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  O’ Little Town of Mitchellville

  Written By: Jennifer Foor

  Told By Tyler Mitchell

  Copyright © 2017 Jennifer Foor

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover Art By : Jennifer Foor/Creative Publications

  This book is a written act of fiction. Any places, characters, or similarities are purely coincidence. If certain places or characters are referenced it is for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews

  How it all begins…

  Tyler Mitchell

  After all these years being in a hospital still reminds me of the time I spent here in a coma. It’s the same walls, the cement painted exterior made to look more suitable for patient rooms. The constant beeping takes me back to being hooked up to a ton of monitors and doctors telling me I may never be able to walk again.

  It was a long time ago. This visit shouldn’t remind me of that. I need to be focused on the reason we’re all here.

  Dad hasn’t been well. He hates going to the doctors, so the symptoms were probably showing months ago, not that any of us had a clue. The man is stubborn as a mule. He doesn’t take shit from anyone, and has also sort of assumed he was somewhat invincible, but we all know how quick my cousin Colt’s dad left this world.

  I’m worried, and when I’m worried I ramble and do whatever it takes to keep my mind off of things. Miranda wanted to stay, but I convinced her to take my mother home so she could get some rest. For two days she’s been sitting in this same chair hoping and praying Dad would get up and walk out of here. Mom pretends to be okay too, though I think we can tell she’s falling apart. She’s weak herself and I know she hasn’t been eating since this all happened. They’ve yet to leave, though I know Miranda is planning their exit.

  It was sudden. One minute has was going on about something he saw on the news and the next he was on the ground, his body contorting to the extreme bought of pain. Being right there, five feet away, I couldn’t react quick enough. I froze, unable to rush forward to catch him before he hit the ground.

  Thank God Conner was with us. He worked fast falling down to his own knees to assess what was happening while screaming at me to snap out of it and call 911.

  Now I feel guilty. There’s no real reason I reacted that way. I’ve seen the kids break bones and been the first on scene. Blood and crying doesn’t get to me, albeit, seeing my dad hit the dirt that way left me shocked and overwhelmed.

  The doctors call it a stroke. The longer the time goes by without him making progress, the less it’s expected he’ll ever be the man he was before.

  If he’s no longer the man he was, how will he ever be able to live?

  Miranda has been a godsend, though she can’t bring me the assurance I’m searching for. My whole life I’ve done things the opposite way of being taught. I’ve been a thorn in my dad’s side since day one. He’d tell me one thing and I’d purposely do the opposite to get a rise out of him. I’m not saying his way was always right, or that mine was any better. We both have our own stubbornness to us. Right now, as his life hangs on the line, I’m concerned about the kind of man he sees me as. Have I made him proud or am I just the jokester who never took a damn thing serious?

  “I have an idea.”

  Miranda gives me this blank stare, as if she’s leery to hear what I’ve come up with. “Are you being serious or is this another one of your crazy plans that go against medical policies?”

  “Yes. I’m being serious. We’ve tried being sweet, and soothing. Dad’s a Mitchell. We don’t want that gentle whisper in our ear, not unless we’re being awaken by our naked wife begging for a bang.” I turn to my Mom. “Sorry for the visual. It burns my eyes too.” My direction goes back to Miranda, because the thought of my parents having sex at their age is tough enough. I’ve never thought of myself as old, but they’re even older. Not that I’d knock my Dad for still being able to get it up. I’m going to go out with my wife bent over and screaming for more.

  “You’re scaring me.” Miranda gives my mom a once over, as if they’re sharing some secret connection to my crazy assumptions. After all these years, I bet they have secret hand signals as to when to duck out of conversations with me. They think I haven’t caught on to being in a room with them and they both simultaneously say the same thing needs to be finished while leaving me sitting alone.

  “What if you two give us the room so I can have a man-to-man talk with him?”

  Mom’s obviously confused. The tissue she’s been holding is so worn it’s falling apart in pieces at her feet. She’s so mentally drained she’s forgotten the day of the week, the last time she ate something solid, and how to sleep. “Haven’t you been doing that already?”

  “Not like this. I think it’s time to confess everything I’ve done behind his back.” When I say it I’m smirking as if I’m some super hero that can do what the doctors can’t. I’m literally dying inside watching this all unfold. We’ve exhausted all regular options. I can’t lose my dad like this. There’s so much that hasn’t been said between us. So much indifference. Dad and I are like oil and water. I want life to be fun, while he’s serious and quite frankly a bump on a log. He’s probably hearing everything I’ve been saying and staying quiet just to get to me. It would be the biggest payback for all the years I drove him crazy.

  Let’s face it, I was never easy. I’ve been giving my father a hard time since before I could walk. I’m the reason they only had one child. I was so annoying he hand crafted my first apartment out of a carriage house to get me out of his. I’m a pain in his ass, and up until now I’ve enjoyed being called that. Now though, well now I need my dad to pull through. I need him to wake up and give me a dirty look of disapproval, because without it, I’m not sure I’ll ever be the same man again.

  Miranda’s expression contorts as she shakes her head. “Ty, I know you mean well, but why on earth would you think that would be a good idea? You’re liable to upset him worse.”

  I pat on my father’s still leg. “Na. He needs a reason to get pissed. All this nurturing ain’t helping. Maybe it’s time to change things up.”

  Mom, who has been silently sitting at Dad’s side for most of the day, sniffles and peers up at me with tears in her eyes. I know that look. She’s worried what the repercussions will be if I proceed. Since it’s obvious she’s going to need convincing, I decide to give it a go without her approval.

  “When I was five I saw you and Dad in the guest room wrapping presents for Christmas with Santa paper. I’ll never forget sneaking back in to see that they were all supposed to be from Mr. Kringle. It destroyed me. A kid doesn’t come back from that. I didn’t know what to do, so I went to Colt. He was several years older and would be able to tell me the truth. Turns out, he didn’t know either. We devised a plan to uncover the big secret once and for all. I think he was ten at the time. We used our walkie-talkies as a monitor by taping one of them under your card table. Not only did we discover you’d been lying to us our whole lives about some fat man magically fitting down the chimney, but you also talked about every single gift we were getting. We were young sleuths in the making.”

  The gaping mouth of my mother says it all. “Tyler Mitchell, you’ve got to be kidding me?”

  I pat Dad’s leg again. “Nope. I’ve known Santa wasn’t real since I was five years old, and I told all my friends too. It was like a secret society of non-believers. Hell, if it weren’t for Miranda, I wouldn’t
have punished my kids with the same falsehoods.”

  Mom shakes her head and begins to rub her temples, the tissue disintegrating more as her hands move. “This isn’t the kind of thing that’s going to bring your father out of this. Quite frankly it breaks my heart even more.”

  Right as she says it, I hear a grumble from the bed beside us. The women both stand and scan his body, while a grin forms on my shocked face. He wasn’t unconscious that long, but it didn’t matter to me. I felt accomplished.

  “It’s a miracle.”

  “The doctor gave him something to wake him up. Weren’t you listening? His recovery is the physical part now, you big dope.”

  Miranda offers me a smile and a pat on the back. “Maybe it was a little of Ty’s talking too. We all know how much Poppy hates being bothered.”

  Mom wasn’t convinced.

  Dad was able to come home about a week later. He’s lost some of the mobility on one side of his body, but is able to fully communicate and get around with a wheelchair for now. His doctors think that with time he’ll regain all mobility. They also said that when my father awoke, it was more likely to be due to a new medication he’d been administered. I still like taking the credit, ,while everyone else brushed me off as being ridiculous.

  For the most part life is back to normal for the rest of us. We have enough family on, what we now like to call the compound, since it spans over a thousand acres of connecting land, that shifts from the women are all Dad needs to get through the day without Mom having to get burned out.

  Miranda does most of the work, because the kids, all adults now, are pretty busy being parents and having careers. Izzy, my oldest, does what she can. Her oldest Sarah has become a bit of a handful. Give the kid a cell phone and you’re asking for it, that’s what I say. The veterinary clinic has ended up being the only in the area. There was another guy that used to practice out of a pole building on his property, but he’s since retired, handing over all of his patients to Rusty and Iz. I was a bit leery when it came to her settling for a job she wasn’t sure of, but it suits her. She’s always loved animals and growing up on the farm helped her to learn so much. They have their own zoo at their house with cats, dogs, reptiles, goats, and even ferrets. Now my grandson has asked his father for a snake. They’re going to need to add to the old farm house if they keep saying yes to their kids. Fools. All I know is that I’m never volunteering to pet sit anything without fur.

  Jax and Amber are probably the busiest. With twin girls and a terror that’s now playing peewee football, they never stop running. Jake and Reese have it easier. Their kids are well behaved and they are serious about structure in their home. I think they’re aliens. Maybe they abducted the real Mitchell children and sent back robotic clones. Whatever the case, they have very dry senses of humors and lack the luster of a good ole’ prank.

  It’s unfortunate for me to reflect on this, because I don’t have a lot memories with my dad. For the most part he was always yelling at me. I don’t want my kids to think of me as a bump on a log. I want them to have something to remember me by; something of worth, a part of me that will live with them forever because of it.

  It’s not until Miranda and I are in bed one night when the idea comes to me. I know what I want to do for my kids, and for my grandkids, and the people that will come after them. I need to leave them something of a legacy. Part of it will come from my heart and the rest will be for pure enjoyment, because let’s face it I want to go out with a bang and never be forgotten. “You asleep yet, baby?”

  “Trying to be.”

  A guffaw escapes me. “Well I need to talk to you about something. You got a minute, or am I interfering with the beauty sleep you’ve never needed?”

  She mumbles something while sitting up and looking in my direction. Next thing I know she’s reaching over and turning on the lamp on her bedside table. “This better be mighty important.”

  “It is.” Excitement can be heard with each word. I’m not telling her because I want her approval. I’m sharing it with her because she’s my go-to. I need her to be a big part of this, because when I’m gone it will be up to her to make sure the memories live on. “I’m going to write a memoir. Something for everyone to remember me by.”

  “Is there something you’re not telling me? You planning on going somewhere?”

  “No. We just never know and I’m not getting any younger. I don’t want someone else telling stories about me and getting them all wrong. They need to come from me.”

  “Let me get this straight. You want to write your own autobiography? Are you insane? You’re not a writer, Ty. You’re terrible at putting shit together. You can’t even sit still long enough to do something like that. It would be a huge project.”

  “It will be worth it,” I continue. “I want to do this. My mind is made up.”

  She starts to reach for her lamp to turn the light back off.

  “Hold on a minute. You think this is a bad idea don’t ya?”

  “No. It’s not that, Ty. I just think that your whole life is made up of funny shit. At the rate you’re going, there’s not enough pages to hold all those memories.”

  “Well I’ll just do my favorite.”

  “It’s still going to be long. We all love you, but I don’t know how many people on earth would want to read about all of your antics.”

  She says it like a joke, but I take it to heart. Maybe I’m not as awesome as I think I am. “It would be a best seller. Believe your little ass on that.”

  “My little ass,” she snickers and playfully slaps me. “I don’t doubt you. I’m just worried about the work it will take out of you. Christmas is coming, and it can get chaotic. When were you planning on starting?”

  “Right now.”

  “Ty, I know we’ve all had a big scare with your dad, but this is a huge task, one we should probably discuss when we’re not dog ass tired.”

  I slide my hand under the covers until I’ve reached her thigh. Drawing my hand north, I’m scraping my fingers over the front of her cotton panties. They may not be as skimpy as they used to, but touching her still does the job. “Who said anything about being tired?”

  The look she flashes me says this is going to be a challenge. It’s a good thing I’m relentless.

  Miranda, squirming around like a caterpillar in it’s cocoon, pretends not to notice my sexual innuendos. My eyebrows raise and lower repeatedly as I narrow in on the nape of her exposed neck. She squeals and twists in the opposite direction. “Stop it. I’m going to bed, dickhead. You’re not getting any tonight.”

  “Is that so?” Knowing where her ass is under the covers, I give it a light slap with a grab at the end. “I happen to know how to change your mind.”

  Only her face turns toward mine. “What’s it going to take for you to leave me alone?”

  “A miracle,” I tease. “Or a quickie.”

  “Two minutes,” she offers.

  “Ten,” I counter.

  “Fat chance.” She’s snickering. “When is the last time you went for more than five?”

  I’m silent for a second, up until I realize what she’s trying to do. Hurting my ego isn’t going to work this time. I’m growing harder by the second. It seems the fight makes it better.

  Reaching my arms around her wrapped body, I yank her against me. “Keep talking and we’ll make it twenty.”

  This causes her to giggle more. Tickling is my only choice if I want her to unravel from the fabric keeping me from touching her body. I know she’s barely dressed underneath.

  She smiles and licks her lips, teasing me with her tongue that drives me wild. I lean in and allow her to suck on my lips. Her head falls back as I begin to kiss her neck. After lifting her tank over her head, I duck down a little more and take one of her hard nipples into my mouth. She starts moaning, so I do it harder. Just hearing her react to my action makes me ache to be inside of her. The rest of our clothes come off in between kisses. My beautiful wife spreads her legs an
d watches me position myself to slide inside. I enter quickly, not wanting to waste time. I want to be deeper; filling her until she cries out for me to never stop.

  Her moans are louder and I know she’s just as into it as I am, so I don't slow down. I can already feel my release growing on the verge of spectacular combustion.

  I thrust in and out of her the way she asks for it. This never get old. She keeps it exciting and new. She’s my soul mate. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted and more. Miranda is my world. She’s the best gift I’ve ever received.

  She’s so wet I can pull out and coast right back inside of her. The friction of driving myself deeper into this woman is like pleasure and pain at the same time. It’s torture. I can’t get enough. I never will. I feel Miranda’s fingernails ripping into my back as she bucks her body against mine, matching my thrusts.

  Her tongue slides across my lips twice before she lets me have the chance to reciprocate. Kissing her is too much and I have to keep taking breaks from moving to keep from going volcanic too soon. Miranda uses her legs and flips us around so that she’s on top. Her perfect tits are bouncing as she moves her body up and down. She plays with her nipples, teasing me while I watch in awe. The harder she grinds, the faster I feel my release urging it’s way to freedom.

  Her nails dig into my back as we match our pace in synchronized strides. Our breathing is heavy, and when I hear her crying out in pleasure it sets me off.

  I turn my head and bite her shoulder as I feel my explosion filling her. I grab her hips and hold her still when I finally let it all out.

  Miranda collapses on my chest and flicks my nipples while I try impossibly to catch my breath.

  Even after I finish, I keep her legs still and gently kiss away where I was biting her.

  My lips hit hers. It’s a thanks for letting me have some.

  Once we’re under the covers, I pull her close to me. She nestles herself against my hot body and gets comfy.