The Vlogger--A Taryll Jackson Erotica

I'm quite sure that many of you reading this spend a portion of your day watching the content provided on video sharing sites such as Youtube, Vimeo and the like. And like me, I'm sure you have your favorite chef, makeup guru, or comedian and like me, you might even have a crush or two on a few of those online personalities. I was inspired by the latter idea—a crush on a video star, being taken to the next level. It's incredible way the line between fan and fave can become so utterly blurred, when you “invite” a person into your home on a near daily basis. What is scary though, is that while this is pure fiction for nothing more than amusement, a few fucks and giggles, I can guarantee, right now, in real time, the very same scenario could be possibly playing out, perhaps many times over across the globe.

"The Vlogger" 

A Taryll Jackson Erotic Short Story By: 
Mjsloveslave 

Fallen Leaf, California

Early Spring, 2013

It was an unseasonably cold, brisk evening, late in March.

Dusk began to settle over that still, picturesque suburban neighborhood in Northern California, where in the waning twilight, just before the streetlights commenced their illumination, and the only glow came from behind curtained and shuttered windows.

In the distance, a single dog or perhaps a coyote, howled as the sun slipped beyond the horizon.

Near the middle of Cherry Hill Avenue, a small, blue-silver bullet of a sports car idled.

And had been for close to half an hour.

The man in the driver's seat, clutched the steering wheel so tightly his whitened knuckles popped, eyes solemnly trained on the house a few hundred yards away from the curb.

He loathed everything about that place.

It's clipped, manicured lawn that seemed to be the perfect shade of Kelly green no matter the season or weather conditions.

The pristine, two-story country style house, it's off-white trim matching the cobblestones on the facade just so.

The two neat, coordinating bronze BMWs, the vanity plates reading as “Mr.” and “Mrs.”

Why, he even hated the novelty mailbox, painted to resemble an oversized baseball, though baseball was his very favorite sport and pastime..

He wanted to gun the engine, throw that car into reverse and peel out of there, away from Cherry Hill Avenue, and it's nouveau-riche inhabitants with their fancy cars, and housekeepers dropping in three days a week.

The men with their bespoke Italian suits and leather briefcases.

Their wives, perfectly turned out, in name brand cosmetics and designer dresses, doe-eyed creatures that despite having any number of children, if they had any at all, maintained their impossibly slim, pre-baby physiques.

Chubby cheeked, well-behaved infants, whom rarely dared cry. Children whom were polite; seen but never heard.

It was a peaceable, hermetically sealed, idyllic sort of a place in which he did not belong.

But was regularly invited into the folds therein by his older brother.

And after years of this passion play, Taryll Jackson could no longer understand if he continued accepting these inclusions because he truly wanted to pretend to be a part of this world, or because he simply had no other place to be, nothing better to do with his Sunday evenings.

Regardless, following much deliberation and hesitation, the key in the ignition was turned, shutting off the engine.

A moment later the door opened, with him unfolding from the vehicle, pausing to remove a magnum of Merlot from the backseat.

And slowly, with his head lowered, much like a defeated puppy on the retreat from the losing end of a junkyard scuffle,, he started for the brightly lit porch.

Taryll Jackson couldn't sleep.

He rarely ever could following dinner and drinks at his elder brother's home.

How he envied Taj Jackson.

Every facet of his life seemed a step beyond Taryll's.

At least to his weathered, fevered mind.

It went all the way back to when they were children.

Taj had been the firstborn, coming two years before Taryll and as the eldest had been given all of the accouterments befitting the first in a line then wound up with three boys.

He'd been given the biggest bedroom, though all three brothers had their own rooms as their father was a successful real estate broker, and affording a spacious home was of no problem to him.

Whenever their parents went out for a night on the town, it was Taj left in charge over Taryll and their kid brother TJ.

Taj who got to play Pee Wee and Little League baseball first, go to regionals and the state championships first—usually bringing home a huge trophy to put on proud display.

Not only was Taj a gifted athlete, he was also a scholar, always bringing home straight A-s from school, participating in the Math and Literature Societies.

And during his senior year had been given a free ride, full scholarship to the University of California, Los Angeles Business School.

In the meantime, Taryll was a decent ballplayer, but had to constantly put up with comparisons to Taj on and off the field. His team made it to the state finals, but did not win....three years in a row.

Schooling was something Taryll kind of bobbed around on the average with. He wasn't an idiot—his folks didn't tolerate bad grades—but he wasn't really exceptional either.

He maintained a fairly B average in school and while Taj had graduated Valedictorian, Taryll had managed to claw his way into the top ten of his graduating class.

There were no academic clubs for him, as he'd kept his interests in a variety of sports instead.

Again, he'd followed his brother into Business, as it was implied, but never spoken that the Jackson brothers would work at the brokerage firm spearheaded by their father.

Taryll though, was still paying off a handful of college loans.

And again Taj excelled while Taryll kept his head above water at best.

Once both had graduated, they were set up as partners in the Jackson firm.

But Taj had been made a 'full' partner right away, practically their father's equal, and Taryll had been relegated, along with TJ to 'junior' partner for four entire years before they were promoted.

Of course Taj had made his first sell before Taryll.

Laying there in the darkness, the comforter pulled to his chin, Taryll groaned, his mind going to the one area that seemed to bother him the most about his brother.

His ease with the ladies.

As far back as Taryll could remember, girls had chased after Taj.

Even in preschool, little girls in Osh Kosh B'Gosh had been giving Taj their candy and cookies and trying to plant kisses on him.

He never could figure what the je ne sais quoi it was Taj possessed that he lacked, but every year, there were several girls in Taj's class, and sometimes a few underlings, vying for his affection, asking HIM out on dates.

And Taryll never could figure why.

That was one area Taryll thought he had Taj beat was as far appearances went.

Both were the son of an African American father and Dominican/Puerto Rican mother but their balances of features had been drastically different.

Yes, both were blessed with a golden-olive complexion like their mother—Only TJ had come out darker like their father—the similarities ended there.

Facially, Taj was their father all over again, not to say that Mr. Jackson was anything undesirable, much to the contrary. But Taj had a somewhat omnipresent stern look about his face.

Rounded plump cheeks, dark sleepy eyes with a tendency to stare without blinking for long periods of time, a little puckered mouth, one which protruded further during middle school and the first two years of high school as he had been forced to wear braces and retainers to correct an overbite. His hair was unremarkable, coarse and deepest brown, was naturally curly, but during bohemian college years had been woven into shoulder skimming braids before being lopped off again as he moved into a professional setting.

Taryll, on the other hand was their mother through and through.

He bore a more androgynous appearance and would readily be described as 'pretty' over most other adjectives. He possessed clear hazel eyes that shifted to shades of green and gold dependent on his mood, and his hair, born a dark sandy blonde had deepened to near black in his youth, but had been endlessly colored and styled any which way over the years from an acid blonde that burnt his scalp scabby at fourteen, to something resembling dreadlocks at twenty-one and now knocking on thirty-eight, he'd let it return to its loose curl pattern, but had left the strands streaked with shades of honey, wheat and ashy blond, more complimentary and realistic looking than his first foray into bleach.

Similarly, the brothers shared personalities, both being quiet shy and timid, especially around the fairer sex.

But while Taryll seemed a constant wallflower, girls were knocking on the door and calling all hours of the night for Taj.

At one point, Taj had so many female rivalries in his favor a half dozen teens fist fought in the driveway of the Jackson home, ripping a mirror off the corvette he'd been gifted for his sixteenth birthday.

It got so out of control, that the police had had to intervene, carting a couple off to juvie.

Alas, Taryll, was a late bloomer, not really dating until his own senior year.

It was a union that didn't last long.

Taryll had felt that college would be his arena to find a girlfriend and have a steady.

It wasn't to be.

Taryll went through so many women, he lost track of names and faces.

Just when it seemed he had found the 'one' she'd break it off or cheat and he'd have his heart broken for the umpteenth time and gorged on Chunky Monkey until he puked.

But not Taj.

Oh, no...Taj managed to find the love of his life his first week at UCLA.

In the form of a transplant from Kentucky named Lucille Tucker.

A beautiful, sweet little redheaded Southern Belle, accent included, who seemed to charm just about everyone she met,including Taryll.

It wasn't that Taryll wanted his brother's girlfriend, who eventually became his wife soon after he received his BA in Business, it was Taryll wanted a woman LIKE her.

She didn't necessarily have to be Southern born, but he liked the way Lucille acted.

The way she was kind and quiet and he'd never heard her and Taj have an argument.

(Taryll had had so many raucous little ladies in his life he was champ at screaming bouts)

Taryll could see it in his brother's face, hear it in his voice, the extent of love and devotion he had to his wife.

He turned pink, his eyes danced, and he became breathless, even after so much time. They had even begun to talk about having children. Starting a family.

Rolling onto his back, Taryll stared at the ceiling.

Would he ever meet a woman like that? One he could start a family with? Marry?

Or was he doomed to play the field for the rest of his life?

Be a loser in this game of Love?

At that point in time, his last relationship had been about a month ago and had lasted about a good week before the woman had broken it off claiming he was getting too serious too fast.

Taryll couldn't help it. He'd always been that way.

He was a Leo and Leos always fell hard and fast.

Restless, he kicked the covers off himself and sat on the side of the bed in the dim room...it had to be near day break, he could see faint sunlight glowing beyond the blackout curtains.

He harkened back to the night before.

He'd sat sipping a glass of wine as Taj and Lucille had prepared dinner together.

Some kind of frou-frou roasted lamb chops with mint jelly, twice baked potatoes and glazed multi-colored carrots.

Fancy stuff.

Taj had even taken to cooking like a five-star chef. And Taryll couldn't boil water without the Fallen Leap Fire Department kicking his door in.

(That was the day he learned he just shouldn't drink green tea.)

Dinner had been a torturous affair.

Yes, the food was delicious, when was it ever not, but it kind of sickened Taryll to watch Taj and Lucille mooning across the table at one another, one blinking large eyes at the other. Never letting go of each other's hands.

Head in his pwn hands, Taryll knew he couldn't fault Taj for being happy in his life and marriage, while his was in utter shambles.

He just didn't know what to do.

Rising from the bed and pausing to rearrange himself in the little plaid briefs he wore, the only garments he generally slept in, Taryll began staggering through his high-rise apartment for the kitchen.

While he did like his apartment and the upscale area of town in which he lived, it all seemed cold, empty and austere.

How desperately he wanted to hear a woman's voice, her laugh, smell her perfume on the air.

Shuffling across the cool tile floor, Taryll lingered by the breakfast nook where his blue laptop set and tapped the space bar, rousing it from it's 'sleep' mode.

He always did like to drink his coffee and eat his cornflakes while watching videos on Clip-Share.

As the meager breakfast was thrown together, Taryll reflected on how often Taj would brag about his wife's cooking and the lunches she'd drop off to work for him.

Often it'd be a toasted bagel piled with smoked turkey Swiss cheese and bitter greens and a small fruit salad, or beef enchiladas and guacamole or deep fried chicken and potato salad...too many decadent meals to keep up with.

All of which made Taryll's limp hoagie from the sandwich shop across the street pale in comparison.

He'd had breakfast with his brother at his house a few times before...and it was a culinary odyssey.

Blueberry Lemon Poppy Seed Crepes, Steak and Fluffy Scrambled Eggs, Breakfast Casseroles Bursting with Bacon, even Lobster Benedict, which Taj inhaled, though he'd had a lifelong aversion to all things seafood.

Of course, Taryll wanted a girlfriend for more than a live-in chef, still...the eating was good and it read plainly in the twenty pound weight gain Taj had, that complimented his frame spectacularly.

Taryll had grown thicker, but more from stress than anything like a domestic goddess kowtowing to his every whim. Not that it didn't also compliment his nearly six-foot tall frame...just the avenue with which he'd arrived there left much to be desired.

Sitting down with his cereal and java, Taryll tapped to watch a video about highlights of the upcoming season for the LA Dodgers and took a swig of coffee, instantly cringing.

Sugar, it needed more sugar.

Jesus Christ it was so acerbic it was like trying to down turpentine!

Swiftly he was back across the room spooning out the precious whiteness from a canister shaped like a beagle when he heard it.

Music.

But it wasn't the usual “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” that preceded the Dodgers reel.

Instead, it was funky bubblegum pop music.

His entire spine straightened as a woman's voice, bearing a Southern accent, but nothing quite so heavy as Lucille's announced,

“Hello and welcome back to 'Belles and Bows', I'm Delora and today I'll be teaching you how to make Caramelized Banana French Toast—and I promise it's nowhere near as difficult as it sounds!”

Transfixed by the low, almost saccharine voice describing an array of ingredients, Taryll aimlessly stumbled back to the nook, drawn like Odysseus by the Sirens' song.

“..you'll need about two slightly under ripe bananas per serving, I'm making two servings, so, I have four, of course...”

Falling back into his seat, Taryll's eyes lit and widened at the figure on screen.

Wielding a knife and slicing a banana into rounds, stopping long enough to pop a slice in her mouth, was a beautiful woman.

More beautiful than Taryll could have ever recalled seeing, especially on a site like Clip-Share.

Poised behind the black and white granite counter of what looked a spacious, yet homey kitchen was...was her name Delora?

She appeared to be somewhere in her late twenties or early thirties, quite youthful, her complexion a deep tawny shade of brown, offset by the mustard yellow sweater she wore.

She had a sweet, engaging face and aura about her, constantly smiling and showing off pearly teeth, ethereal features brought out by subtle use of makeup.

Nothing too heavy or gaudy...just right.

Her hair, long and jet, was smoothed and tucked behind one ear, showing off a dangling earring of yellow and blue stones.

She was immensely striking and Taryll was gone, as per usual, right away.

And there Taryll sat, flakes going soggy, coffee going cold lost in the....the charm of Delora as she never stopped chattering blissfully as she prepared the French Toast.

Why...she was the embodiment of what Taryll longed for, treasured.

Yearned for.

He did watch her carefully, noting her hands, small and trim, with long coffin-tip nails painted a hot pink, save for her index nails, glittering with crystals as an accent.

And saw NO wedding band.

He knew it was foolish and silly, to fall for a woman he'd never met and hadn't even known of before that morning, but all logic was out the window.

Didn't logic always flee the scene when love arrived?

Taryll couldn't help it and was helpless leaning in, unconsciously humming with glee as Delora began to plate up the toast.

Three thick slices of steaming Challah bread, topped with the bananas which has been cooked down in a caramel sauce, something akin to Bananas Foster, but without flames shooting out of the skillet.

It was then, as Delora completed the second plate, that Taryll got blindsided by a surprise.

“...and now to spring the toast on my favorite little taste tester of all time, my daughter Harlow! Come here, please, Harlow, Darling!”

Daughter? She had a daughter?

He could only sit back and watch as a young girl, no older than maybe five or six years old came rushing into the frame.

A sweet, chubby-cheeked little creature that was all arms and legs.

Seeing her compared to Delora, it was obvious the child was mixed race, her skin a deep tawny close to her mother's color but bearing light blue eyes and naturally dark blonde waves.

Smiling brightly her, two front teeth missing and providing both a gasp and adorable lisp, little Harlow dug into the plate before her mother even told her what was contained on it.

“This is yummy!” She declared through a mouthful, causing Delora to titter happily.

“You always cook the best food, Mommy!”

As Delora grinned, running her fingers through the child's hair, the same little track of music played and the video ended, links for more videos from Belles and Bows being suggested.

Leaving Taryll at a loss for words and hungering for more.

He wanted to see more of Delora. Hear her voice. Watch her. Drift off into the world she presented to the camera.

It was swift, definite and unyielding the feeling.

It was a need that cried for respite like drink for thirst.

Taryll Jackson didn't move for a solid six hours.

He completely lost track of how many videos he watched, but by the time a charley horse in his left leg from inactivity cause him to rise, writhing in pain and swearing at the rafters, he knew quite a great deal about Miss Delora of Belles and Bows.

After subscribing to Delora's channel, Taryll became consumed by content.

From what he could gather and observe, Belles and Bows wasn't just a cooking channel, though there were a few dozen videos out of maybe a few hundred that did focus on meal preparation, but the topics covered other areas including makeup reviews, makeup tutorials, and different fashion vlogs.

The channel edged more on a lifestyle theme, geared at women and mothers.

Quite a lot of content focused on Delora herself and her daughter Harlow.

Through the videos, he learned that Delora was a thirty-two year old divorcee and mother of six year old Harlow. She'd been born in Texas and raised in various states through out the Deep South as her father had been in the military and she was an Army Brat being shuffled from base to base.

In a video titled “Only Child Raising an Only Child” Delora detailed more of her own childhood and it came to light that she had competed in beauty pageants from a very young age, even younger than her own daughter, because her mother strove to keep her “feminine” in the intensely masculine world of the United States Army.

It was at a pageant in Georgia she'd met her now ex-husband Cliff when she competed against his sister—and not only won the crown but his heart.

She detailed the challenges of raising a mixed race daughter—she was African American and Creole while Cliff had been Welsh and Irish, and Harlow was the product of that.

She didn't disclose why the marriage had failed but they'd divorced shortly before Harlow had turned three.

She'd left Georgia and moved to Northern California for a change of scenery.

It wasn't too long after, with her mother's prodding that Delora entered Harlow in her first pageant and the child proved to be a natural winning her first contest out.

Now she was at a pageant nearly every weekend.

In a different video, Delora explained she'd been trained as a dental assistant but now made her income from designing and creating pageant clothes and was her daughter's pageant coach.

There were several vlogs following them to pageants, and remarkably, even at the age of thirty-two, Delora was competing in the over-18 categories and still raking in trophies and crowns as her daughter raked in the same in the younger groups.

They were something of a Dynamic Duo and Taryll was taken.

In the following weeks, whenever a new video appeared—Delora uploaded three times a week without fail—Taryll dropped what he was doing to watch.

Eventually, Taryll began to want to be a part of this world.

He wanted to meet Delora, possibly will up the nerve to ask her out.

Maybe even one day...be a stepfather to Harlow.

These were passions and dreams he kept to himself, lest he be laughed clear out of Fallen Leaf by his brothers.

He was a thirty-eight year old man. He was an adult.

He was no longer nine-years-old, watching Purple Rain after sneaking into the theatre with a few of his knucklehead friends and wanting to run off with Apollonia for himself.

Was it even practical to be a man having a schoolboy crush on a woman from afar?

He didn't know.

He truly didn't know.

All Taryll knew was that his life had been enriched and brightened since he had begun following Delora.

His mood lifted every time heard her voice, saw her smile.

He paid attention and began making half-assed attempts at recreating the dishes Delora cooked, although his Eggs Benedict did turn out quite tasty.

Though he couldn't have cared less, he sat and endured tutorials on how to create the perfect wing liner, glittery cut-creases, and how to pick the perfect foundation shade and formulation for darker skin tones.

He adored Delora even more, discovering she was just as alluring without makeup as with.

He watched vlogs of pageant coaching, learning the difference between glitz and natural pageants—though Delora stated Harlow competed strictly in the glitz world.

Before long, Taryll understood what a beauty walk was, what the judges scored on and looked for in a girl.

What all went into choreographing routines that varied in time from thirty to ninety seconds. All the months of practice and fittings—and in Delora's case, though Taryll believed she didn't need it—dieting, for those few fleeting moments under the spotlight.

After a month of grappling with himself, Taryll somehow mustered the courage to begin leaving comments on the videos.

Just short, benign messages such as “Nice video” or “I enjoyed that” and “That looks delicious.”

He never said too much out of fear he'd come across as strange or creepy, but he couldn't deny it.

Delora stayed on his mind.

Rather than being wide awake yearning to have a duplicate of Taj's life, Taryll began laying awake, wishing he was with Delora.

Having her resting beside him each night. Being awakened by her cooking each morning.

Seeing her smiling face as she drifted around him in one of her cute little outfits.

She always did dress so well, whether it casual sweats and sneakers for pageant practice or a full evening gown for a competition, Delora was made to wear clothes.

Taryll couldn't lie. He'd watched her pageant videos over and over again just to see her.

The last pageant she'd competed had been the previous summer, for a system called Glitter Girls.

Taryll had been wide eyed and slack jawed at her.

Wearing a crisp butter creme Chanel suit she was witty and well spoken in Interview, answering a question about her thoughts on the President. In Talent, she proved she was skilled vocalist belting out 'Proud Mary' by Tina Turner complete with a little red and gold fringe costume, imitating the legend.

Swimsuit had decked Taryll completely, as Delora had strutted around the catwalk in a gem-encrusted royal purple bikini, showing off a figure that was neither too skinny nor too fat, but just right, slim and plump in the appropriate places, with long toned legs.

She had a great body and no one would have guessed she had a six year old competing in the same pageant!

The same body had been shown off to perfection during Beauty in a white gown that had a low back, adorned with silver butterflies and a large one in her hair.

He had been thrown into speechlessness and could only clap, his hands slapping each other and echoing in the cavernous apartment as she had been crowned Queen of her division.

Taryll had been left so restless from that he'd rolled clean out his bed and into his dresser.

He was reaching his breaking point as the second month passed.

He had to meet Delora. Had to see her. Shake her hand, tell her how he felt.

Sure, he might have been laughed at and told to go away...

But maybe...just maybe...he wouldn't.

If only there were some way to contact her.

And then one day, he saw it.

He'd just finished watching a video wherein Harlow had been taken to the dentist to be fitted for a 'flipper', an appliance with false teeth to hide the gap her missing front teeth left behind, so that she wouldn't have to wait until her 'adult' teeth came in to do more pageants.

As he scrolled down the page to the comment box, he saw it.

Written beneath the video was a message from Delora herself,

Any and all business or design inquiries, please contact me at:

Delora M. Hawthorne

P.O. Box 986

Sacramento, CA 94203

Had that been underneath all the videos?

All this time?

Taryll could have written her ages ago, made a connection?

Sacramento wasn't so far away, less than an hour's drive.

And it was then, Taryll's mind hatched a wild and wicked plan.

He...he....he...

Leaping from the kitchen table he high-tailed it through the apartment to the living room, where his phone sat charging on one of the end tables to his couch.

He was flying blind right now.

Going on sheer emotion.

Thumbs stamping out a number, mashing the silver device to his ear.

Beads of sweat accumulating on his forehead as the line trilled with each ring.

Finally...

“Hello?” Came the familiar, deep-throated rumble of a voice.

“Pops? It's Taryll.” He announced the obvious, knowing full well any time he called his father, his name and picture flashed on his father's phone.

“Yes, Son?”

“I....I....I...” He stammered for a moment, shortly losing his nerve, his freehand starting to tug at his messy blondish locks.

Planting his feet and squaring his shoulders he felt a surge of courage and heard himself spit out,

“Pops, I need next week off from work. Take some of my vacation days.”

“Boy, WHY--” Hearing the sudden shift in tone, Taryll spoke quickly trying to pull himself from the hole he'd abruptly dug for himself.

“I can't tell you that right now. You...you just have to trust me Pops, please. There's something I need to do...and....and it's important. Believe me. I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't. It really is. Please....”

There was silence on the line but Taryll could clearly make out the sound of his father grinding his teeth in contemplation.

“Please....” He repeated, actually dropping to his knees on the carpet.

He knew his father didn't like for him or his brothers to just up and leave, especially near the start of the year when people were fervently buying and selling properties.

“Taryll....” His father began with a boom. “I don't know what it is you're up to, but it better be worth it!”

“It is, Sir!” Taryll rolled onto his side in relief. “Oh, oh thank you! You won't regret it! Thank you Pops! Thank you!”

Hanging up, Taryll laid on the floor, staring at the dust bunnies beneath the couch.

He made a solemn vow to himself.

By that time next week, he was going to have met Delora Hawthorne.

And asked her out on a date.

And hopefully she'd accept.

She just had to accept.

Or he'd lose his mind.

Was it already lost?

Three Days Later

The T. Rowe Post Office, located just off the high-end shopping district of Sacramento, was an imposing, winding, labyrinth of a place.

A prime example of Streamline Moderne architecture, which had long since done it's swan song in the mid-forties, was a towering, five story building, its slick curving, without a hard edge, facade stark white, trimmed in hunter green.

The lower levels were sleek and glittering with pure white marble and chrome accents, packed with workers and customers going about their day, the upper levels, containing what had to be thousands of P.O. Boxes of varying size were ghost towns, vacant of life, dead of sound.

And, up on the fourth floor, Taryll had kept vigil, seated uncomfortably on a low wooden bench at the far end of the room, on the constant look out for Delora.

Twice already he had seen her, and lost his nerve to utter even a gasp in her direction.

The first time, he'd nearly screamed like a teenybopper in the mist of a pop star, when Delora had come strolling in around four in the afternoon.

She'd been dressed down in a pink sweater that hung off one shoulder and ripped jeans. Her hair in a ponytail, heart-shaped shades atop her head.

But Harlow had been with her, obviously fresh out of private school, in a navy jumper and white blouse, little argyle knees socks on skinny legs.

Delora had one of the larger boxes and had collected what looked like parcels of makeup from them, leaving just as quickly as she had arrived, Harlow in tow.

He hadn't said a thing. He couldn't.

He didn't want to be embarrassed, and especially not in front of a first grader.

The second day was a replay of the first...Delora coming in, albeit dressed up a bit mote in a form fitting red pencil skirt and blouse covered in matching red star, pulling Harlow, in uniform, by the hand.

And Taryll had sat speechless, looking on weakly,in particular at the high backside encased in crimson silk, Delora seeming to ignore him as she collected more packages.

But Harlow...

For some reason, as her mother fiddled about, Harlow turned, and stared directly at him.

Her tiny face plain, pouted lips an echo of Delora's pursed as she gazed across the floor at him.

Blue eyes unwavering...almost as if the child knew why he was there.

Why he stared at her mother.

Why he waited each day.

Thought it seemed silly, he had been frightened by a child still in grade school.

The pair had departed, no words exchanged and Taryll had tucked into three pints of Chunky Monkey that very night at his hotel room.

Defeated.

Day three, though, was a new day, and Taryll sat patiently, only half watching videos, set to silent—of Delora, of course—on his phone.

He had made his mind up that morning, after vomiting up the third pint of ice cream, that no matter what, come hell or high water, he was going to speak to Delora Hawthorne.

He had to, or he'd have a nervous breakdown--

“No Mama, it hasn't come in yet. I just got to the post office...I'm about to check it now...”

In the distance, he heard her voice.

That sweet melodious voice.

And through the open chrome rimmed doors, Delora stepped, Taryll thrown into a tizzy.

She was breathtaking and Taryll felt his lungs collapsing in awe.

Her body adorned with an off the shoulder crop top paired with a floral maxi-skirt, leath flip flops slapping the marble.

Her hair loose and waved, a rose gold phone pressed to her ear competing with the yellow gold hoops and clattering bangles she wore.

She was a vision and Taryll was spellbound, standing up, the new red sneakers he'd paired with a crisp button down and form-fitting jeans, squeaking, unaware he'd even moved.

Taryll was practically floating.

“...I know Mama...” She rattled on, stopping at her box, producing a key from her pocket. “...but you know the lady who lays the stones on Harlow's dresses is in Orland, so I had to FedEx it to her. And she knows I need that dress this week because Harlow and I are doing the 'Moody Blues' pageant in Biloxi, and we have to have blue 'Beauty' dresses. I couldn't send her out in her green and yellow, Mama! I hate we can't compete her in that, because she's won the top title the last three times out in it. But if the pageant demands a blue dress, a blue dress they'll see!And you know it'll bring out her eyes wonderfully! ”

At the mention of Harlow, Taryll realized Delora, for for the first time, was alone...and as he continued eavesdropping he found out why.

“...I just hope I don't have her doing too much. Right now she's at her Brownie Scout meeting, and then this evening we have to go over all her routines and she has to practice her singing. And she's going to bake cookies from scratch to try earn another badge, she want to earn the most badges in Troop 1955....”

With a groan, Delora shook her head derisively.

“Yes, Mama, I know it's important for Harlow to do more than just compete against other little girls—that's why I have her in Scouts: so she can make some little friends and not be always thinking about beating that one, or beating this one...I don't want her to be so cutthroat, and you've seen how she's been lately in my vlogs...”

In spite of himself, Taryll nodded in agreement, as with the few videos of Harlow Hawthorne competing in pageants he'd watched, Taryll found her, while onstage was a bubbly, exuberant, little dynamo in too much makeup and too many crystals, off stage, she was a withdrawn, sullen, serious child who obviously watched those she was up against with a critical eye.

The eye of a seasoned pageant veteran.

It made Taryll happy to know Delora cared about her child's social life and development.

Hell, Delora breathing the same air in the corridor with him made Taryll happy.

“Yes Mama...okay...love you too...buh-bye.”

With that, Taryll watched Delora end her call, depositing her phone into her pocket and finally opening her P.O. Box.

And from it a rather large cardboard box was extracted with Delora exuding the cutest little squeal of glee he'd ever had the pleasure of hearing.

In moments, the box had been opened and in her manicured hands, Delora held a small, peacock blue chiffon dress, covered all over with 3D flowers and rosettes, appliques and crystals, it's full cupcake skirt crinkling as she looked it over, smile stretching from ear to ear.

“From start to finish you've cost me right at thirty-five hundred dollars, but it'll be worth every last penny if you help my baby win that 'Ultimate Grand Supreme' title for the six-year-old division.” She whispered lightly, with a smirk, carefully replacing the expensive costume, Taryll lingering, speech failing him yet again and he wanted to leap out of the window and splatter the pavement at his own cowardice.

Then fate decided to lend him a hand.

“You must be expecting something pretty important.”

The comment, spoken aloud, caught Taryll off guard and he blinked at the woman in the green top, juggling the box as she used her elbow to shut her mailbox.

Had....had she been addressing him?

Seemingly unphased by the large, glassed over hazel eyes gawking at her, Delora was approaching him.

Causing a nervous sweat to spring up under Taryll's arms, dampening his pit hair and testing the very limits of his antiperspirant.

She was talking to him, looking at him.

Acknowledging his very presence.

Wispy false lashes fluttered as her dark eyes ran over him, light catching the subtle gold glitter in the brown shadow on her lids.

Up close she was even more radiant.

Her smooth, glowing skin, those wide, doe eyes, the plump lips, lined in deep brown and filled with a nude shade.

So near her, his nose was tickled by her fragrance, a fresh mix of sweet fruit and musk.

“...this is my third day in a row, coming to collect the post, I'm in here every day except Sundays and holidays, and this is my third time in a row seeing you...” She continued, gazing up at him.

Her smile was brighter than the sun to him.

So bright it could have burnt retinas.

Into the handsome face, the olive complexion slowly going maroon about the cheeks, the lost puppy look in the eyes, mouth slack-jawed and agape.

The eyes ran down Taryll's stocky figure and he was certain she could see the outline of his heart as it slapped against his breast frantically.

Her eyes met his and she inquired again,

“What exactly are you waiting for?”

He staggered a moment, shifting from one leg to the next, sweaty-palmed hands wringing over one another.

Lips tersely sucking in, before parting and allowing a single word to slip past.

“You.”

The enchanting smile grew larger and arched, penciled and pomaded brows rose in surprise.

"Me? You're waiting on me?" She balanced the box on her hip like a toddler, head cocking to the side curiously.

"Pray tell...why are you waiting on me?"

Delora said it in a teasing sort of a way, as if she already knew the answer and it was that lilt to her voice which provided a touch of ease to Taryll Jackson.

If she believed his hanging around the empty floor of the post office were off-putting, strange or downright insane, she never mentioned it.

"Because....because..."

Oh he couldn't bring himself to vocalize it, mouth going dry and parched.

And again, Delora filled in the blanks for him.

"You...wanted to meet me...because you've watched my vlogs on Clip-Share, haven't you?"

Now there was an undeniable confusion taking those relaxed, masculine features and with a stutter, Taryll inquired,

"H-how did you know?"

He almost sank to his knees when Delora, more cheery than ever asked of him,

“Isn't your username on Clip-Share 'BatterBoy75'?”

“Yeah--” He was taken aback and gulped helplessly.

“I recognized you from the picture you have as your icon. I thought you looked familiar... you comment on my vlogs a lot.”

“I'm sorry.” That was a knee-jerk reaction as he could figure nothing else more intelligent to respond with.

“No need to be.” She assured him coolly. “All of your comments have been very kind and I appreciate them. I usually get a ton of negative comments, especially on the vlogs where my daughter does her pageants. It's refreshing to something nice and positive after all the mess...Thank you...uh...”

His name....she didn't know his name.

“I'm Taryll...Taryll Jackson!” He exclaimed, hand being put forward.

When her small, warm, smooth little hand gripped his in welcome, he wanted to lay on the floor in the fetal position.

She was touching him! She was touching him!

“And I'm--”

“I know....” He hastened, growing steadily redder. “I've....watched all your videos.”

“I know—remember, comments!” She tapped the tip of his nose playfully.

“Now that we're all properly introduced, Mr. Taryll Jackson...”

Her eyes were drifting down his frame once more.

“Where do we go from here?”

He audibly gulped.

“Where do you want to go from here?”

“Well...” Delora flipped her hair over her bared shoulder in the most becoming way.

“I was on my way to Bit of Bavaria, since I had a taste for some German food...would you care to join me?”

Goddamn it, she'd beaten him to the punch!

Delora Hawthorne, if Taryll Jackson were hearing correctly, had asked HIM out!

Dreams really did come true!

“Yes...if I'm not imposing.” His voice fell to a cautious mumble and she cast a smug glance at him as she turned and started away.

“But...I want you to impose.” She called back, heading for the door.

Leaving Taryll to scamper after her.

* * *

“...So you're from Fallen Leaf? That's a very nice little town...”

Taryll, whom had been slicing into the long, beer-braised bratwurst circling his plate on a bed of sauerkraut, let his eyes drift up to the enchanting, enthralling face across the small table, the pointed jaw jumping as Delora chewed a dainty bite of wiener schnitzel.

Taryll didn't know if it was the warm, cozy atmosphere, the faint oomp-da-da, oomp-da-da music playing from hidden speakers around the eatery or the half a pint of Bock in his gut,but the man was feeling more relaxed, more at ease in the company of his crush and ruler of his mind body and soul.

“I like it...” He commented, the area above his nose crunching together in a momentary scowl as he knew he was lying—he loathed Fallen Leaf—and he added,

“You've been there before?”

“Oh yes...” Delora paused to take a sip of Pilsener from a green, carved glass stein. “I have a client there. I make the clothes for her three-year-old--”

“You really make all those costumes and things by hand?” Taryll spoke up, fermented cabbage stinging his tongue with sharp tartness as he consumed it. “Like that little blue dress I saw you with at the post office, you really made that?”

“Of course.” She was eating red cabbage. “I don't do the stone work; that's much too tedious for me, especially with a child running around in my hair all the time. But I do sketch out the costumes, and sew together the ensemble, thought I have a lady who does the stoning for me.”

“And you do it all by yourself?”

“Mostly. I just have to manage my time, like anyone else. Don't get overloaded.” She tittered and it was the most refreshing sound in the universe to his ears.

“But don't you...” He struggled with his phrasing, “...don't you get tired of doing it alone all the time...don't you...”

“Don't I think I need somebody?” Delora finished the thought for him coolly, leaning back in her chair, buttering a small pumpernickel roll.

Eyes trained on him she helped herself to a bite of bread, speaking around it as she chewed,

“And...I reckon you believe you're that somebody, right, Taryll?”

At such a brunt questioning, Taryll found himself speechless and could only stare at his plate, trying to will his mind to tack a viable sentence together in response.

“You know...”She trailed off and Taryll flinched and she ran her fingertips over his wrist playfully. “Fallen Leaf is quite the drive from Sacramento...and to say I've seen you camped out for three days in a row at the post office, leads me to believe that this more than just a fan paying their, albeit very minor, celebrity a social call...correct?”

Why did her gaze have to be so cutting? So potent? As stringent as acetone in an open wound?

Unable to come up with anything witty at all, Taryll's peachy, greased lips parted and his heart fell out of his mouth.

“I...I know we've just met and we have a lot of getting to know each other...if you want...but...but I'd like to...to be a part of your life,maybe even Harlow's, if you'd let me in...”

His eyes dropped to his hands, scooting food about the plate, but his stubbornness and perseverance were getting the better of him, finally.

“I don't know if you're looking for a man or a boyfriend or even a one night stand...but I'd be very happy if you'd give me a chance. I know I'm nothing as exciting as an Afghan and Iraq war veteran; I'm just a realty broker at my father's firm, but if you'd just give me a real solid chance, I swear... You won't regret it Delora. I promise...”

Her hand was on top of his, petting it gently.

Slowly, he brought his eyes to her face.

He was so afraid she'd be laughing at him.

Women had laughed at him when he'd borne his soul before.

But he just couldn't bare it again.

Not this time, not from Delora.

Taryll was tired of being the clown.

His breath fell solid as lead in his lungs.

She was still smiling at him.

With a sigh she concurred, to his surprise,

“You're probably right Taryll. It's been two, almost three years since I divorced Cliff, and he's certainly moved on...he has a new girlfriend. I... haven't seen her, but as we share custody of Harlow she has seen the new girlfriend. Some fast trash....And people have been saying it is time to get back into the dating scene. Some of the ladies I design dresses for, my friends, even my own mother have all kind of thrown their two cents at me on the topic.”

Her hand slid off the top of his and was gripping his three middle fingers.

“I wanted to wait, until the timing was right. Until I felt the right man had shown up. And trust me a whole little pathetic parade have marched by, but I deflected all of them...”

Her grip tightened suddenly and their eyes met.

“I don't want to deflect you, Taryll.”

“I don't want to be deflected...”

His hand was lifted and Taryll felt his pressure spike, Delora bringing it to her mouth, and leaving a brown-rimmed lip mark on the back of it.

Speaking into his cologned flesh she told him,

“I don't plan to.”

The ceiling was covered by many yards of ruched and pin-tucked fabric of a dark, warm cream shade, from the four corners of the room, all extending to the gilt and crystal chandelier dangling so precariously overhead.

It was a trifle too large and too opulent to be hidden away behind the shut doors of a bedroom, and yet, it didn't seem out of place one bit.

Everything else in the room was equally as refined and sophisticated, the walls that same warm cream color, set off by deep mahogany furniture and burnished gold accents.

The bed, a massive king, was draped in satin, ruched bedding edged with rows and rows of antique Battenburg lace.

There was a classy, old-world air to the room, one which tried to recall the nuances and gaiety of the Victorian Era. A time when people were soft, quiet, modest.

Taryll Jackson may have been quiet, laying there on his back, staring up at the ceiling, but as his dotted briefs were slid past his ankles and dropped to the carpeted floor, he was anything but soft or modest.

Indeed, the quiet didn't last long, being broken, Taryll's face balling and going scarlet instantly, a cross betwixt a grunt and moan bursting from his mouth at the moist suction he felt invading his nether regions.

“ACH!”

Twitching, his hands pulling at the exquisite fabric surrounding him, Taryll managed to reflect a moment and remember just exactly how he'd landed himself into this 'predicament'.

Following the revelation that Delora was as attracted to him as he was to her, the pair had tried to share a slice big of Black Forest cake.

They'd made it about halfway through, Taryll having scooted his chair completely around the table to be nearer her.

So close to him, Delora had lost herself, first laying her head up on his broad, sturdy shoulder, then tracing his jaw with little pecks that left more of her mixed brown liner and nude lip color on his dermis and finally a gentle peck to his lips.

It was a move which caused Taryll to slam down a hundred dollar bill—though the meal cost no more than twenty-five—and he'd fled Bit of Bavaria, tugging Delora so hard, her feet barely made contact with the ground.

In the parking lot, between their cars, Taryll had held her little face in his large hands smothering her with a kiss, begging,

“Lead the way...drive like Hell...”

And Taryll had shot like a bullet, recklessly through the streets and highways of Sacramento, following Delora's black hatch-back sedan headed to one of the affluent subdivisions on the edge of the city.

At her house, a beautiful mid-century, Frank Lloyd Wright knockoff, there had been a pause.

Delora texting her daughter's Girl Scout troop leader and asking her to keep Harlow overnight as a “pressing matter needing my attention has arisen and I must tend to it immediately”.

As soon as the confirmation came in, the phone had been tossed onto a sideboard near the front door and Delora had thrown herself into Taryll's arms.

From there they two had rambled through the house, slamming into walls, banging into doors and knocking furniture askew.

Kissing, hugging, caressing and fondling their way through to the back of the house, fairly falling into the master bedroom, half dressed at best.

There he laid, staring through eyes that had gone green with ecstasy, now slits in a purple face at the head of long lush tresses, bobbing rhythmically over his groin, nothing visible really except the nest of black curls at the base of his stiffened shaft.

“Oh my God...” He intoned, Delora pulling off of him a moment, one hand still wrapped around the hardened mass, with her smiling up at him, from where she sat on her heels, as nude as he.

The woman was angelic.

She was so beautiful, more beautiful that he'd ever imagined, fantasized, or dreamed.

Her body slim and toned, but bearing a full, round, pert bosom, her figure a perfect hourglass, with an even fuller backside and those impossibly long legs.

Her free hand was in his hair, nails raking through his blonde-tinged locks.

“Do you like that?” She questioned with a giggle and he nodded vigorously,

“Yes!”

“I thought so!” Delora teased, stretching out beside him and allowing him to drape an arm around her shoulders, hand squeezing her right breast as she began to slowly stroke his cock, lips mashed to his neck, threatening a hickey.

“Yes...yes...yes....” Was all Taryll could think to mumble, his mind but a scramble, Delora rising up , her mouth causing parts of him to disappear a second time.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Holy shit—YES!”

There were just some things words couldn't convey.

And the tidal waves of jubilant sensation and emotion coursing through Taryll's body at that moment could not be described.

It was impossible.

Not only was he with the woman whom had stolen his heart right out of his chest, but she was here, behind that locked door, doing the most intimate of things to him.

Some things he hadn't even thought of yet.

And it all came as naturally as breathing.

As thought it was destined to be.

Perhaps it was.

It certainly felt like it.

“Aw!” He cried, body arching, with Delora again taking him from her mouth and bending further, was kissing after the little dangling, fur covered sac dragging the bed.

Taking it in her hands, those skilled hands, massaging them as she kissed after them lovingly.

The feeling, the euphoria—he never wanted it to end.

Suddenly she was on all fours beside him, alternating between sucking and kissing after him.

“Jesus Christ!!!”

He'd never been with a woman who so openly seemed to enjoy giving him a blowjob, but he would be damned if he tried to raise a finger to stop her.

Usually he had to talk and sometimes outright plea with women to “chew the chorizo”so to speak, but Delora had gone to it as instinctively as a fish to water.

And the combined sensation of her mouth on him gobbling away, and the mild, messy slurping noise the actions produced were doing quite a number on one Taryll Jackson and if he didn't stop her soon, he was going to prematurely splatter the walls.

“Stop...stop...you gotta stop, Baby Girl... please!” He wheezed, forcing himself up into a seated position and also forcing her off him again, lest she be caught between his groin and gut.

Tossing her hair in a way that caused her bosom to jiggle, Delora rocked on her knees, eyeing the bronzed beauty before her and questioned, feigning innocence,

“Now what—OH!”

Arms wrapped her proportioned form and she was pulled against Taryll, his mouth attack hers, hands running the length of her spine and cupping her buttocks.

He....he couldn't wait any longer.

He had to have her.

Right then! Right now! Yesterday!

“I need you! I need you! God, I need you!” His voice shook with urgency, as he lifted her by the ass cheeks, bringing her down on his lengthy, violently engorged appendage.

“Aw! Ah! Ah! Ah!” She cried out, hugging to him for what seemed dear life itself, the fullness of him filling almost to the point of being too much as Taryll could feel her wall stretching in an effort to contain all of him.

Taryll really was as close as a man could be to bursting.

Delora was even better to him than he could...

God , she was so warm and tight and with her flexing on him as she was, he wanted to scream.

Everything about her was just right.. The way she was starting to slide up and down him, the way she keened like a newborn kitten in his ear, how tightly she held him, running her fingers through his mussed hair and sucking on his earlobe.

Getting his bearings after a few awkward thrusts, Taryll, clutching Delora around the waist, face buried in her sweet smelling bosom was forcing his way back and forth, a clapping noise erupting each time their pubises met.

“Oh! Yes! Right there! Right there! Oh...shit! Right there Taryll! OH! OH! TARYLL!”

Delora was growing louder by the second and the escalation of decibels were doing a number on him, knowing she was gleaning such pleasure from his doing...and no one else's.

It was all him.

And she was all his.

“Please...” Her nails were digging into his shoulders, going damp with perspiration.

It caused such a delightful pain.

“I... I want you on top of me...please...” She begged her voice barely above a whisper.

Taryll was so swept up he'd have done anything she ashed.

Skydive at thirty-thousand feet, without a parachute.

Wrestle a tiger in the Burmese jungle.

Crawl across the Sahara on his hands and knees.

Anything she so wanted he would provide.

And bear-hugging her, Taryll rolled, so that she lay nestled against the decorative, frilly pillows, and he loomed over her, staring down at her.

The flushed cheeks, the closed eyes, the way she was sucking in her bottom lip at the feel of him pressing her down into the mattress.

A gasp left him, back arching, as long, toned, sinewy legs wrapped his stocky middle, holding him down and close to her.

Hands going up, over his head, Taryll clutched the tufted headboard for stability and was throwing every inch of himself into her.

“Ugh! Ugh!Ugh! Yeah! Ugh! Damn-damn-damn-damn!”

He grunted over delicate moans.

Forcing himself to keep his eyes open.

Observing every expression, every nuance, every reaction.

Her nails digging deeper into his bronzy back, tearing at the skin.

Drawing trails of blood.

Her hands, sticky with the red substance, were first on his shoulders, then leaving streaks across his chest, Delora lifting briefly to kiss after his pecs and lick across the darker little nipples protruding.

Her legs opened wider, providing more access, as again and again his bush met her naked triangle.

“You're so good! You're so good! You're good—OW!” Taryll cried as her hand found its way into his waves and yanked, bringing his face down to hers,

Lips locking and tongues wagging they were connected completely.

And suddenly, Delora's hips were flexing against his.

Meeting him thrust for thrust.

To kiss Delora Hawthorne did more than just feed the lusty hunger under which Taryll Jackson labored; it fed his very soul.

She was in his ear again,

“Deeper...deeper...deeper...oh!”

He swiftly obliged, pattern changing fro a straight in-and-out motion, to more of a sensual circle.

Powerful hips swaying, he started, those cool, soft palms on his buttocks, gripping and massaging the two meaty spheres.

It was a gesture he reciprocated, large hands cradling her bottom, hardly able to hold onto all of her, helping himself to plunge further.

Sweat was now streaming from his high forehead, face going from red to maroon to royal plum.

Breaths heavy and distressed, he was now beginning to hiss like a snake, teeth grit as he continued to manipulate his and her bodies, aiming toward that ultimate peak of intimacy.

How wondrous Delora looked to him.

How her touch and kiss heightened his pleasure exponentially.

The little gasps, the ways her breasts were bouncing--

“Ah!”

The bridge of her nose wrinkled and a tiny shriek left her mouth as it fell open.

“Oh God! Don't stop! Don't stop! Don't—Ah! Ah! Ah! AH!”

It was then Taryll felt it.

The hot little splashes against his crotch.

Soaking his pubic curls.

“Ah! Ah! Ah! AH!”

Punctuating each and every breathless scream.

“Ah! Ah! Ah! AH!”

She was climaxing.

“TARYLL!”

He was immediately pulled down on her, Delora suckling after his wet neck, his pace quickening.

He was losing the battle, as her surrender had spurred his.

Teeth grinding so hard they made an audible crunch, he pulled from her, just in time.

“Aaaaarrrrrghhhhhhh!”

A stream of white shot from his tip splattering along Delora's heaving abdomen.

He took in a few staggering breaths collapsing on her.

After a long moment, her hand ran over his forehead, removing the sweat and she kissed it.

Brown eyes met hazel and the pair grinned at each other.

“Are....are we...” Taryll heard himself start to stammer, pulling her close, rubbing his wet cheek against her inflamed one.

“Yes.” Gasp turning into a girlish giggle, Delora found his mouth smacking it.

“Yes!”

Smiling up at Taryll as he caressed her cheek with his knuckle, Delora added zestfully,

“Won't it be a scandal—a Clip-Sharer taking up with a fan!”

Ten Days Later

“...you should have seen it Pops! It was probably one of the most amazing things I've ever seen in my life...I mean that...!”

Taryll Jackson remarked excitedly into the phone he had mashed to his ear, pacing back and forth in jittery, untamed little bursts in the rear of the black hatch-back sedan, the rays of the late afternoon sun glinting off the dozen or so silver and faux marble trophies stacked in the back of it.

“Like, it was one thing watching them do their pageants on the computer, but it was something else completely to be here! And it was a big pageant too, Pops; fifty-three girls in Harlow's age group and almost seventy in Delora's—what?”

Taryll squinted back at the soaring Hilton his father repeating his inquiry.

“Did they win? Well, hell yeah—I mean, yes sir!”

He laughed, the automatic door a few hundred yards away and two figures swathed in blue starting towards him, hand in hand.

“They both got the Ultimate Grand titles in their age groups! I almost screamed myself hoarse I cheered so hard. I'm telling you, Pops! You should have been there! I got it all on tape. Had to film it for the followers! They're coming now! We're flying home tonight...yes! Yes sir! Love you too!”

Upon seeing Taryll, the little girl in the intricate blue dress, her blonde locks smoothed and tamed into an elaborate bouffant, and far too much makeup for any child to be wearing, went running to him with open arms, the soles of her dyed to match dress shoes clacking on the asphalt.

“There's my little winner!” Taryll chuckled squatting to pick her up and hold her on his hip, the child kissing his cheek, and he pecked hers back.

“Mr. Taryll, did I do good?” Harlow asked politely hugging his neck.

“You did like Tony the Tiger: GREEEEEEAAAAAAT!” He roared and the child laughed.

Harlow continued to cackle, Taryll falling silent as Delora slinked towards them.

How stunning she was in a peacock blue, two piece dress, the cropped halter covered in crystals on the blue background, the chiffon skirt swirling as she made her way to him in stilettos.

She looked every inch a queen, embroidered title sash over her shoulder, an ostentatious blue and clear rhinestone tiara pinned into her blowing jet locks.

In her hands she carried the crown and sash belonging to her daughter.

“...and here's my big winner!” Taryll commented shifting Harlow on beefy hip, leaning to kiss Delora on her very very lips, her color coming off on his mouth.

“You're proud of me, too?” She questioned, thumbing the excess lipstick from his mouth, those hazel eyes roving over her.

“Of course I am....” He paused midsentence, kissing her again. “...I love you.”

Those dark eyes were so huge at him.

“I love you too.”

“You love me too?” Harlow piped up as Taryll went to the passenger side of the car, opening the door first for Delora, then for the child.

“Of course!” Taryll winked at her, setting her in the back passenger seat and buckling her in, feeling Delora's hand on his back.

“I know you were speaking to your father...but did you make that...other call?”

She questioned seriously, and turning back to her, chewing thoughtfully on his bottom lip.

“Yeah...I invited Taj and Lucille over to your house for dinner--”

A slim finger tapped the tip of his nose, Delora correcting him,

“Our house. You're moving in at the end of the month, as soon as the lease on your apartment is up. And I guarantee you...I'll make your brother jealous of you for the first time in his life!”

There was a gracious smile on Taryll's face as he helped his...queen...into the front of the car and jogged around to the drivers side, ready to start his new life...

With the family he never knew he'd needed.

Finally free of the shadow of his elder brother.