A Sort of Homecoming

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With apologies to U2. This story is a sequel of sorts to No Going Home. I would encourage you to read it first. Constructive criticism and feedback are welcome.

The phone rang at 7 am. “Who could be calling at 7 am?” thought Stephanie. She ignored the handset as it rang three more times before cutting out to voicemail. After another night of tossing and turning around her very pregnant belly, and the intermittent kicking within, Stephanie remained exhausted and desperate for sleep. She buried herself beneath the comforter, pulled a pillow tight above her head and sunk back into slumber.


By 9 am, I had gotten almost another two hours of sleep, but I was still very tired. I could hear Stella banging around the kitchen and watching her cartoons. At six years old she was a fortuitously independent little girl. I felt miserable. My daughter shouldn’t have to fend for herself, but the pregnancy-induced sleep deprivation was taking its toll. We’d been ‘there’ before. There had been a time, a few years ago, when I was so sick Stella would wake me with a tug.

“Mommy, Mommy, I’m hungry. Can you make me breakfast?” she would ask.

It shamed me, but my debilitating, and reoccurring, mononucleosis could suck the very life out of me. The fact that my husband was deployed to Iraq at the time didn’t help. Back then I was almost broken. The stress of his departure, worries over his safety, tending to a toddler, and being sick, all combined to create a miserable life for my daughter and me.

It took years to recover, and the growing baby inside me was a testament to our persistence to provide Stella with a brother or sister. The baby was our little miracle child. After I got better we tried for years with no success. The fact that I got pregnant seven months ago when Jack was home on a two week R&R from yet another deployment — this time in Afghanistan — made for an amusing story. But we were also, ever so grateful.

We were older parents. Together for over a decade before having Stella and closer to two decades before this wonder baby came along. “Baby-baking is definitely a young woman’s game,” I said quietly to myself. At 38, I was about done with baby-making. It had been hard enough to get this child. I reluctantly slid out of the warm covers and into some fuzzy slippers, and headed for the kitchen for some much-needed coffee — well, decaf anyway.

I walked out of the bedroom into the waiting arms of little Stella in her pajamas. She heard me stumbling about my bedroom and rushed to greet me with a big smile and open, grasping arms. I tried, mostly unsuccessfully, to temper her enthusiasm around my swelling belly as I tousled her coiled hair and hugged her to me.

Stella yelled, way too loud, “Mommy! Good morning, Mommy! Good morning, baby!” She kissed my flannel-clad stomach as she hugged my legs.

Baby was still just ‘baby.’ We never learned the Stella’s gender until she arrived, and I hadn’t found out about this baby either. Oh, I wanted to; it would make some things so much easier. But Jack liked surprises. And since he was gone and I had to go to all the pre-natal visits alone or with Stella…well, it wouldn’t have been fair to him to find out by myself. And Stella couldn’t keep a secret to save her life. I had to admit I liked ‘good’ surprises too.

All three of us talked about names in letters, emails and Skype sessions. Sometimes, it seemed that’s all we talked about! As the due date drew closer we got more desperate. We recently settled on a girl name — Sophia Bella, a great companion to older sister, Estella Vita — but the boy name was proving impossible to agree upon. You would think seven months is enough time to come up with one girl name and one boy name, but no! No such luck. At least Jack would be home soon… real soon. He was due back in a matter of days. Then we could work on that tough job together, as a family!

I stumbled to the kitchen, on auto-pilot. We had a small whiteboard, on the wall, with the names we considered and discarded. I stared, absentmindedly, at it and guessed at other options as I prepared coffee and a bagel for myself. To my dismay, Stella loudly drummed her spoon in her bowl as she ate the cereal she made for herself. Finally, with coffee in hand, I joined her at the kitchen table. No sooner had I sat down, and I remembered. The phone. Some jackhole — combination of a jackass and asshole — called at 7 am. I labored my big belly back out of the chair long enough to trek to the receiver and check messages on speaker.

“Sorry honey…” said Jack’s gruff voice.

I chuckled to myself and said, under my breath “Oh, it was THAT jackhole.”

Thankfully, Stella didn’t hear me, but she did recognize her father’s voice. Then she immediately screamed “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” and jumped up and down, preventing me from hearing the rest of the message.

“Shh, darling. Let me listen, please,” I gently scolded. I played the message again.

“Sorry almanbahis honey, delayed again in Frankfurt. You know the deal….I’ll see you all when I see you. Love you all.”

I grimaced. Yes, I most certainly ‘know the deal.’ I had 20 years of Army girlfriend/wife experience. You can fly commercial anywhere in the world in 24 hrs, but the U.S. Army takes 10 days…or more. He was supposed to be home as early as tomorrow, but now, as always, it would take longer. I counted the days on my fingers. One day in Ghazni, two days in Bagram, seven days, I think, in Kuwait. Now he’s in Frankfurt. Getting closer, but not close enough. I’d long ago given up on telling Stella when he was expected. She could only be disappointed. Like now.

“Mommy? When is Daddy coming home?” she asked. She stared down at her bowl with sad eyes.

“Soon, darling. Soon,” I said as I slid over to give her a tight hug, and ruffled my fingers through her curly dark hair.

“Why don’t you go upstairs, get dressed, and read for awhile so I can get cleaned up. We have to run some errands and get a few things done before Daddy gets home. Plus, I have a surprise for you.”

That got her attention. She dashed off as I cleared the dirty dishes into the already overloaded sink. There were, indeed, lots of things to be done before Jack/Daddy came home. And once I dropped Stella off to her friends for a long play date and surprise sleepover I might actually be able to accomplish some of them.


Once Stella was upstairs and I made the kitchen mostly presentable I retired to the master bathroom to get cleaned up. I knew I had a lot of personal cleanup to do too. I hadn’t shaved my legs, or elsewhere, in weeks. While I didn’t really feel I had the time, I figured I deserved a nice bath.

I brushed my teeth and touched up my eyebrows as the water filled the garden tub. Stripping off my red tartan night clothes and full coverage panties I surveyed my body in the giant mirror over the sinks. “Not bad for an old broad,” I thought. At 38 I still looked, easily, 5-10 years younger. The stray grays in my sable hair and fine lines near the corners of my equally brown eyes were all that gave away my older age. If I wasn’t pregnant I would have dyed those grey hairs away.

The little bit of Italian in my family line served me well. The slight olive cast in my skin turned a rich brown when I was tanned. Some crisp tan lines could still be seen highlighting the small triangles that would cover my breasts and crotch, when I still fit in that tiny string bikini a few months ago. Jack loved to play in those pale, forbidden zones! And I missed him playing there.

The cocoa colored nipples hardened at the thought of my husband’s imminent return. I weighed the 34B breasts in my hands. They felt heavier, but they weren’t yet laden with milk. I pressed them together for a moment but there wasn’t much cleavage to speak of. When I had Stella, I had hoped they would get bigger and stay that way, but Jack was plenty happy with what I had. All these sexy thoughts were starting to have an effect on me. I rubbed the nipples softly as they warmed and got still harder. That small action was like a pilot light igniting the furnace with a rush. I felt the heat growing down below.

My belly lay between me and the lethargic kitty that was just waking up. I was unquestionably pregnant, but I’d only gained about 20 lbs so far. On my five foot, four inch frame it was all belly. Well, some of it was in my wide ass too! I reached under to ruffle my fingers through my pubes. It was disturbingly thick down there. Jack would have called it a ‘mega bush.’ But it wasn’t like I had anybody to impress. I’d take care of it, and my gnarly legs, soon enough.

I found the old hair trimmer and laid a towel on the travertine floor. Then I put a makeup mirror on top of the towel so I could see what I was doing. The tub still filled slowly as I gingerly lifted my belly and took the buzzing trimmer to the ‘old growth’ forest between my thighs. Clumps of dark, almost black, hair fell on the towel and mirror as I worked to make myself somewhat presentable. I’d had every kind of ‘style’ possible down there…from completely bare to lots of hair. Given the circumstances, and my lack of time, I was just going to have to settle for nicely trimmed right now. I cut the bush down to a neat triangle. The vibrations of the clipper and the fact that I could now see the previously hidden folds and lips raised my arousal to the next level. Warm, wet dew was gathering inside and I felt flushed, sitting there naked in the bathroom. Getting ready for my man.

Well, this simply will not do. I wasn’t going to go through yet another day of blue balls — or whatever the female equivalent is called. I hurriedly put the clippers away and turned off the now full tub. Thinking quickly, I shuffled to my nightstand. I removed the old Crown Royal bag and took it back to the tub side. I climbed in and sank down into almanbahis yeni giriş the wonderfully warm water. The water washed away any stray cut hairs from my pussy. I worked quickly to wash my hair and clean up, but I couldn’t help myself. Every little while, I returned a slender finger to my now gooey cunt. Dipping it in, sliding it about and then returning to my bath.

Finally satisfied that my long, chocolate hair was adequately washed and conditioned and my body clean I slid from the warm water to the tub side, with my legs still dangled in the water. I soaped my thick thighs and slender calves and began to shave them free of the stubble. Then I spread my legs lewdly, exposing my increasingly hot cunt. I did a quick sweep of my bikini line to make things tidy and then dropped the razor back on the adjacent pedestal sink.

The room was steamy and so was my demeanor. I finally felt clean and human again. I opened the velvety Crown bag and removed the soft, rubber shaft within as my other hand slithered back between my legs. “Oh, this is going to be fun,” I thought. I began to rub the head of the dildo into my moist furrow. My eyes shut as I thought of the ‘little Jack’ cock teasing my pussy lips.


Years ago, before the Iraq deployment, one of Jack’s soldiers told him about Clone A Willy © — also known as Make Your Own Dildo © kit. Actually, he didn’t tell Jack, he showed him. This soldier had received a mail order kit so he could leave behind a souvenir with his young wife. Jack took a smart phone picture of the junior soldier holding the cylindrical package. The buck Sergeant had a broad smirk on his face. Soldiers can always be counted to be shameless jokers. The kit could be purchased at an Adult Book Store or online. Using the kit, like the old 1970s plaster casters, you could make your own personalized impression of your cock of choice.

Jack bought a kit for himself, with the intent to surprise me. But the instructions were really stringent. If you messed up the water temperature or your timing the kit wouldn’t work. You will have paid a lot of money for nothing. He screwed up the first time when he tried to make it when Stella and I were out of the house. Jack and I both laughed when he told me afterwards what happened.

He was so busy following the instructions he lost his hard on. As he tried to quickly stroke one back up he ran out of time. When he went to insert himself, he made exactly zero progress. His poor penis head practically bounced off a solid, which he was expecting to still be a liquid. The modeling paste basically dried up. He was able to wash the rest of the stuff out and save the plastic tube but he was unsuccessful in getting the mold of his penis.

Ever the persistent soldier, he purchased more molding powder that afforded him the opportunity to try two more times. The second time, things didn’t go much better. Jack made his time hacks but the mold wasn’t good. He told me it was pretty hard to keep a woody when your cock is buried in a cool pudding-like substance. Finally, he decided to ask for my help.

After laughing my ass off at his predicament, I complimented him on both his persistence and his desire to keep me happy — or at least sexually satisfied. Then we made the dildo together. We were both naked in the bathroom. While he mixed the paste, I massaged his heavy balls and sucked his manhood into a fevered erection while I kept the time on a stop watch. Then when he shoved his super hard dick into the still wet molding mix I did everything in my power to keep him hard as Chinese arithmetic. I licked his nipples, swayed in front of him with bouncing tits and bawdily displayed and fingered my twat while sitting on the countertop. After he finally, and uncomfortably, detached himself from the mold we left it to dry and fucked like rabbits. We laughed and giggled at the absurdity of it all. Three times he tried this insanity just to leave me with a rubber facsimile of his lovely cock. He was sometimes a pain in the ass, but I loved him, precisely because he would go to any length to make me happy. And I would do the same.

The next morning, when the mold was dry, we added the two-part silicone mixture — almost like making epoxy — and let it cure. When the fake cock was done, with the exception of one or two weird air bubbles on the shaft, it was an almost perfect copy of his nice, hard, cut dick. The shade of pinkish flesh wasn’t quite the same, but it was certainly close enough. But this one had a magic power even Jack’s lacked. A plastic vibrator was embedded in the rubber during the drying time. So with a twist of the end cap, the cock came to life with delicious, tantalizing vibrations. Some women call them ‘Bob’, battery-operated-boyfriend, but this was my ‘little Jack’. There might be many fancier, more expensive toys — with many bells and whistles — out there, and I even owned a few. But this one was very dear to me.

After many occasions to play with almanbahis giriş both cocks, real and fake, at the same time, I had to admit this was a great fucking surprise. Often, we had our own ‘threesomes’, and those two cocks made it into every one of my holes — in every combination. And when he was gone, even though sometimes it made me cry to be so alone, I had no problem banging myself to a frenzy with that super, little fuck toy.


So here I was again. Sitting on the edge of the tub with ‘little Jack’ shoved into my tight cunt. I was fucking myself with that fake cock pulsating a fierce beat on my G-spot while my fingers interchangeably pulled on the hood over my clit or my nipples. I loved the delicious friction as I slid the hard rubber in and out of my slippery gash. Then I left the buzzing beast buried all the way in as I moved both my hands all over my body. Wishing it was Jack’s genuine cock, Jack’s hands. I imagined it was him as my body was wracked by one, two, three orgasms. I moaned his name, lost control again.

The silicone shaft spread my lips wide and as I watched it slide back and forth the labia grasped and pulled. It was delightfully obscene to watch in the mirror, and I couldn’t take my eyes off my well-groomed, swollen, crimson pussy.

“Uhhhhh, uuuhhhhh, fuck me Jack, fuck me forever,” I cried and shook with a teeth-rattling fifth orgasm.

I could have stayed there. I wanted to stay there. But even though my body was so hot, the bathwater was getting cold on my legs and I still had too many things to do — aside from myself. Using my cunt muscles, I Kegeled that pseudo-cock out of my super-lubricated cunt with an nasty, slurpy POP. Taking the vibrator in hand, I turned the switch off then I licked it clean of my cum. After the bath, there was only a faint odor and taste, but it excited me further to enjoy the flavor of my pretty pussy. Then like a grooming cat, I licked my fingers clean too. Grabbing a washcloth I dabbed at my scarlet, drooling cunnie and then wiped off my hands.

Finally, regretfully, I stepped from the tub and resumed getting ready. I quickly cleaned the sex toy and put it away. A glance at the clock showed that my masturbation session alone was almost twenty minutes I simply didn’t have. “Eh fuck it, I needed that,” I thought. Then I giggled at my double entendre. As if to emphasize my lateness, I heard Stella pounding on the bedroom door.

Stella yelled “Mommy? Why is the door locked?”

I ignored her questions but I also wrapped myself in a towel and robe and went to unlock and open the door.

Stella looked at me with a stern face, and said “What were you doing?”

I looked back at her and sneered “You have got to be kidding! I was taking a bath and having some ‘me’ time. Never mind, what do you need?”

She smiled back adorably and then said “I’m bored.”

“Oh for chrissakes,” I snorted, “get out of here. I need about ten more minutes and I’ll be ready to leave. Go get a coat and shoes and then we’ll go.”

I shut the door again before she could protest.


I hurriedly pulled some casual clothes on and pulled my wet hair into a simple, high pony tail. As I was gathering Stella’s overnight bag and my purse I saw one of the very old pictures on the refrigerator. That was way back when we were in Germany together. A long, long time ago.

Then I remembered that Jack said he was stuck in Frankfurt. Man, it would be great to go back there! But with a baby on the way? Well, that just meant any transcontinental trips would be many years away … again. It was too bad. We always wanted to go back and never seemed to have the time or the means.

We met in Germany when he was a junior officer and I was just a dumb little college kid doing a summer internship. Another intern/girlfriend took me to the Swimbad — the swimming pool — and when this tall, fit, sandy-haired Adonis came out of the water I damn-near forgot my name. He was bare-chested, soaking wet, in nothing more than knee length trunks. My eyes stopped on his ripped chest and then again on his icy blue eyes. I was immediately and irrevocably lost in those sapphire eyes.

Unfortunately, we were just getting to the pool and he was just leaving. I hadn’t even revealed my saucy new bikini. Instead, I was in some scrubby short shorts and a matching tank top. In my mind, I was less than presentable. No makeup, no nice clothes. But it was clear that he didn’t care about silly stuff. And he definitely liked what he saw. I never cared for my small top and apple bottom, but he appeared to hold a different opinion. He smiled broadly as we got through some introductions and a promise to get together. I caught him sheepishly glancing back at my ass as he headed for the men’s locker room and a prior commitment.

A few days later I joined him on a ‘sorta double date’. After a movie we left the other couple behind and he invited me to stop in at his place. I never imagined going back to anyone’s place after a first date, but he was a perfect gentleman. As he showed me around his rented house, I saw this enormous bed in his room. I remember noting to myself that this was going to be a great summer.

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