecting some kindling for the barbecue grill. These white pine needles burn great.”

“White pine?” Cassie mused, squinting at him in the glare. “I think I could use some white wine right about now.”

Bruce checked his calculator watch. “It’s ten-thirty in the morning,” he pointed out with an impish smile.

“Whatever, it’s five o’clock somewhere,” Cassie countered.

“Is it, though? Wouldn’t it be five-thirty?”

“It’d have to be somewhere with a time zone that’s staggered by half an hour,” Cassie pointed out. “Like Newfoundland.”

“I think it’d be, uh, noon there,” Bruce laughed after some quick mental math. “Not quite five o’clock.”

“Well, obviously, someplace farther east. I dunno, Iran, maybe.” Cassie waved her hand behind her, vaguely indicating the east.

“Can women even drink wine in Iran?”

“Oh my god, Bruce!” Cassie rolled her eyes as she grabbed his wrist and stomped towards the house. “Now I really need a drink!”

—

Half an hour later, Cassie was pouring the last few ounces out of the bottle into her wineglass. Kevin and Bruce had each had one glass to be polite, while Cassie polished off the rest of the bottle. The radio was tuned to the Canadian station CHOM 97.1 FM, and Kim Mitchell’s anthem Go For Soda was quietly rocking out in the background.

“Kevin, Bruce,” Cassie declared, “I want to read you two an excerpt from my grandmother’s diary.”

Each of the men set down his empty wineglass on the kitchen counter.

“All right.”

“Let’s hear it.”

Cassie flipped through the diary, found her place, and cleared her throat dramatically, holding the diary in one hand and holding her wineglass aloft with the other.

“Everybody strip,” I commanded. …Once I was completely naked, I picked up a glass of white wine left over from dinner, then laid back on the couch. Tilting it over my torso, I let the wine dribble down onto my tits and tummy. “Who’s thirsty?”

Cassie closed the diary with a flourish and tossed it onto the counter. Bruce was the first to break the ensuing silence. “You said that was your, uh, grandmother’s diary?”

“Yup, sure did!” Cassie snickered. Casting an eye over her shoulder, she nodded behind her. “And she did it on that couch.”

Kevin smirked. “I think I see where this is going. In the immortal words of Grandma Julia, everybody strip.”

Cassie shrugged off her chambray shirt, then took her wineglass and stood and watched for a moment as her husband and her student teacher pulled off their clothes and flung them aside. Bruce was lean and tanned, smoothly muscled about his chest and shoulders. Kevin was more burly from years of construction and handyman work. Both of them had decent-sized dicks that were beginning to rise, but while Kevin’s was straight, Bruce’s had a pronounced upward curve.

Picking up a beach towel, Cassie walked slowly to the pale green couch, placed the wineglass on the end table, then smoothed the towel over the couch. Turning to face them, she peeled her swimsuit down, exposing first her small breasts, then her flat stomach, and finally her ginger tuft. Kicking her swimsuit off her foot, she lay back on the towel and picked up her wineglass.

Tilting the glass over herself, Cassie poured a thin trickle of white wine onto her chest. The rivulets ran down her stomach and onto her thighs. Locking eyes with the men, she purred, “Who’s thirsty?”

Bruce hurried over and began tonguing Cassie’s trim tits, causing her nipples to harden, while Kevin approached more slowly, stroking his dick as it grew longer and thicker in his hand.

Cassie placed her hands on Bruce’s shoulders and pushed him downwards, and he licked the wine off her midriff as she quirked an eyebrow at Kevin. “C’mere,” she whispered huskily, observing his stiff dick with a hungry gleam in her eye.

Pushing Bruce’s shoulders downwards again, Cassie sighed with contentment as he lapped at her thighs and then her labia. Kevin stepped onto the couch with one foot on either side of Cassie’s hips, leaned his hands against the wall, and sank his cock into her warm and willing mouth.

Cassie gripped Kevin’s ass as she impaled her face on his rock-hard cock, all while Bruce licked and nuzzled her dripping cunt. After a few minutes, Cassie began rocking her hips and groaning around Kevin’s cock. Bruce pressed his tongue against her clit and waggled it furiously, and Cassie came with a shudder, her moans muffled by her husband’s dick in her mouth.

With a ragged gasp, she pulled away.

“Kevin, sit,” she ordered as she got onto all fours, taking Bruce’s spot in front of the couch. “Bruce, fuck me!”

Bruce moved into position behind her, his curved cock waving like a scimitar. He rubbed the head against her slit, then jammed it in as she took Kevin’s dick in her mouth once more.

“Hey, babe,” Kevin said quietly.

“Mmmpf.”

“While you were out in the canoe, the fertility lab called with my results.”

“Mmmpf?”

“They gave me a clean bill of health; no more sperm! Now that I’m pouring decaf, you can stop taking the pill.” Kevin looked down at the young stud fucking his wife bareback and added, “Uh, although maybe we’d better hold off on that plan until we figure oot this student teacher situation.”

“Mmmpf!”

Bruce groaned and pulled out, dripping a single spurt of cum onto Cassie’s backside. “One down, two to go,” he quipped before sticking his dick back inside and pounding away.

Cassie began pile-driving her head onto Kevin’s dick and a minute later was rewarded with a mouthful of steaming, salty, sperm-free semen.

“Oh, shit, babe!” Kevin groaned as he emptied his nutsack into his wife’s hot cocksucker.

Swallowing it down, she smacked her lips in appreciation. “Mmm, it still tastes great, sperm or no sperm! Kev, go get the coconut oil, would you?”

“Give me a minute to recover,” he laughed weakly, while Bruce continued fucking Kevin’s wife from behind.

When Kevin finally stumbled off towards the bedroom, Cassie looked over her shoulder. “Bruce, rub your cum on my ass, would you?”

Bruce looked at his hands for a second, then with a lopsided grin, took his dick in hand and began wiping his peckerhead into the puddle of cum and smearing it around Cassie’s ivory asscheeks.

Kevin returned with the jar of coconut oil and showed Bruce the handwritten label: BUTT PLAY.

“Kev, would you work that in while I lick Bruce clean? Thanks, babe!”

Her student teacher sat on the couch, and Cassie took him in her mouth, tasting his spunk and her own sweet pussy on his slick prick. She slowly ran her tongue along the curve of his cock while her husband slipped an oily finger inside her asshole, then two fingers, working them in and out.

Bruce, true to form, squirted a thin ribbon of cum into Cassie’s mouth, and she arched one eyebrow, pretending to be annoyed. “Two down, one to go,” he laughed as he stood up and moved behind her once more.

Cassie crossed her arms on the floor and lay her head down. “I want that leaning tower of penis in my asshole, Bruce. Can you do that for me?”

“You got it, Mrs. M!” Bruce agreed enthusiastically as he eased his boomerang boner into her dilated dumper.

“Fuck my ass, goddamnit!” Cassie roared. Feeling the head of his crescent-shaped cock poking her somewhere strangely uncomfortable, she raised her head in hopes of finding a better angle. Clutching the edge of the couch cushions in her claws, she caterwauled, “I said, fuck my ass, goddamnit!”

Bruce fucked her ass, goddamnit, for a good ten minutes, humping his hard hips against her tacky tush until his jabs became jerky.

“Are you gonna cum?” Cassie shrieked, looking back at him through tendrils of sweat-soaked hair with a feral gleam in her eyes, then reaching down to rub her aching clit with one hand. “Are you gonna fuckin’ cum?”

“I— I—”

“Do it! Cum in my fuckin’ ass!”

“Oh god—”

“Cum! In my! Fucking! Ass!”

“Ohhh—” Bruce trailed off as he shot his full load deep into Mrs. McDougal’s mudslide.

“Fuuuck!” Cassie wailed as she came once again, mashing her face into the couch cushion.

Bruce slipped his dick out and lazily rubbed it along her glistening crack while her gaping anus gradually settled back to normal.

Cassie turned her head to one side. “Oh, I’m thirsty,” she said, wrinkling her nose and grimacing. “Not a sex joke,” she added quickly.

“You finished the wine,” Kevin chuckled as he walked to the kitchen, his burgeoning boner bobbing in the breeze. “Want some water?”

“Nah, what do we have in the fridge?”

“The usual,” Kevin replied as he poked around. “Skim milk, two percent, orange juice, ginger ale—”

“Might as well go for a soda,” Bruce chuckled.

“Kevin, bring me a Canada Dry and come sit on the couch,” Cassie said with a wicked smile as she sat up straight, cum beginning to leak from her asshole. Popping the top of the can open, she took a big chug-a-lug before letting loose a raging buuurrrp, then set the can on the floor as Kevin’s twitching dick appeared before her.

“Now, Mr. Canada, I’m finally gonna drain you dry. And yes, that one was a sex joke.”

—