Kitten Spreads Her Wings 03

tagIncest/TabooKitten Spreads Her Wings 03

Prologue:
This chapter continues where the original publication's, Kitten Spreads Her Wings, theme left off.
Dr. Johnson, Ray's wife's ex-lover, attempts an intervention between the ongoing incest relationship Kitten has with her father. Through that process, she is unaware, in Ray's case, that some of her success may be headed in a direction totally out of her control.
Kitten also encounters the twins who help manage the estate during her stay at the farm. Meanwhile, her father has an unexpected encounter with Kitten's friend, Jackie, during a driving rainstorm on his way home.
If you have not read the original, I would encourage you to do so before going further. It provides significant background development and this story makes references to some characters and previous events that are mentioned there; but not elaborated on or referenced to in this chapter. If you decide not to read the other section first, just know going head on into this story, you may find some mental disconnects without that previous reading. If you are comfortable and okay with that, go ahead and wade on in into a tumultuous sexy, tear-jerking drama.
Dealing with the Aftermath
'Marie, you've got ten years under your wings as a highly trained psychiatric specialist. You own a damned good patient care hospital. The renowned Dr. Kathrynne Marie Johnson, your grandmother, has personally tutored you for God's sake – Marie Johnson – how did you let yourself get personally involved with your patient – correction – both of your patients! Your grandmother preached over and over, right up to the time of her death: don't get personally involved with your patients, Marie.' I hear the state review board's voice mentally preaching to the choir.
'Didn't you get it, Marie?' The review board voices fade, and I could hear Sigismund Schlomo Freud's thick Austrian accent taking over, lecturing me on and on in the back of my mind as I sat sipping tepid coffee in my grandma's old kitchen.
Watching through the large picture window, I see the inevitable drama playing out on the front porch between Ray and his daughter, Katrina, as he tries to put some distance between the two of them. He stands on the steps, with his overnight bag in hand, trying to convince her that the IRS needs him back in the city for a major client's audit. It's a premeditated lie that I agreed to as a last resort move. He is trying to buy time that is needed for me to drill down into the tumultuous relationship Kitten has ignited by fulfilling her promise to her mother to all ways take care of her Daddy in every way – including his hyper-sexuality. Incest – my specialty and I'm right, Goddamn, in the middle of it with the child of both my former lovers! Why did I even think that I had any chance of resolving this age-old conflict?
'Because, the little cunt played her sympathy card on me, all too damned well! Like a hot knife through butter, she cut through the defensive barriers that I'd erected years ago to deny my love for Ray. The barriers that I'd erected so that Katelyn and Ray could have one another – a love that I could never give Ray at that time. Two days ago, Kitten got Ray's wonderful cock into me for the first time. And like a lust filled harlot, I broke down and treated her cunt like I'd treated my Katelyn's cunt so many years ago.' I confessed my transgressions to my imaginary analyst Father Freud, and added, 'Get the fuck out of my mind Freud, now! I've got work to do!'
I cleared my mind and watched the two of them on the porch as Kitten's naked body struggles to over power her father's argument that she stay until he comes back for her. For her part, she's demanding that he take her back with him, right now. "I'm not staying out here in fucking corn country without you, Daddy!" Her screaming voice carries back to me through the screen door.
Her arms are waving frantically, the vehement head shakes of 'no' over and over are clearly growing more intense, the drawn back chest makes her breasts rise, and then, there it comes, finally the tears flow. Her chin drops telecasting all the signs of resignation that are seeping into her bowed head.
That's when Ray dropped his bag and took her into his arms – a daughter's hug, a light kiss on the forehead, and a father's loving, gentle embrace seeking to make the world right again. She folded against him, wrapping her arms around him in a daughter's embrace. These are not the signs of lovers quarreling that I was observing. Hopefully, that's a good thing. After a long silent hug, Kitten steps back releasing him. Letting go of him. There are no signs of tender incest touches, between them, now.
Silent, for the moment, she realizes that a full on tirade is not going to be to her advantage. Her promise to her mother, to care for her father, rises ahead of her own desires in this moment. As he turns around on the steps, with that look of misgiving etched on his face, I see her shoulders draw back and her jaw thrusts forward – there is no mistaking that look of silent anger on the rise.
Ray walked to the car and with a slight wave of his hand, slowly drives away. Father and daughter are now apart for the first time since Katelyn's long and agonizing death. Having watched Ray drive out onto the blacktop, Kitten whirls around and stridently steps toward the screen door. Yanking it open, she storms through the living room like a leopard headed across the savanna in search of something to kill.
I steel myself for her fury. Even with years of interventions under my wings, one is never fully ready for how each one will flame up. And they all do. Hopefully, this one will be quelled with some semblance of a peaceful outcome. Her future, her father's future, and my own future hang in the balance on how successfully I handle this eighteen-year-old seeking someone to blame for her father's separation. Destruction is headed my way.
Kitten's Intervention
"You lied!" Katrina hissed, as those hazel eyes tried to bore through me.
"We both know that it's your Daddy who lied … I just gave him permission." I answered calmly, setting down my cold cup of half-finished coffee onto the lace covered kitchen table and look up again.
I looked up into those fiery eyes and locked myself into a stare-down. I had years of practice; she had only just begun to spread her wings when it comes to mind games. But, I've never stared down a naked patient before, so this was going to be difficult if I didn't get some cloths on that lithe, sexy body that I'd shared with her Daddy at the lake, in my bed, and in my barn, the last two days, and soon!
"Get a robe from the closet, behind you," I motioned. She stood her ground, but when I didn't blink or repeat my command, she gave in and retrieved one of my plush, Turkish bathrobes from the closet and, in a teenager's huff, plopped down at the table while I poured fresh cups of coffee. Even with her pout, she still manages to look very much like a teen-magazine model wrapped up in the warmth of that robe.
"You lied!" She repeated, "You said, Friday, that you didn't believe in interventions."
"So … that's what you think this is – an intervention?" I queried her.
'Neither confirm nor deny to your patient that you are undertaking an intervention,' my grandmother had taught all her psychiatric students. I was making sure to follow that admonishment here. No time for fucking up this situation at this stage of the drama, I reminded myself.
"Well, I'm stuck here with you, Marie, until you brainwash me and call Daddy to come and get me, aren't I? So yes, I think this is a fucking intervention, Marie!" Her raised voice emphatically replies.
Swallowing a couple sips of coffee, I looked up into her fiery eyes and speaking softly said, "My car keys are on the table by the window. The garage code is 6-5-4-3-2-1, I slowly called the code out to her in a measured cadence; a trick grandma taught me to help soften up a patient's resolve to do battle.
I continued, "Katrina, you can pack your bag and leave anytime you want. I would never hold anyone against their will – so no, this is not an intervention, Katrina." I lied, again. I saw her eyes glance over to the table to verify that the keys were there. I was making a dangerous bet that her promise to her mother to take care of her daddy would outweigh her flight desire, at this point.
"Just like that? I can get up and go? You won't call the cops to chase me down and report your car stolen?" She mocked my soft response, trying her sultry John Deere approaches on me. She certainly had inherited her mother's gift of moxy.
"I would only call the cops – if you took my airplane instead of the car." I gave her back some of that southern syrupy voice she was laying on me. "You don't have a pilot's license, so that would be a real problem if you could get it off the ground." I added going for a touch of humor, hoping to take some of the intensity out of our conversation.
Fight or Flight – The Quandary
Silently glaring at me, she sat mentally turning over my responses and presumably weighing her options before responding. [fight or flight – classic responses when trapped in a confrontation with a perceived enemy – psychiatry 101]
"You've really got a plane out there, too?" Came a more softened query. I suspect her response is to deflect where this conversation should be going and I allow her some segue in our conversation as I answer her.
"We're a four hour drive away from my hospital, I can't afford to be away for that long if there is an emergency. So, yes, I have a twin engine plane and I have an airstrip right by the hospital." I answer matter-of-factly. "Here, I use the lane that goes down to the lake as a runway. The car is here for local run-a-rounds, but my farm manager, his wife, and their girls take care of stocking the homestead and other chores for me. I just fly out here, check-in, and checkout – like a resort. So … it would be okay with me, if you decide to use the car to go home. I could just send two of my management family members to pick it up when you got there."
It's an opening gambit to assuage her fears of being detained against her will. But, I'm willingly offering her ample opportunity to back out of staying here with me. If she stays, it allows her father a modicum of time to heal and come to grips with the loss of his wife, my lover, without being frequently ravished by his daughter in her misguided attempt to honor a mother's dying wishes. If she bolts, I cannot begin to fathom what the future holds for them or even holds for me as I'm so intrinsically intertwined with this turmoil that began on the Johnson homestead over twenty-four years ago.
Stillness and silence sets in, neither of us speaking. Just the way I needed it to be allowing Kitten to mellow and lower her anxiety levels before I put us back on track. For now, we had accomplished a small breakthrough. Her hostility level is down by several bars – now I have my work cut out to re-build some trust relationships since Ray and I had just cratered the sexual bridge that she had used to bind a tenuous web among us.
Meeting the Girls
A quiet, soft rap on the back door broke the stillness, accompanied by a young, Spanish speaking voice, "Doctora, Doctora Johnson, nos da permiso a entrar?" [Doctor, Dr. Johnson, may we come in?]
"Come in girls," I responded to the soft voice calling out to me.
Kitten caught sight of the swarthy identical twin Martinez girls, two years older than she, as they came around the corner from the hallway into the kitchen. Both freeze just as they realize that I have company. One day, these treasures are going to have men falling all over themselves trying to bed the twins, but not as long as their father had them in his sights and under his wing. I've been tempted to bed them myself and take them under my wings for personal tutelage. But, one should never mix business with pleasure!
Their eyes locked into mine, growing as big as saucers – deer in the headlights look. They both knew they were never to come to the farmstead if I had guests or patients present. But, they came today, thinking that the car they had seen driving away also took away my guests. Today, their impromptu appearance is a godsend and is about to help defuse more of Katrina's animosity toward me.
Katrina's jaw slackened and I smiled too, as we both saw the girls holding our cloths in their hands: Ray's pants, underwear, and socks; Kitten's top and pleated skirt; and my blouse, panties, and slacks. All the items that we were unable to find in the darkness as we felt our way back down out of the barn loft. We had spent an hour up there before sunset last night, making sure Kitten's frustration, with not getting off with John Deere at Walnut Grove, was erased from the memories of her unsettling encounter. Her daddy and I made sure that she got properly aroused and plowed, as she put it. Something Jack Fletcher was unable to fulfill as he lost his virginity to Kitten's promise to give him more than a look up her skirt Saturday afternoon.
"Rosalinda, Rosario, this is Katrina – my cousin's daughter. She is staying with me for a while." I told them and looking back at Katrina, I added, "Yes?"
Katrina's response was non-committal, "Maybe. We'll see." At least it was not an emphatic no, much to my relief. Perhaps we just might have a shot at salvaging our relationships after all.
"Um. Doctora. Maybe, the raccoons took your cloths off the wash line and into the barn, no?" Always one to offer an out, Rosalinda proffered a reason they found the clothing in the barn loft, even though highly improbable. She and her sister knew full well what went on up there Saturday night without having to guess very hard or take very long once they saw the 'fuck nest' in the loft.
Taking in the merriment in the girls' faces, Katrina wryly answers Rosalinda's query, "Yea … right, had to be those raccoons."
I poured coffee for the girls and I proposed to Kitten that she should spend the afternoon with the them learning to ride, something that her Daddy relished whenever he came out to my grandma's farm. He used to be quite good at barrel racing and roping cattle. As I related this to her, she was surprised to hear about it. She knew he grew up out west, but didn't know much about his experiences with ranching and farm work.
I was glad the girls arrived when they did. It really took the edge off the conversation between Katrina and I. Later, I watched through the picture window as the twins took Katrina in tow and provided instructions on how to saddle, mount, and control the horses using western-style riding methods. Then they rode off down the lane together. I figured they would be out riding the fence lines for a couple of hours while teaching Kitten about horsemanship in the process.
While they were gone, I took the opportunity to make a few phone calls to the hospital and later left a message on Ray's recorder to let him know about our progress this afternoon. I thought he would be home by now, but the recorder picked up the message first. No matter, there was no forest fire to put out at the moment and we were not in crisis mode either, so I didn't expect to hear from him again, today.
Ray's Drive Home
I left Kitten in Marie's experienced hands. Experienced in many ways as thoughts of how she had once again managed to edge me to new heights with Kitten in the loft the night before I left. I stopped at the four-way crossing peering across the road at the diner where curly redheaded Jack Fletcher was given the chance to ogle Kitten's bare peach as he lay on the floor looking up her skirt. I just sat idling at the stop sign vacillating between driving back to the city or pulling into the diner and looking for Fletcher. Fuck it, I decided crossing the highway. I pulled into the diner hoping to see him again. Just why I wasn't sure, but something about Katrina's relating what happened between them at Walnut Grove was nagging me.
Jack wasn't there when I walked into the empty diner, but his mother was.
"Your WicKed's father aren't you?" She asked as she approached me. Something in her tone and her calling Kitten by WicKed raised my guard. Kitten had suggested to Jack that getting into his mother's pussy could happen if he followed her instructions. This could really get prissy with Jack's mama if he followed through with Kitten's suggestion.
"Yes. I am." I answered, as guardedly as possible, without knowing what was coming.
"Then I guess I've you and your daughter to thank for what she told him to do." She replied with some gentleness in her voice.
"You take a message to her for me. Tell her, thank you, from Jack and me, please." Mrs. Fletcher said as she looked into my eyes. "I suppose you're also doing WicKed, yes?" She added.
Returning behind the counter, she hadn't waited for my response, not really expecting an answer from me. She already knew from the look on my face. She began making a strawberry shake. While she and I stood staring across the counter, reading one another's expressions. I knew then that whatever Kitten had said and done to Jack Fletcher changed the isolated world in which he and his mother lived, forever. With a soft smile, she touched my arm and handed the shake to me without my asking.
"No charge, Mr. WicKed. Your daughter gave me more than enough already to last me for a life time."
I didn't have to speak with Jack after all. I had my answer. Kitten made good on her promise to Jack. I nodded to Mrs. Fletcher and walked back to the car, getting back on the road to home. Now, I was comfortable and at peace with Kitten's encounter with Jack and I mentally replayed her advice several times on the way home. I hadn't had the courage to ask Mrs. Fletcher about her daughter. WicKed had also given Jack advice on how to get his sister in the barn loft for a 'roll in the hay.' Perhaps, I'd get up the courage to ask about that on the return trip to pick up Kitten next week.
The drive home seemed doubly long without Kitten's company. The further I drove, the darker it became. Not just because of evening approaching, but the weather was rapidly changing as ominous dark clouds raced across the sky and the headwinds were buffeting the car. Rain was surely not too far ahead, I surmised. I turned off the main loop around the city, onto the highway juncture leading over to our side of the city outskirts. By the time I got to Happiness Lane a light rain had started.
I passed a lone bike rider pedaling furiously down the road, seeking shelter from the rain no doubt, I chucked to myself. Serves you right for getting out in this weather, I admonished the rider as I moved over to go around him – or rather her, as I glanced over to see a female form as I quickly passed by. I felt a bit remiss, now, after seeing it was a girl and not some guy out riding in the rain. Guess I am thinking it could have been Katrina and it softens my take on the situation.
By the time I turned into my driveway, some three hundred yards down the road, the heavens had opened up and even with the wipers on full speed it was difficult to see the garage doors opening as I drove safety inside.
I'd stopped to by some groceries before the rain, and had already carried one bag inside and was getting the second when a bike rider dashed into the garage along side my car. Startled, I looked up to find Jackie, our closest neighbor's daughter, soaked and well winded. She was just graduated as salutatorian with Kitten's class from high school. She and Kitten spend a great deal of time together – lots of girl stuff shared, I guess.
"Saw your light still on in the garage, Mr. Schumacher! Hope you don't mind me getting out of the rain for a few minutes?" She gasped out her words.
"Jackie, you look like a drowned rat!" I chuckled observing the water dripping down those soft Asian American features. Her father was a service veteran who met her mother as a refugee from a war torn Asian country.

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