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From: "John Wizard" <johnwizard13@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Cultures and Customs (Mg MF) {Wizard} 
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Date: Sun, 02 Oct 2005 03:10:02 -0400
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Customs and Cultures

Love at first sight.



Wizard



[Obligatory Message: This is an erotic story, If you are offended
by erotica, don’t read it. If is illegal to read erotica in your
jurisdiction, don’t get caught reading it. If you are under the
age to read erotic fiction, don’t admit reading read it.
Otherwise enjoy.]

[Note: Special thanks to Russell Hoisington and Denny Wheeler for
their comments and help with my atrocious spelling and
punctuation.]



It's got to be the most absurd invention of the romance writers.
The idea that with one look you can find the love of your life,
your soul-mate.

Now I'll admit that the first time I saw Stefania I couldn't take
my eyes off her. But it wasn't that she was gorgeous, or love at
first sight. It was more like watching a train wreck. You know
it's wrong to stare, but you can't help yourself. She was wearing
baggy tattered jeans that had at least four different kinds of
stains and an equally baggy grey sweatshirt with a large pizza
stain on the stomach. Her hair seemed grimy and was mostly tied
back into a ponytail, but a dozen wisps had escaped and stuck at
various angles. And to top it off, an ink blot resided on her
nose. When I saw her she was standing over a table in the
library. The table was scattered with bound copies of
dissertations. She'd flip through one, toss it to the side, and
pick up another.

I saw her again about a week later, and again I found myself
staring. This time it wasn't a train wreck, but rather the almost
recognition that can drive you bananas. I saw her lounging on the
grass, a beautiful girl wearing cut-offs and an orange Caltech
t-shirt. The t-shirt itself made her stand out here on the campus
of Stanford. She was lying on her side, propped up on an elbow
reading some textbook. Her black hair gleamed in the April
sunshine as it splayed over her shoulder and down across her
chest.

I kept staring from the bench where I was sitting. I tried not to
be obvious, but I probably wasn't too successful. I knew her from
somewhere, but I hadn't a clue where. My own book was in my lap.
A book that I needed to finish before my next class, but I just
couldn't concentrate. Where the hell did I know her from? High
school? Undergrad?

The time for my class came and went, and I just kept staring.
We'd been sitting there for over an hour, barely fifty feet
apart. Then she closed her book and put it back in her backpack.
I panicked. She was getting ready to leave. But she didn't. She
pulled a huge stack of paper out of the same backpack. It most
have been two inches thick. She started flipping through them,
reading a bit then looking further in the stack. That was when it
hit me. Library girl.

But this was no train wreck. This was one of the most beautiful
girls I had ever seen. I'd broken up with my last girlfriend over
a month ago and really hadn't been interested since, but I
decided to take a shot. I figured that she was out of my league,
but every now and then it's good to get in over your head.

I walked toward her using a kind of button hook pattern so that
I'd approach her from the side. As I got close, I almost
chickened out again. The title of the paper she was reading was A
STATISTICAL ANALYSIS OF ELECTRON PATHS IN IRRADIATED....
Thankfully her thumb covered the rest. She had to be a brain. A
major brain if she was reading that. And she was not only reading
it, she was making some kind of calculations in the margins of
the paper. I recognized about a quarter of the symbols she was
using, and even though I recognized them, I didn't have a clue
what they meant. I got as far as trig in high school and forgot
everything I learned as soon as the final test was over.

Now I'm not stupid. I was twenty-six and I'd already earned my
Ph.D., but math and science weren't my thing and apparently they
were hers. But as I had second thoughts about her reading
material, I caught sight of her ass and figured the worst she
could do was shoot me down. Who knows, maybe in Latin.

I stood at her feet for a couple of minutes. She was intent on
her reading and didn't notice me. I thought about taking the easy
out and slipping away, but in for a penny...

I cleared my throat. "Did you ever find what you were looking for
so frantically?"

She looked up. "Excuse me?" She lifted her hand to shield her
eyes as she looked at me, and I realized that I'd chosen a spot
that put the sun directly behind me.

I moved around in front of her so that she wouldn't have to fight
the glare, though maybe it was in my favor. "I saw you in the
library a week ago. You were going nuts looking through musty old
dissertations."

She laughed. She had a great laugh. It was hearty but lyrical.
"Damn, I'd hoped nobody saw me."

"Well, I thought about calling the FBI."

She cocked an eyebrow.

"You looked like you'd just escaped from terrorists."

"In my defense, I'd been up about sixty hours straight, and I was
looking for one last citation for my dissertation."

"Your dissertation? You're going for your doctorate?"

"What, I don't look smart enough?"

"No, it's not that. I just figured that you were an undergrad.
You don't look old enough."

"I'll have you know I'm an old maid. I'll be twenty-three in
July."

"Twenty-two and working for your doctorate?" I was amazed. I'd
gotten my doctorate at twenty three and thought I was doing
great. Average is about twenty five or six.

"Done working, actually. I turned it in right after you saw me in
the library. Now all I have to do is wait, then defend it in
front of my committee."

"Been there, done that," I commiserated.

"You've got yours then?"

"Last year," I admitted.

"It must have been a relief."

"It was," I said with a sigh. "I had one professor on my
committee who not only challenged my conclusions and research,
but argued that some of my commas should have been semi-colons."

"Sounds like fun."

"I've had better weeks."

"What are you doing now?" she asked.

"Teaching some classes." I swallowed. "And hoping to take a
beautiful doctoral candidate to dinner."

"Good luck. Anyone I know?"

I thought about making a break for it, but the way the sun
highlighted her hair was almost magical.

"You."

"Why me?"

"Because you're beautiful. Because you're waiting on your
dissertation committee and you're not a basket case, and because
anyone who can read that..." I pointed down at the papers in
front of her, "can program my VCR so that I don't miss 'Reba'
anymore."

She laughed again. "And why would I want to go out with you?"

"Good question," I mused. "Well, I'm cute. And I'm funny. And I
don't kiss on the first date, so don't even ask me."

"Not even if I beg?"

"Won't happen," I told her.

* * *

By the time we'd finished dinner, I knew I was in love. But not
at first sight.

It took me another four months to convince Stefania that she was
in love too.

We got married in September. Stef had just started a new job at
JPL (CalTech's Jet Propulsion Laboratory), so we didn't get a
honeymoon then.

And by the way, though it was hard, I didn't kiss her on that
first date.

* * *

"Are you scared?" Stef asked with an evil smile.

"I think I'd rather be visiting my doctoral committee again," I
told her honestly.

She laughed that special laugh of hers and squeezed my arm. We
were standing outside her family's house in Watermelon Mountain,
Idaho. Snow was falling lightly, adding to the inch that was
already on the ground. Meeting my new in-laws wasn't my idea of a
honeymoon, but it was Christmas vacation and was expected of us.

"Just remember," she said, turning me towards her, "No matter
what happens, I love you." She leaned in and kissed me. "And the
best part is, we only have to do this once a year." She kissed me
again. "Maybe every other year." And she kissed me a third time.
I kissed back, my arms going around her. Her arms went around me,
and I felt her hand on my butt.

And that was when the damned door opened.

* * *

A few minutes later I had been introduced to the entire clan.
Learning all the members of Congress would be easier. The woman
who'd opened the door and looked exactly like Stefania wasn't
Mom, it was Aunt Sophia. There were two more aunts, Angela and
Lucia. All three of them had husbands, two Dons and a Mark. Her
mother Camellia and her father Benito. Sophia and Camellia were
total babes. Mid-forties but not an once of fat on them. The same
couldn't be said for Angela and Lucia who looked a lot like
dumplings.

Then there was grandfather Rosario, in his eighties and looking
amazingly robust, and his wife Ariana. And she had three sisters
who apparently had outlasted seven husbands between them. Rosario
had one sister, and she had buried two husbands. The women of
this generation seemed to fall into two categories, flesh and
bones and wrinkles or fat and wrinkles. The five of them in
bikinis at a sex offenders clinic could cure them all. One look
at them and you’d never want sex again

Stef had four sisters: Bianca, who had just turned eighteen a few
days ago, Daniella who would turn sixteen the day after New
Year's, Dona, who was twelve, and Michele, who was nine. Sophia,
Angela, and Lucia had another fourteen kids between them, eight
girls and six boys. Then there were about a dozen other cousins
hanging around, whose origin I never did learn. All in all, this
was Watermelon Mountain's own Little Italy.

The family was very old school. Rosario was the patriarch and
ruled the family--tribe might be a better word--through his wife
Arianna. People came and went all evening. Apparently, this
particular neighborhood was almost completely related to my wife,
so all these people had homes close by. At first most of the
grown-ups sat around the living room, except Stef's mother and
aunt Sophia who were putting the finishing touches on dinner.

I was surprised because while we sat and talked, Stef and I on
the sofa, the others scattered around the room, Grandpa Rosario
sat on a recliner with Stef's sister Dona and her cousin Tabra on
his lap. His hands seemed very busy beneath their skirts. Incest
didn't surprise, but the openness of it did. I wondered if I'd
married into one of those families you always read about in the
newsgroup sex stories where everyone fucked everyone else.

After a few minutes, Dona looked as if she were having an orgasm
and trying very hard not to make any noise and disturb the adult
conversations. When she finally relaxed, breathing deeply, cousin
Tabra started. Grandpa seemed proud of himself but the others all
ignored it. When Tabra had finished, Dona took her hand and the
two of them slid off grandpa's lap, gave me a funny look and
slunk out of the room.

I couldn’t read their looks. Pleasure from their orgasms, but
more. Kind of a now-the-chores-are-done kind of thing.

Grandpa said something to one of the Dons that I didn't catch,
and laughed. The Don chuckled artificially. Tabra was his
daughter, I seemed to recall. Then grandpa said something else, a
little louder and in Italian. Beside me Stef, who'd been holding
my hand, tensed up and squeezed.

(Author's note: for the sake of my readers who don't read
Italian, all Italian conversation will be translated into English
and placed in brackets. This is also for the sake of those
authors who don't write Italian.)

"[I'm looking forward to getting to know my little Stefania
again. She's been away too long,]" Grandpa said with a definite
leer.

"[I'll thank you to remember that I'm on my honeymoon, you randy
old goat,]" Stef snapped.

"Stefania!" her grandmother shouted. "[Be respectful of your
grandfather. After all, he's the head of this family.]"

"[I'll be respectful,]" Stef said softly to her grandmother.
"[But remind him of the sanctity of the honeymoon, in case he's
forgotten.]"

"[My mind is still sharp. I've forgotten nothing,]" Grandpa said
to Stef with a little heat. "[I wonder...]" he said, as if
musing. "[Can it truly be a honeymoon, so long after the
wedding?]"

Stef turned red. While this jabbering in rapid fire Italian went
on, I sat back as if totally lost. Somehow, I'd never mentioned
to Stef that I spoke Italian. But in all fairness, I don't think
I'd mentioned that I spoke German or Russian either. We were
still getting to know each other. That was half the fun. She knew
I spoke French. The fact that I spoke only four languages was a
source of great embarrassment to my mother who spoke seven. She
blamed it on my father who spoke only three.

* * *

A little later, as Stef and I were stepping outside for some
fresh air, I noticed grandpa taking Daniella by the hand into one
of the downstairs bedrooms. The girl didn't look all that happy
about it. On the porch, we chatted with a cousin, whose name I
forget, while he smoked a cigarette. Then he went back inside.

"Would you care to tell me about it?" I asked.

"I think coming home was a mistake," she mumbled. "But Mama
wanted so badly to meet you and introduce you to the family."

"I don't think it was a mistake, but what's with your
grandfather? Does he always fondle young girls in the living
room?"

Stef thought for a long time before answering. "Yes. But only en
famiglia. That means in th..."

"In the family," I finished for her. She looked startled. "I've
seen the Godfather," I explained, and she relaxed.

"But why does everyone let him?"

"Because he's the head of the family."

"But..."

"It's complicated," she said with a sigh. Aunt Lucia started to
join us on the porch but caught the look in Stef's eye and beat a
hasty retreat.

"Uncomplicate it," I suggested.

"My family believes in following the old traditions. My
grandfather comes from a small village in Sicily. One of the
traditions in that village is that the head of the village can
have sex with any girl he wants."

I felt my eyebrow arch, and I know my face got red. "Any girl, no
matter how old?"

"Well, he only fucks the ones who are over twelve, but he likes
to play with all of them."

This was an idea that was going to take some getting used to. I
realized that my Stef had lived here when she was twelve, but
didn't think either one of us would feel better if I asked the
obvious question. "So why the big deal about whether it was
really our honeymoon?"

"There are certain times when a girl is safe from grandpa. One is
when she is at her most fertile and another is on her honeymoon,"
Stef said sadly. "You know I was kind of a whiz kid. I left here
when I was sixteen for college. And I haven't come home often.
Grandpa wants to fuck me." I hate it when Stef gets sad, which
isn't often.

"And how the hell did you know that he was questioning our
honeymoon?"

"Did I ever mention that I speak Italian?" I asked as innocently
as I could.

"No."

"I probably didn't mention the German or Russian either?"

She laughed. Did I mention that I loved her laugh? "So what do we
do now? Pack up and get the hell out? Or put up with the family
tradition and let the old goat fuck me? And our daughter."

"Our daughter? Are we? Are you..."

"No," she said with a little laugh. "Our hypothetical future
daughter. You may have noticed that girls run in my family." She
sighed again. "Those are our choices: in the family, or out."

"Let's at least have dinner. We can think about it. Now, tell me
all about Sicily and your grandfather coming to America."

* * *

As we moved to dinner, I was amazed. The table was so loaded with
food that I couldn’t understand why it didn't collapse. There
seemed to be several different kinds of pasta and huge platters
of steaming vegetables and meats. Soon over a dozen adults
settled in various places around the table. The kids were
relegated to a couple of tables in the kitchen.

Stefania and I sat at the foot of the table in a place of honor.
Granddad Rosario sat at the head of the table as if holding
court. Bianca sat next to Stefania and Daniella sat next to me.
Apparently almost sixteen was old enough to sit at the adult
table.

A dozen conversations flowed around the table all at once as food
was passed and plates heaped high. Much of it in Italian.
Grandfather liked to take little shots at Stefania's new husband,
me. He'd smile at me and I'd smile back as if I didn't understand
a word. Grandmother Ariana would gently chide him to be nice to
no effect.

The mountains of food slowly dwindled. Grandmother Ariana tried
to include me in the conversations as much as possible. "And what
do you do?" she asked as people started leaning back in their
chairs.

"I teach at Stanford," I answered around a last bite of lamb.

"And what do you teach?" she asked just as most of the other
conversations paused.

"Cultural Anthropology," I said with a smile. Grandma looked
blank and several of the others exchanged blank looks. I took
pity on them. "I teach about the customs and cultures of peoples
around the world. Mostly the Pacific Islands."

Grandmother smiled, though I wasn't sure she approved.

Rosario looked at me from the head of the table. "Then you
believe in tradition?" he asked with a leer.

"Yes sir," I answered without hesitation. "Traditions are the
glue that hold a people together."

Rosario looked very satisfied and turned to look at Stefania. I
could see her flush from the corner of my eye.

"What if the traditions are very different from your own?" he
asked. The table had grown completely quiet.

"We, as scientists, try to understand all traditions no matter
how alien they may seem at first. We try not to judge, but to
understand the reasons behind the traditions."

"[You see, even the funny looking stranger respects our
traditions.]" He fixed his gaze on Benito. "[Maybe you should
teach your children such respect,]" he said with a quick glance
at Daniella. Daniella swallowed wrong and started coughing.

Grandfather leaned back, looking very satisfied. I decided to
make his day. "Stefania has told me about the traditions you have
brought from the old country, and I have great respect for them."
Everyone looked startled at this admission. "And of course I
insist that Stefania honor and respect them in ALL ways," I said,
emphasizing "all."

Beside me, Stef looked like I'd just kicked her dog.

"That is good," Grandfather Rosario agreed, looking the
proverbial cat who ate the canary.

"Stefania has told me how you came to this country when you were
only seven, sir." I said, looking as respectful as I could. "I
spent a year in Sicily studying the traditions there. They are
important and honorable."

"You lived in Sicily?" Ariana asked with awe in her voice.

"Only for a year. My specialty is the Pacific islands. But I
enjoyed my time in the old country." Grandmother smiled at me. I
had a feeling that my stock in the family just went up a few
points.

"It is a great thing that you keep the traditions of Lampudusa
alive in your home," I said with a warm smile.

Grandfather jumped to his feet extending an accusing finger in my
direction. His chair crashed to the floor with a crash that
echoed in the complete silence.

"How dare you..." he sputtered. His arm quivered as he pointed at
me.

"I don't understand?" I said in concern. "You came here from the
village of Lampudusa didn't you?"

"You...You..." he sputtered again. "Lampudusians are only fit for
stealing sheep and producing whores for Messina."

"My grandfather came from the village of Cucinotta," Stefania
explained quietly.

I put my confused look on my face. I hadn't used it much since
moving out of my family's house. Nowadays I tried to look wise
and comprehending.

"Stef didn't mention the village name." A lie, and one I
sincerely hoped that Stef wouldn't mention. "I just assumed from
your traditions that it was Lampudusa."

"Why?" Grandma Ariana demanded. Now she was standing, too, and
didn't look very happy.

"The tradition of all girls..." I almost said fucking, but at the
last second substituted, "honoring the head of the house is
something only practiced in Lampudusa. None of the other villages
practice it. Cucinotta has very different traditions."

Grandma Ariana was now staring at Rosario, who looked a little
sick. The other woman at the table had all stood and all were
looking directly at Rosario. Daniella next to me seemed to be
quivering in anger.

"Sir, you came here when you were seven, and Stef says you were
orphaned shortly after. You must have heard your elders talking
about Lampudusa and thought they were talking about your own
village. An understandable mistake."

"I...a mistake. Yes, a mistake."

I sat munching a breadstick. My hand found Stef's under the
table, and I gave her a squeeze. "Of course, Cucinotta has some
interesting customs of its own."

I squeezed Stef's hand again and she picked up on the signal.

"They do? Like what?"

"Well, the head of the house is responsible for satisfying any
physical urges that widows in the family might have."

I looked deeply into Stef's eyes, enjoying the twinkle I saw
there. Rosario's sister Helena cackled. I glanced at her and then
back at my Stefania. Imagine taking the skin from a woman who
stood six two and weighed three hundred pounds. Then drape it on
a woman who was just barely five feet and only weighed eighty
pounds if she was holding the cat when she stepped on the scale.
Add about five wisps of grey hair and you have Helena.

Helena had figured out what I had just said and was leering at
her brother. Within a minute, Arianna's sisters had similar leers
as they appraised the head of the family. Even Arianna looked
happy; I imagine with all the young pussy running around she
didn't get much action.

* * *

That night I lay in bed with my beautiful wife. I rolled her on
top of me.

She giggled. "What if they hear?"

We were in Stef's old room. Bianca had gotten kicked out and was
sleeping with Daniela on one side of us. Dona and Michelle's room
was on the other side.

"In this family I don't think they'll mind."

Stef giggled again as she worked my hard sword into its favorite
sheath. "Thank you," she whispered into my ear and then started
nibbling on my earlobe.

I thrust deep inside of her. "Did I mention that Cucinotta does
have some real traditions? There's one that when a knight saves a
girl from a fate worse than death, she and all her sisters and
cousins, uh, honor him," I grinned. Stef bit my ear. Hard.

"Have you ever been to Sicily? Really?" she whispered.

"America has some great traditions too," I said, ignoring her
question. "Know what my favorite is?"

"What?" she asked, then her tongue started exploring the ridges
of my ear. "And what about Sicily?"

"The Fifth Amendment."

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