April and the Old Fool


This is my entry to the April Fools contest. If you like my story, please vote for me.


A new twist on the old saying, ‘There’s no fool like an old fool’

My name is Fred Thompson and I grew up in a family of Cops. My grandfather Edward was the Sherriff of Madison County, IL, my father Ralph was the police chief of Sauget, IL, and my brother-in law Edgar was the ‘Agent in Charge’ of the FBI’s St. Louis District office. I say was, because all of them died years ago in the ‘Line of Duty’. I am the only one left who knows the dirty details, but I do not tell their stories, because it is are too painful for me to do so.

Much to the chagrin of my elders, I did not follow them into the ‘family business’ but chose a different path for my life. In 1977 I became an electrician, joining the apprenticeship of IBEW local 349 in Alton IL, three months after I graduated high school. A year later I married my high school sweetheart, and by the time I finished my apprenticeship, we had bought our first house, and had two daughters. Before I retired when I was 62, My girls had graduated college, married young men with great careers, gave us five grandchildren, and moved away, one to suburban Chicagoland, and the other to Beaverton Oregon.

I thought we would enjoy our golden years together and travel to all the places we dreamed about, but fate reared its ugly head. Five years later, I lost my best friend and the love of my life, when my bride of forty years lost her battle with heart disease. Three months after the funeral, I took out the Nikon DSLR she had given me for my sixtieth birthday and joined a local camera enthusiasts club. A year later, I had earned six first place ribbons from contests at the local university and the Art Guild for my ‘work’ and was convinced by my piers to become a ‘Professional’.

I set up a studio in the basement of our suburban Alton, IL home and started taking portraits for my family and friends. The next Spring, I was visited by Mitch, a local professional who did photography for the local high schools. Because two other local photographers had gone out of business over the winter, he was swamped, and needed help taking care of the extra business he had ‘inherited’ from his former colleagues.

When he saw the camera, lens, and the lighting equipment I already owned, he said, “This will work perfectly.” He gave me a memory card, sat on the stool he had placed between my camera and the background, and told me to take three shots of him. I did as he asked, and when we were finished, I gave him back the card. He told me he would be in touch and left.

As soon as he left, I got out my notebook, and copied the settings he had changed on my camera and lighting equipment so I would have a record incase anything got moved.

Three days later, Mitch called me back, and asked me if I would consider being his sub-contractor. He explained that all I had to do was photograph the students he sent to me, taking a dozen shots of each in four different poses according to his specifications. He would supply me with a dozen memory cards and send his customers to my ‘studio’ for their sessions. When I filled the cards, I would return them to him, and exchange them for another dozen empty cards. He would pay me $100 for each card I returned to him filled and give me 20% of the gross profits on his sales of finished products (print packages, framed prints, and albums, etc,).

I agreed to his terms, and Mitch and I entered into a partnership benefitting both of us that lasted three years. During this time, the extra income allowed me to upgrade my equipment and put some money in the bank. However, at the beginning of our fourth year working together, a phenomenon Mitch referred to as ‘Mom-tographers’ was starting to severely cut into our business, so he suggested that we end our collaboration. This was no big loss to me, because by this time I had starting to do other work for the local car clubs and dirt track racers.

The afternoon of the last Thursday of March, I walked into my favorite watering hole and saw a half dozen scantily dressed ‘Biker Chicks’ gathered around a guy wearing a cheap suit and a fake Rolex, who was talking to my friend, the owner of the bar. I had been taking photos for Chuck for several years, capturing images of the racecars he sponsored, adorned by the scantily clad waitresses that worked at the bar. He motioned for me to come over, telling the ‘cheap suit’ “This is the guy I was telling you about, he’s the best photographer I know.”

I was introduced to Ralph Greene, who said he was a ‘Talent Agent’ for an ‘agency’ out of Chicago, and they were planning on filming some music videos at a studio in the area. When I told them I didn’t do videos, he told me they already had a videographer and a sound man but needed someone to shoot ‘Promotional Stills’ for posters and magazine advertisements.

When I asked him how much the gig paid, without missing a beat, he said, “There will be plenty of money ‘down the road’ Escort if you can ‘see your way clear’ to work ‘gratis’ for now.”

Recognizing this as a scam, I declined his offer and said, “When you want to ‘get serious’, give me a call,” as I handed him my business card. I also gave cards to each of the ‘ladies’, and told Chuck, “Bring me two fingers of Glenlivet 12 on the rocks” and headed for my favorite booth, in the far corner of the barroom, away from the noise and distractions.

I was enjoying my single malt in relative quiet, when the prettiest, and only ‘biker chick’ who wasn’t inked sat down across from me and said in a voice that sounded like an adolescent, “Are you really a professional photographer?”

I looked up from my glass into the greenest eyes I had ever seen in my life. She appeared to be barely five feet tall, her wavy hair was the reddest I had ever seen, her skin was the color of ivory, her small button nose turned up, and her sweet smile with perfect teeth warmed my heart. I smiled back at her and said, “I’ve been accused of being one, on occasion,” and then in my best perv sounding voice said, “What’s your name, little girl.”

She answered in a little girl voice, “April Berry, what’s yours?”

Intrigued, I answered, “Freddy,” and smiled menacingly.

She gave me her best ‘shocked’ look and asked, “I hope your last name isn’t Kreuger.”

I smiled, and said in my normal voice, “No, it’s Thompson, Fred Thompson. Is your name really April Berry?”

She smiled and said, “Yes I am. My father named me right after I was born, just before he disappeared from my mother’s and my lives forever.”

I frowned and said, “That was cruel. I have two married daughters, and two of my five grandchildren are girls. I don’t know what I would do if I never saw them again, because they have always been the best part of my life.”

She reached across the table and touched my hand saying, “I can tell you are a good man, but I sense a sadness in you. You have lost someone, haven’t you?”

“I lost my wife a few years ago.” I said quietly. She continued to hold my hand, and we just looked into each other’s eyes for the longest time.

We were startled out of our reverie by the ‘cheap suit’ yelling, “Come on Slut, we’re leaving.”

She winked at me and said, “I’ll be right back,” and slid out of the booth. I watched the cutest ass I had ever seen in a pair of skinny jeans wiggle its way out of the bar, only to return five minutes later carrying an oversized backpack. She slid the bag into the booth, and slid in next to it, saying, “Now, where were we before that asshole so rudely interrupted us?”

I looked at her and asked, “Didn’t you just lose your ride?”

She grinned and answered, “Nah, that guy is a phony, and hanging with him wasn’t getting me anywhere. I want to be a model and an actress, but all he wanted was to do was take me to bed and get me all inked up. I’m smart enough to know that doing either of those would destroy my chances of anyone in the ‘business’ taking me seriously.”

‘Smart girl’, I thought, and said, “So what are you planning on doing next?”

She smiled and said, “Well, if the framed photos I’ve seen hanging in this place were taken by you, I’m thinking you are a very good photographer. While the photos of the dirt track cars Chuck sponsors are great, the ones of the women in bikinis are exceptionally sexy. If I’m ever going to be taken seriously as a model, I’m going to need a portfolio done by a real professional photographer. Would you be willing to do that for me?”

I looked at her sternly and said, “You do realize I don’t work for free, don’t you?”

She smiled demurely, and said, “Yes I do, but do you think we could work something out, just between us?”

Irritated, I replied, “If you think you can ply me with your body to pay for the photos little girl, that will never happen. My reputation is more valuable to me than a roll in the hay with a pretty teenager.”

She started to tear up and said, “I apologize Mr. Thompson, I’ve never done anything like this before. I’m still a virgin, and that asshole Ralph has been trying to get me to turn tricks for him ever since he picked me up when I was hitchhiking outside of Springfield.”

I changed my demeanor, took her hands in mine, and asked. “Where are you from, April?”

“Pekin, Illinois, do you know it?” she answered.

I answered, “Yes I do. Does your mother know where you are?”

She shook her head and said, “We got in a fight two months ago, and I left in the middle of the night when she was working at the hospital. I hitchhiked my way to Springfield, where Ralph picked me up on the ramp at exit 100. I’ve been traveling with him ever since”

I finished my drink, and said, “Get your stuff and follow me, I have an extra bedroom at my house, and you can sleep there tonight. Tomorrow you are calling your mother, so she won’t worry. She deserves to know where you are and that you are safe. As I stood up, April Escort Bayan grabbed her bag and followed me out of the bar like a little puppy. I threw a twenty on the bar as I walked by and Chuck winked at me.

We climbed into my F150, she put her bag on the back seat of the Club Cab, and strapped herself in. As we drove the six blocks to my place, I asked her, “April, how old are you anyway, sixteen?” She reached into the backpack and pulled out a wallet. At the next stoplight, she showed me her Illinois Driver’s license. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that she was older than I first thought. Her twenty-first birthday was three days away, on April 1st.

When we pulled up in front of my modest suburban home, she said. “Wow, you live in a palace!”

I replied, “Really, my old buddy Tim Gillespie lives in a bigger house than I do.”

She said, “Yea, but he’s rich.”

As we were walking to the house, I said, “April, the Monge’s and the Conaghan’s are rich, Tim is just the Chief of Police.”

She stared blankly as I opened the door, and I asked her “Where in Pekin did you live?”

As we walked into the house, she answered, “406 N. Second St, why?”

I smiled and said, “Right near the bridge, right?” When she nodded, I said, “I know the neighborhood, I rented a room in a house a block away on Third when I worked on a powerhouse remodel, back in the 1980’s.”

She asked, “You lived in Pekin before I was even born?”

We walked into the living room and sat on the couch together. I smiled and said, “I wasn’t always a photographer, but it has been my hobby since I was a boy. The money that paid for this house and my retirement came from my career as a Union Electrician. That was why I was in Pekin. I worked all over the country in the 1980’s. I started taking photos full time when I retired and only started doing it professionally after my wife died.”

April just stared at me for l longest time, not saying a word. Finally, I stood up grabbed her backpack, and told her to follow me. I led her upstairs to what used to be my youngest daughter’s bedroom, and when I opened the door, she said, “It’s pink and purple!”

I said, “Yes, this was my youngest daughter’s bedroom, but my granddaughters stay here when they visit, so Samantha and Shelby chose the color scheme. The bathroom is next door, so if you want to shower and change while I fix dinner, make yourself at home.”

I dropped her bag inside the door and went downstairs to the kitchen. I got a lasagna from the freezer that I had made the month before and put it into the oven. As I was cutting up lettuce, tomatoes and other vegetables for a salad, I heard the shower start.

I took a bottle of Lambrusco out of the fridge and opened it to breathe before I sat down on the couch in the adjacent family room.

As I watched the sun set over the Mississippi River in the distance, I sensed her presence in the room. April was wearing a large black Led Zeppelin tee shirt that hung to just above her knees when she crawled up next to me on the couch. I noticed her hair was still wet when I put my arm around her. She snuggled close and rested her head on my chest. “The view is beautiful from here,” she said as she stared at the horizon. I agreed that it was.

When the timer I had set went off, she asked, “What was that?” I told her that dinner was ready, and she followed me into the kitchen where she watched me take the steaming casserole dish out of the oven and scoop its contents onto the two plates I had waiting. I set her plate of the lasagna and bowl of salad in front of her and poured the wine into her glass.

I put my plate across the table from her and poured my wine before I sat down. Then I bowed my head and said, “Bless us o Lord, for these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive, from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord, Amen,” and crossed myself.

She looked at me perplexed, and asked, “You’re Catholic?”

I smiled at her and answered, “Not a very good one, I’m afraid to say.”

She smiled and said, “I had a few friends when I was younger that were Catholics. Their parents were way too hard on their kids and themselves.”

I smiled and said, “My wife was always the devout one in the family. Since she died, the girls and I have kind of ‘fallen away’ from the Church, but old habits die hard.” She nodded, and we ate our dinner and drank most of the wine in silence.

After dinner, as April helped me clean up, she said, “You miss her a lot, don’t you?” I just smiled and nodded. She hugged me and said, “I wish I had someone who loved me the way you still love her.”

I hugged her back and said, “I know you think you are all grown up because you’re almost twenty-one, but you have your whole life in front of you. Somewhere, sometime, you will find someone who will give their heart to you. All you need to do is be patient and observant, and love will find you and fill your heart,” and kissed her on top of her head.

She smiled and said she was tired. Bayan Escort I told her to go to bed and that we would talk more in the morning. I watched her cute little ass wiggle under the oversize tee shirt as she climbed the stairs and thought, ‘Dam she’s hot, but I’m old enough to be her grandfather, what’s wrong with me?’

I poured what was left in the bottle of wine into my glass and sat on the couch drinking and watching the stars come out over the distant St. Louis skyline. I realized that I too was sleepy, so I rinsed out my empty wine glass, loaded the dishes into the dishwasher, started it, and headed to my bedroom to get ready for bed. Since my wife’s funeral, I had taken to sleeping nude when I was in the house by myself, but since I had company, I decided to leave my boxers and undershirt on, and climbed into the big empty bed I now slept in alone.

I soon fell into a dreamless sleep, but sometime during the night, I started to feel like someone was pleasuring my erect ‘little soldier’ with what felt like a very wet mouth. Realizing it was only a dream, I let myself enjoy the sensation. It was so strong that when I opened my eyes and looked down I saw what appeared to be something moving under the covers.

When I threw the covers off me, I saw a mass of red hair covering my crotch. I blinked, and then saw April, holding my throbbing member with both of her small hands and smiling as she licked my pre-cum from its head. She climbed up me until we were face to face and kissed me with more passion than I was felt in years. I responded and returned her kiss, and when I felt the hard nipples of her small firm boobs crush into my chest, I also felt my erection being rubbed against her nether lips as she started grinding herself onto it.

Then she raised up and grasped my manhood, held it at the entrance of her vagina and said in her little girl voice, “Daddy, I love you, and I need you to make me a woman. Fuck me Daddy and Pop my Cherry.”

Before I could say a word, she impaled herself on me, and it felt like my ‘little soldier’ was being squeezed by the tightest vagina it had ever encountered. When we both caught our breaths, we started fucking like two rutting wild animals, and soon we both exploded with more intensity than I had ever experienced.

I woke up with a start, and realized it had all been a dream, because I was alone in my bed, and the room was illuminated by the rays of the early morning sun. The only sounds I heard were birds chirping outside my window. I had kicked my covers off sometime during the night, and my boxers were soaked with my semen.

I staggered out of bed, trying to wrap my head around what I had just dreamt, and made my way to the en-suite where I emptied my bladder. I stripped off my boxers and undershirt and stepped into the shower.

As the warm water rained down on me, I thought about my dream, and pondered what it meant. I was lusting over my new young companion.

I got out of the shower, dried myself off, and wrapped the towel my middle before I brushed my teeth and shaved. I looked at the stained underwear on the floor and threw them in the trash, realizing they were old, and would never come clean in the wash anyway. I looked in the mirror and combed what little grey hair I still had.

I went back into the bedroom, and dressed in a fresh pair of boxers, white cotton socks, an undershirt, jeans, and a sweatshirt with ‘IBEW’ and a lightning bolt emblazoned across the front. I slipped into my brown Topsiders and went to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

When it finished, I filled my mug, stepped out on the deck to drink my morning caffeine fix and watch the morning mist disappear as I let the coffee do its job of waking me up. Soon a small arm wrapped around me, and I saw a second mug tap against mine as April said, “The view in the morning is a beautiful as it was last night, but it’s chilly out here.”

As I wrapped my arm around her and held her close, I felt no underclothes under the same Led Zeppelin tee shirt she had worn the evening before. I answered, “You probably wouldn’t be cold if you wore more clothes. It’s still March, you know.”

She giggled and said, “Clothes are overrated.”

We walked into the house together, and I realized that it was a little chilly inside. I pulled the insulated sliding glass door closed and lit the gas log in the fireplace. Before long it was toasty in the family room, and I asked April, “Are you hungry? I was just getting ready to fix breakfast, what would you like?”

When she didn’t answer, I went to the kitchen started frying bacon. When I had several pieces done and draining on a paper towel covered plate, out of the corner of my eye I saw her snitch one, and asked her, “How do you like your eggs?”

From behind me I heard her say, “Scrambled, with cheese and green peppers, if it’s not too much trouble.”

I smiled to myself, thinking, ‘That is exactly how I’ve always fixed them for my daughters and grandchildren.’ I put the last of the bacon in the pan and got the egg carton, a green bell pepper, and a bag of shredded cheddar cheese out of the fridge. As I chopped up the pepper, I thought, ‘I have been making this very same breakfast since my daughters were small’.

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