As I sit here on my front porch, the sun is coming up over my beloved Appalachians, tinting the ground fog a beautiful peach-pink color. Off in the distance, I can see Grandfather Mountain poking its rugged peak above the low clouds. Up my valley comes a ragged "Vee" of Canada geese, ghosting through the upper limits of the fog, vanishing and reappearing at irregular intervals. Amazing that they can still find their way without seeing any landmarks. The geese pass overhead, honking and tootling at each other, for reassurance, I'm thinking.

A grumpy snore wafts its way to where I'm sitting. Looking through my bedroom window, I can see Miz Judge Oaf's still asleep, slight frown on her face, bad case of "pillow-hair", one plump breast peeping out between the buttons of her nightgown.

Dexter, our dumb-as-a-rock dachshund, is roused from his slumber at the foot of the bed by a particularly loud snore. Still half asleep, Dexter looks blearily around. Seeing me looking in the window, he mistakes me for a burglar. This causes an absolute paroxysm of fierce "protect-the-family" barking. I make a grab for Dexter, and fall flat on my face through the open window. Dexter ducks out of the way, and, still barking, makes a leap for the bed.

Bad move, Dexter.

Thoroughly awake, Miz Judge Oaf snatches Dexter up and uses him to get the seven-ten split on the hallway. Dexter looks puzzled and hurt, and gets a slammed bedroom door in his face for his trouble.

Freezing me with a look and a snorted "humph", the "Miz" goes back to bed. Thirty seconds of furious rearrangement of the bedclothes, and all is finally quiet. I pad off to the bathroom to check for broken noses, black eyes, and such. Five minutes and one clean bill of health later, I silently cross the bedroom, duck back through the window, and resume my communion with nature.

After twenty minutes or so, I hear the bed creak as Miz Judge Oaf gets up for good, muttering imprecations as she does so. I get the feeling that my day is going to be a little more "planned" than usual because of the "Dexter Incident".

A car horn distracts me. It's Marie, delivering the paper and morning mail way down by the road. I climb in the Chevy and coast down the driveway to retrieve "the Daily Intrusion", as the local paper is known around here, and have a little chat with Marie. Being the local gossip, Marie is THE source on the goings-on in our little community. With Marie around, anything that the "Daily Intrusion" prints is stale by the time it hits the newsstand.

After ten minutes or so, I'm sitting on my porch once again, groaning over the bills, and throwing the junk mail in the wood box. A subtle aroma of bath oil fills the air as I turn my attention to the newspaper. I feel two warm weights around my neck, accompanied by a soft "Mmmmmm...."

"Hi, hon. Sorry about Dexter this morning". "That's all right. Guess what I'm in the mood for, luv?"

Reaching back to return the hug, I touch an open terrycloth robe filled with warm, slightly damp woman, her long, brown hair wrapped in a towel. The delicate scent of aroused woman begins to mix with that of the bath oil, a heady aroma to be sure.

Slipping my hands to my shoulders, I squeeze a big double handful of Miz Judge Oaf. She begins to purr appreciatively, shifting her weight so as to massage my back and shoulders with her bosom, her nipples stiffening with my touch. The weight (and purring) increases as her hands move down my chest and stomach, and under the waistband of my shorts. She moves around the chair to face me, dragging her big breasts across my face, giving an "eek!" as I take a playful bite of one engorged nipple as it goes by.

As her robe falls away, my gloriously naked houri gives a long sigh of pleasure as, slowly, she impales herself on a thoroughly aroused and delighted me. Transfixed by this moment of our union, we rest, each wrapped in the other's passion. Gently, we explore and tease each other, gasping and giggling like a couple of teenagers. Miz wickedly begins chewing my ear, my neck, my lips, teasing, lingering, lingering. Engulfed by her loveliness, I am awash in a sea of warm breast flesh, endlessly swimming from one island aureole to the other, and back.

Then the seas convulse, as Miz Judge Oaf lifts herself and drops down around and upon me.

I rise to meet her.

And all the former sensations are as nothing compared to this.

Twenty-five years of marriage, and she can STILL get me going in the morning.

Court's adjourned.

Judge Oaf
Senior Judge of the Superior Court of the BE-Archive
(and needing his morning coffee by now...)