1. The Plumber's Daughter Chapter 3


    Date: 8/24/2015, Categories: Fiction, Author: beagle9690, Rating: 90.2, Source: sexstories.com

    and four glasses. I noticed that Dad had washed his face and put on a clean white shirt. I walked over to Dad and hugged him, “I love you Daddy, thank you. I’ll help Mom in the kitchen.” “I love you too Princess, would you like a glass of wine?” “Two please. I’ll bring one to Mom.” Dad poured them and I left hoping for the best. Patrick: “WELL, YOU MIGHT AS WELL SIT DOWN.” “Thank you,” I sat down in the chair across from him.” “Do you drink wine?” Mr. Bernardino asked, “This is homemade Chianti.” “Yes, I seldom get a good homemade wine. My Father made a very good hard cider in a whiskey barrel.” “I don’t like you,” Mr. Bernardino said leaning forward. “Oh well,” I replied sipping and enjoying my wine “I not going to lose sleep over it.” “What do you think of the wine?” “It is quite good actually. When I do drink wine, I prefer a dry red.” “Are you saying that to kiss up?” “Kiss up to you, don’t be ridiculous. You asked me what I thought and I told you. Perhaps you don’t like my answer. Nevertheless the wine is very good. If it tasted like cleaning fluid and I didn’t like you I would have said so.” “Let me top off your glass. Didn’t your father teach you that it is good manners to bring something when you are invited to dinner?” “He did......” Mr. Bernardino interrupted me “Then you show no respect. You come to my home empty handed. You dragged my daughter half way across the state on a motorcycle like some kind of hooligan. Marie deserves better than you.” I was saved by the ...
    doorbell. Father Joseph Sebastian walked into the room carrying an enormous fruit basket mostly oranges and pears, Marie’s father’s favorites. “Where do you want this, Dom? They were delivering it when I got here,” and seeing me the Priest said, “You must me Patrick, give me a second,” putting the large basket on a chair and held out his hand for me to shake, “I’m Father Joseph Sebastian, or as my Parishioners call me, Father Joe.” “I’m pleased to meet you Reverend, I have heard nothing but good about from Marie.” “Are you Catholic, Patrick?” “No, he is a can’t-make-up-his-mind Joe. He doesn’t go to church regular at all.” “My mother was Catholic, Reverend and I was baptized as such. I attended Mass with her every Sunday until she died and with my Dad sporadically until I joined the Marines. I will attend any mainstream Christian Church, regardless of denomination, including Catholic. I have met some very fine people that way and have had many fine potluck or chicken dinners afterward.” “He proves my point, Joe; all the I-can’t-make-up-my-mind thinks about is his stomach and he doesn’t know how to address a Priest properly.” “I would hardly classify Patrick as a heathen, Dom, or a hoodlum because he rides a motorcycle. Dom doesn’t like motorcycles and considers everyone who rides one as a hooligan, Patrick and that’s a fine machine. I saw it when I pulled in the driveway. What year Panhead is it? My best guess would be the early sixties.” “You know your scoots, Reverend. It ...
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