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"Ah can't believe you fucked (she said ‘fucked' with that southern belle long slow, sexy as hell, sultry drawl. It was closer to ‘faawcked') my Nana. But you did, didn't you, and don't you bother trying to deny it either!" The fact that Lexi spoke these words with my slowly softening cock still in her only added to this moment of deep-fried Southern surrealism. "You do know that she's married, right? She's got a big ole diamond ring and everything, married to my Pawpaw. Well, what have you got to say for yourself?"

Well, what could I say? There was no winning answer, no correct response, there was not an etiquette book in existence that could help me here. My uncle Henry always said, "when you're with a woman in an intimate moment and you think that what you're about to say might be taken wrong, in anyway possible way wrong - just don't say it, don't.'

In cases like this, silence is the best option, so I said nothing. How in the hell do you respond to something like that, anyway?

Okay then, so in all honesty, just between you and me - yeah - I did do it. I did have sex with Lexi's Nana, but she started it. Just give me a moment and I'll explain it all. I can lay this all out, and then you'll see that...that, well you'll just see how this all happened.

A moment of quick context, we, meaning me, my mom, and my dad were on the other coast attending a wedding. My cousin Steve had met ‘the One' at Duke, and now they were getting married in her hometown of Charleston. Being a born and bred coastal Southern Californian, I was a stranger in a strange land. Staring eyes followed my every step...creepy. So, anyway...

I was just standing on a step ladder, like I'd done for who knows how many times that day. Hopefully I was getting close to the last time. And it wasn't my idea to be on the ladder to begin with. I had been on my way to the pool; I was still wearing my Billabong swim trunks, my Channel Islands Surfboards t-shirt (one must strive to maintain the proper sense of decorum required in this fine establishment,) Reef flip-flops. I even had a big fluffy hotel towel in my hand when I was shanghaied by this little silver-haired lady.

"Excuse me, but just how tall are you young man...how high can you reach?" Out of curtesy more than curiosity, I reached up overhead. This pleased the woman no end, go figure. "Oh perfect, you'll do just fine. If you'll please come with me, I could really use your help right now?"

What was a few minutes spent helping someone out? The water would still be wet, the sun would still be out...no problem. For my part, it is my sincere belief you can never have too much good karma. So I threw the towel over my shoulder and followed.

That's how I found myself in the uncompensated employ of one Margarette (call me Margie) Sheffield Walker. I spent the next few hours - yes, I said hours - climbing up and down that fucking step ladder - four steps up, then four steps down. Not to mention that it was a totally crap ladder, kinda rickety and unstable. Thankfully Margie's job was to steady the ladder, as well as provide me with constant and meticulous directions. The directions were variations on my reaching overhead and turning a plate-size decorative shield right side up. Seriously , that's what I was doing; climbing up four steps, reaching overhead (Margie holding the ladder steady) turning the decoration right side up, asking Margie "That good?" And if it was good, then climbing down four steps picking up the ladder moving it the next decoration, and repeat, repeat, repeat. All with a nonstop monologue from Margie.

"Now, Michael (that's me) it wouldn't do ah-tall for the grooms family to see their coat of arms upside down...doesn't matter that they bought it, even the best families have to begin somewhere. And sometimes the somewhere is at best somewhat shady and in some cases down right villainous." That segued into a long history of the Sheffield family going all the way back to England where they were forced to leave, in all haste, sometime in the late 1700's. Heads intact, if not honor and fortune preserved.

Or, "Now, Michael, that decoration is just short of perfect, turn it a little more, more...back just a bit...perfect." Unsurprisingly, I did

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