Bacchanalia

"So, how'd it go?" Deb asked before I'd set my coffee down, dropped my bags, or sat in my office seat. "I want to know everything."

"Good morning to you, too. I love that outfit. You look really cute." I sipped my coffee, hung up my jacket, and settled into my workspace.

"Cut the crap," Deb said with a laugh. "Is he everything his profile said he is?"

"It was good. It was really good," I responded. Deb nodded her head, waiting for me to continue. "You know we didn't do the nasty, right? It was just dinner and drinks," I told her.

Deb rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, gotta keep it PG on the first date, but did you want to?" Deb had encouraged me or maybe forced me to sign up for the exclusive dating app, so she had a stake in my love life. Now, she seemed to think that entitled her to all the gory details. The first two tries with the app had flamed out quickly. I think she felt responsible and wanted this next date to work. Otherwise, it might be three strikes, and I'm out.

This new guy from last night, Chet, hit all the right buttons on his profile, so both Deb and I were hopeful. He looked great, loved the outdoors, had just moved from a small town to the city, and was interested in adventure. The date last night surpassed all our expectations.

"Well, it didn't suck," I said about the date. "We had a lot of fun and a lot of laughs. He lived up to his profile, so yeah, I could see this going somewhere."

"Damn it, girl, we are doing lunch. You are going to tell me everything, even if you have to make shit up." She turned on her heel and stomped off to her cubicle. I had to laugh. Deb seemed more invested in getting me laid than getting laid herself. She said it was because I was such a challenge. I had met a few of the guys she dated over the past year, and each one was different. They would hang around for a month or two and then disappear. I used to joke with her about the "flavor of the month," and she didn't deny it. "Believe me, they're all the same where it counts." Deb was a bit of a size queen. If a guy had the right equipment, he had a shot at bedding her.

I was more selective. I evaluated the whole package and was looking for more than just a good fuck. Not that sex wasn't important. I just wanted more. In fact, I had a pretty specific idea of what I wanted. He had to be devilishly handsome with a wicked smile that would make me melt. He needed to be tall and muscular without being too jacked up. I wanted dark wavy hair with icy blue eyes that seemed to see right through me. He had to make me laugh and make me wonder what he was thinking all the time. He would be adventurous and outdoorsy and challenge me at every turn. In short, he needed to be like my first love, Steve.

Deb said that was unreasonable and that I needed to get over him. I know she is right, and believe me, I have tried. I had boyfriends in college and a few after college. It was fine for a while, but then I'd be disappointed or bored or just gave up.

Frankly, I was more comfortable alone with my memories. I would lie in bed remembering my summers with Steve and masturbate myself to a fantastic climax before sleep. Later, I created fantastic scenarios, always ending with some happy ever after with Steve and me. In my head, I would imagine the two of us in every rom-com or yogurt commercial. When Deb found out that I named the latest in a long line of sex toys Steve, she staged an intervention.

I'd had an eight-month dry spell before Deb forced me to get on the Periwinkle dating app. She said she would get me a clowder of cats if I didn't get laid soon because I was clearly a cat lady in the making. I didn't want that, so I was trying.

As I settled into my desk, I got a text from Chet saying how much fun he had last night and that it was rare to find a beautiful woman like me with a sense of humor. We shared a lot of laughs about past misadventures, and I felt like there was a connection as well. He suggested a hike this coming Saturday.

I was just about to respond when I got a phone call from my mother. Mom never called me at work, so I picked it up immediately. She sounded upset, as if she had been crying. "Aunt Belle died last night." This couldn't be true. My Aunt Belle was my mother's older sister, but she was just 72 years old. Mom didn't know all the details and would need to get back to me to let me know the arrangements.

I sat at my desk in shock. How could she be gone? My Aunt Belle had basically raised me after my parents divorced when I was twelve. I would shuffle between boarding school and my parents' houses during the school year. Then, I had all summer on my Aunt's farm. While my parents could barely behave like adults, Aunt Belle treated me like an adult, talking with me and listening, giving me responsibilities, and, most importantly, giving me the freedom and safety to make decisions and learn from my mistakes.

She was always a free spirit herself, the last of the hippies. She wore loud print dresses, and her red hair was a bird's nest of curls piled on top of her head. She had the best jewelry I'd ever seen and always seemed to have a wonderful story about who had given it to her.

She lived in an old, ramshackle farmhouse with rooms stuffed with endless treasures. There were books everywhere. On rainy days, I would pick a room and spend the whole day rooting around in trunks, or I'd pick a book and curl up in one of the day beds piled with mismatched pillows, getting lost in foreign lands and long ago times. On sunny days, I'd explore the woods and fields or hang out with the kids in town.

Aunt Belle had crazy ideas that I never told my mother about. She let me drink a glass of wine with dinner, even as a kid. She would take me skinny dipping in the old quarry on the back of her property. She would tell me about travels and adventures that sounded too crazy to be real. Most shocking to a young girl, she would discuss lovers she had over the years. Nothing explicit, mind you, but not exactly discreet either.

It was as though my world was light and dark. The light days of summer and the dark days of school and home, when I had to be disciplined in my studies, respectful of my elders, and always well-behaved. Both of my parents were lawyers, and they drummed into my head that appearances matter. My big act of rebellion was to go to business school and not become a lawyer like them.

"So, where are we going for lunch?" Deb asked, pulling me out of my memories. I realized I'd spent the whole morning getting nothing done, drowning in my past. I filled her in on what had happened. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry." I let her wrap me in a hug and finally began to cry. I think before that, I was just too stunned. Lunch was no longer about my love life. She took me to McHenry's Pub and listened to my stories for most of the afternoon.

It wasn't until that evening that I realized I'd never responded to Chet's text from this morning. I apologized and told him what had happened. He understood completely, and we spent the next hour texting back and forth. He wanted to call me, but I told him that I would just cry again, and I didn't want to cry anymore. We made plans to go on a hike on Saturday.

The funeral would be next Tuesday at my Aunt's farm. My mother would fly up from Florida and meet me, and we could drive up together. In the meantime, I had work to catch up on, and my date with Chet on Saturday. Deb had talked with work, and everyone was super supportive. She would check on me every hour to see if I needed coffee, make lunch plans, or ask about my plans with Chet. I knew she was just looking out for me.

Chet and I spent about six hours hiking through a local park and just talking. He was a really good listener, asking thoughtful questions at just the right moments. At the end of the day, I felt a warm connection with him, more than I'd felt with anyone in a long time, enough to invite him back to my place for dinner. He hesitated the appropriate amount of time before agreeing.

We showered separately, and I gave him a big terry cloth robe to wear. Then, we cracked a bottle of wine and waited for the Thai food to be delivered. It was all very relaxed, which is just what I needed. It turns out he gives great hugs and is a pretty good kisser. The next morning, I made us huevos rancheros for breakfast. Deb would be so happy I got laid. Hell, I was pretty happy myself. I thought to myself that Aunt Belle would also be pleased.

Mom arrived late Sunday evening. It had been nearly a year since I'd seen her. We sat up part of the night catching up. Mostly, I was surprised by how different our memories of Aunt Belle were. Of course, Mom knew her growing up and remembered her as a girl who couldn't stay out of trouble and was a disappointment to her parents, my grandparents. I remembered her as a free spirit who knew what she wanted and wasn't afraid to reach for it, someone who lived life to the fullest.

The four-hour drive up to Bentford Creek on Monday was easy. Mom slept part of the way, leaving me with my thoughts and memories. It had been nine years since my last visit. Aunt Belle invited me every year and begged me to come for the last few years, but I just wasn't ready. Now I wish I'd listened to her. She used to say that we needed to confront life head-on and take control, otherwise life would control us. I certainly didn't feel in control right now.

I know I was imagining it, but driving through Bentford Creek on the way out to the farm, the whole town seemed sadder, like it was missing something important. It was an overcast June afternoon when we arrived. It may have rained already and looked like it could rain again any minute.

At first, the old farmhouse looked quiet and deserted. Usually, when we arrived, Aunt Belle would be outside in the garden, waiting for us with big hugs and kisses. I missed that and sobbed again. As we pulled around in front of the house, an older gentleman wearing overalls with a bushy white mustache emerged waving to us, followed by my old boyfriend, Steve. My breath caught in my throat. I expected to see Steve on this trip. I just didn't expect to see him this soon. He looked even better than I remembered, wearing jeans, a faded t-shirt, and work boots.

The older gentleman introduced himself as Henry Fitzgerald, my aunt's "friend," and said Steve was my aunt's farm manager. My mother hugged both of them, thanked them for being there to greet us, and began ordering them around like they were hired help, telling them whose bags were whose and where they could take them. I shook Henry's hand and gave Steve the briefest of hugs.

Once inside, Henry filled us in on all the arrangements for the funeral tomorrow and told us where we could contact him if we needed anything. Steve was mostly silent as he talked, acknowledging a few remarks Henry made and answering a few questions. I was quiet as well, trying to take it all in.

After Henry and Steve left, I showed my mother around the house. While she and Aunt Belle weren't exactly estranged, it had been years since she visited the farm. They had kept up through holiday letters and occasional phone calls on birthdays and major holidays. As she walked through the house with me, making disparaging remarks here and there, I felt like I was showing an enemy through conquered territory. What she called clutter, I saw as valued treasures. I may not have known all the stories, but I was sure there was a story behind everything, and whatever that story was, it would probably make me laugh until I cried. Now, I just wanted to cry.

The refrigerator was stocked with food some neighbors had left for us, so Mom and I shared a bottle of wine and ate mostly in silence. I grabbed some of my favorite books from the shelf and retired early to my old room.

The next day was a whirlwind of activity. The small church in town was packed with mourners. It seemed that my Aunt was a local institution, and the whole town turned out to see her off. After the burial, most of them came out to the farm for a potluck wake that went into the evening. I was talking with Henry when Steve approached us late in the afternoon. Henry quietly excused himself to let Steve and I talk.

"It is great seeing you, even if it is the worst of circumstances," Steve said. He looked uncomfortable in his suit and tie but still pretty fantastic.

"It's good to see you too. How long have you been helping Aunt Belle with the farm?"

"Most of the last seven years, ever since she decided to expand the vineyard and start producing wine." Since my last visit, the farm had been transformed from corn fields into rows of grape vines. The old barn was now a wine-making operation. "You know, she hoped you'd come to see what she was doing with the place. She thought you could give her some business advice."

I groaned. "I know, I know, and now I wish I had come." I was worried I'd start crying again. "It is really impressive what you guys have done." We had been drinking Nymph White and Satyr Red since we arrived, both surprisingly good.

"You've done pretty good as well, all graduated and working in the city. Your aunt was really proud of you. She talked about you all the time." Steve was smiling. I didn't want to talk about work or myself. Here on the farm, remembering Aunt Belle and talking with Steve, work seemed to be a million miles away and insignificant.

As we talked, we walked down to the barn, and I asked Steve questions about the grapes, bottling, and sales. It quickly became clear that he loved this stuff. He was proud of what he and Aunt Belle had made. He had a passion about it that I hadn't felt in a long time.

This shouldn't have surprised me. Like Aunt Belle, Steve had always tried to live life to the fullest. That may have been the thing I loved most about him. When we were kids, he would excitedly tell me about some book he was reading or some movie he had seen. He would drag me off to show me some bug or flower he had found. Where I was cautious and reserved, he was adventurous and daring. He would push me to climb higher, explore further, and do more.

That last summer, I discovered that his boundless enthusiasm to live life also extended to how he loved. We were both each other's first. He never said so, but I wondered if he had saved himself for my visit that year. Soon after I arrived in June, we went on long hikes, catching each other up on our lives while I was away. We were swimming naked in the quarry. We were making love. The first time may have been the only time I ever saw Steve hesitate. He wanted to make sure I wanted this, that I wanted him. I had no hesitation. I may have been saving myself for him, for my summer of freedom and light. I felt like I was living one of Aunt Belle's affairs.

Of course, Aunt Belle knew what had happened and what we had done before we said anything, and she seemed almost as happy as we were. She backed off and gave us the space new lovers needed, but she was also available to talk whenever I had questions. She didn't care if Steve spent the night at the farm or if she accidentally caught us in a compromising situation in the barn. She made sure we had protection available, so our only risks were to our feelings and emotions. She would make us breakfast, and we would all cook the most amazing dinners together. It was a magical summer, and none of us wanted it to end.

However, it had to end. I was expected to be at college at the beginning of September. I don't remember what the fight was about. What it was really about was me leaving. I wasn't ready to give up on the expectations my parents had for me. Aunt Belle just listened and didn't take sides. Steve and I knew each other well enough to finish each other's thoughts. Now, we knew each other well enough to know what would hurt. We both said things that I'm sure we both regret. I know I've regretted saying them for nearly a decade. I regretted them enough that I didn't want to face him. I wanted to move on, live my life, and reach for my goals.

Now, walking around the farm, we both avoided saying anything important. Mom and I would be leaving in the morning, so really, there was no time. The two of us had gone different ways, and there was a distance between us that was uncomfortable. I was worried that if I took the lid off the jar containing my feelings and emotions, that stuff would come out that I couldn't control, so I kept the lid firmly in place.

Besides, I had a job and a new relationship to return to. What would be the point of saying something or doing something that could mess all of that up? So I listened to Steve tell me about the vines and the wines and what he and Aunt Belle had been working on before she "checked out," as he put it. I laughed because that is exactly how she would have described dying.

The next day, on the way out of town, Mom and I stopped at Barker's General Store to pick up some drinks for the road. It looked like I remembered it and probably exactly like it had looked for the last hundred years. Sure, the products had changed and been updated, but there was a continuity that had a purpose.

This time, I looked around with a knowing eye. Barker's was the small, family-owned store my company looked for. My job was to find Ma and Pa grocery stores that Franklin Holdings could buy up and make into high-end boutique stores. Barker's was a perfect fit. They had a captive audience, had a reputation, and sold novel items, such as Nymph White and Satyr Red wine.

Back in the city, I threw myself into work and the relationship with Chet. I was caught up with work fairly quickly. Somehow, all the projects I had been working on fell into place, and I was the company's new star. I'm sure Deb had something to do with that.

Chet was easy to get to know. As I said, he listened and somehow knew what I needed and wanted. What I needed, what I wanted, was carefree, funny, and distracting from all the thoughts in my head and the feelings rocking my heart. Soon, we spent every weekend together, and then I planned my time around what we would be doing. I had never had this in any relationship before. In the past, it had been me and whoever I saw, and we somehow figured out how to do stuff together. This was becoming "us." It was new, it was different, it was nice. As this "us" happened, we just sort of started sleeping together.

I always found sleeping together a rather odd euphemism for having sex because when I was having sex, there wasn't a lot of sleeping going on. In the past, when I was dating guys, either he wanted sex, or I wanted sex, or both of us wanted sex. It could get a little crazy. The rest of the time, we would do our own thing.

For the first time with Chet, it was sort of expected that we would end up in bed together at the end of the night. I wanted it, and he wanted it. We would have sex, but we would also sleep. Together. In the same bed. And we would wake up together in the same bed. It was easy and relaxed. I found myself looking at him a few times when he was reading or watching television. I didn't wonder what he was thinking. That was obvious. That simple comfort was nice as well.

Chet was a gentle lover, always interested in my pleasure, and he had the equipment to give me pleasure. Maybe for the first time since my relationship with Steve, I was satisfied with a cock. More than once, I thought to myself, I now knew what Deb was talking about. I couldn't resist touching it, stroking it, playing with it. I would watch as he got hard in my hand and feel him stiffen in my mouth. Chet was amused by my interest, telling me what felt good. He never rushed me, and it was me who was pursuing sex.

Chet and I started to hang out with Deb and the flavor of the month, her insignificant other, going dancing, going on hikes, and doing stuff. We even hosted a few parties. Suddenly, I had a social circle. This was the life I expected to have when I moved to the city. Friends and lovers who would do things together and have fun together, and now I was living it.

So in August, when I got the certified letter from the lawyer saying that I had inherited Aunt Belle's farm, it was a bit of a shock to the system. Except I didn't inherit the farm. I had inherited a 40% share in Bacchus Vineyards, LLC, which included the farm. What did I know about vineyards? What was I going to do with a farm? I would need to go back to Bentford Creek to sort all of this out.

I decided to take some vacation time to spend at the farm at the end of August and the beginning of September. I had spoken to my boss about Barker's General Store, so they agreed to let me explore the possibility of acquiring that as well. All told, I'd have three to four weeks to deal with issues in Bentford Creek.

The only hesitancy was leaving Chet for a month. We were still a new couple and still discovering each other. He knew about my past relationship with Steve, though obviously not all the details. I think he was worried that Steve and I would spend that much time together. I told Chet we would talk regularly and that he should come for a visit. I wanted to show him a place important to my past and who I was. We both understood that this would be a test of our relationship, but one we needed to take if we had any hope of going forward. So, on a bright August morning, I set out for Bentford Creek.

I had emailed my Aunt's lawyer and Steve about my plans to visit. I also emailed Brad Barker at the General Store, telling him I would like to meet. The lawyer, Chris Sanders, agreed to meet with me the morning after I arrived. I set up a meeting with Steve, as the farm manager, for that afternoon.

Chris explained that I was inheriting my Aunt's 40% share of the company. The other 60% was divided among various investors, which included a 15% share for Steve and a 10% share for Henry. I was surprised to see that my mother had a 5% share. The rest was divided up between another 250 small shareholders, some from town and others from as far away as Europe. Chris told me about the annual shareholders meeting that would happen in the middle of October, six weeks away. "That's not much time. What do we need to prepare?" I asked him.

"There is just a report and some accounting issues. It is not that much. It is more of a party than anything else. I'll talk with the accountants and put together something for next week," Chris told me. I asked if he would attend, and he said he wouldn't miss it.

Back at the farm, I found Steve in his office in the barn. We spent a couple of hours going over the books of the winery. It was all very businesslike. It was also very impressive. Bacchus Vineyards, LLC had started as almost a hobby and grown into a small company, selling thousands of bottles of wine, mostly locally. There was also a small mail-order business that came in from the web page. The stock price of the company had slowly risen every year. With my stock in the company, I was suddenly worth some money. It took a while for that to sink in.

Then, I asked Steve about the upcoming shareholders meeting. While sad about Aunt Belle's passing, surely everyone would be excited about the prospects for the vineyard's future. Steve didn't answer right away. In fact, after talking for almost two hours straight, he sat there quietly and said nothing. Finally, I asked him what was wrong.

"Do you know who Bacchus is?" he asked.

I nodded slowly. "Yeah, he is the Roman god of wine. I think it is a wonderful marketing idea to tie the vineyard to the god of wine. Naming the wine after nymphs and satyrs is fantastic," I said.

Steve nodded slowly and said nothing.

"What's the matter?" I was a bit confused.

"What are you going to do with the winery?" Steve asked. I was shocked. Why was he changing the subject?

"I don't know. Maybe I'll let you run it, or maybe I'll sell it. I haven't really decided. I'm here to get a handle on things. Frankly, all of this is a bit of a shock," I said. Steve nodded and looked down at his books, saying nothing. "Why is that important right now? Why are you asking that?"

"Bacchus Vineyards was not a business to your aunt. It is not a business to me. It is our life, our passion. We are creating something here that goes beyond the balance sheets. Yes, we have been very successful in a very short time. Usually, it takes at least ten years to turn a profit on a vineyard. We cut that time in half with generous investors and bought local grapes in the first years to make our wine. It has not been easy. Passion has seen us through."

For some reason, Steve seemed sad telling me all this. He barely looked at me. It was like a prepared speech I would give some investors, a prepared speech that I didn't think would work. It was a completely different Steve from anything I'd seen before. Granted, it had been years since I'd seen him, and we had changed, growing into responsible adults. Somehow, he seemed defeated. I asked what sort of presentation we could make at the annual meeting, and he gave me basic answers about balance sheets, profit margins, and expected growth. I finally gave up and ended the meeting. To be honest, I was pissed. I was just trying to get a handle on what had suddenly been tossed in my lap, a windfall really, and suddenly I was getting short, stock answers. He met any questions outside of the accounting books with silence.

That night, alone in the old farmhouse, I called Deb and poured my heart out. How could I have misjudged Steve so completely? It felt like he didn't want to know my opinion, didn't understand me at all, didn't care. My gut response was to sell everything as quickly as possible, take the profits, and return to the city. That made me sad. Deb reminded me that I still had a few weeks to better understand things. She also reminded me that I still had to see about Barker's General Store. She gave wise counsel to take deep breaths, not do anything rash, listen, and learn.

Then I called Chet. I was calmer now and told him I missed him. He asked how it was being in the house and my old stomping grounds. I told him it was bittersweet, that I missed my Aunt, and that I felt a little overwhelmed by it all. Again, he listened and offered support and advice when I needed it. He didn't ask about Steve, though I knew that was what he really wanted to know.

I spent the next morning puttering around the house. Anyone who has ever dealt with a sudden death knows that it is hard to deal with the remnants of someone else's life, particularly when they didn't have the opportunity to put that life in order before they passed. Part of me didn't want to touch anything, and part wanted to clear everything out as soon as possible. Those warring emotions almost crippled me with an inability to do anything. I decided I needed to start small and work my way through a room or part of a room each day. I pointedly did not head down to the barn to see Steve. After the conversations from the day before, I needed some time to sort my head out.

I was surprised when Henry showed up unannounced in mid-afternoon. Didn't cell phones work out here? He was cheery. "Hey Molly, how's it going?" I had decided to start in the kitchen, assuming that would be the most useful and least likely to cause any emotional surprises. I was knee-deep in pots, pans, and canned goods I hadn't decided what to do with, and I needed a break. Henry looked around at the damage I'd caused and seemed a little less cheery.

He had brought an apple cobbler with some cheddar cheese, and we decided to open a bottle of Nymph white and sit on the porch. "This is really tough," I said. "Everything I do makes me miss Aunt Belle even more." Henry nodded and sipped his wine, waiting for me to continue. "I wish over and over I had come for a visit, come to see how she was doing and what she was doing."

"You know what your Aunt would say, don't you? Worries and regrets don't change anything unless we learn from them." I could hear Aunt Belle saying those exact words. "In my seventy years on this earth, I've never met anyone else who embraced each day as an opportunity and a challenge the way your aunt did. Sometimes, it feels like she is still telling me things, pointing the way forward in little ways." We both sat in silence for a bit and let that sink in.

"Tell me about the vineyard," I finally asked. "What was Aunt Belle planning to do with it?"

Henry smiled and took another sip of wine before answering. "I think your Aunt considered the vineyard the highlight of her life. More than a business, more than a project, it embodied her philosophy of life, to live every day to the fullest and, most of all, to enjoy it. She started small, learning as she went along. She had a lifetime of friends to call on when she needed advice or support. I think the first folks were the couple she lived with in France as a young girl. Who better than the French to know about wine? They wanted to help her and invest, so she created a company to give them a share. Soon, she was reaching out to others. She was surprised by how many wanted to invest. She had enough money to buy the equipment she needed in about ten months. From there, it was just adding and building day by day, month by month, year by year."

The sun was setting over the fields, and we sat quietly, watching the last rays disappear. "What do you know about the annual meeting?" I finally asked.

Henry smiled. "Do you know what a Bacchanalia is?" he asked. I said I didn't. "It was the annual festival for Bacchus, the Roman god of wine. While no one knows what the original festivals were like, there are a lot of rumors of conspiracies and orgies and initiation rites. Livy writes that the priests were executed and the cult forcefully put down. Your aunt thought that was crazy and wanted to reform the image. So that is the annual meeting for the vineyard."

I was stunned. If I understood correctly, we would be hosting an orgy for 250 people in six weeks. I asked Henry if I understood correctly. He took another sip of wine and just nodded at me, smiling.

After a few minutes, I started asking all the questions racing through my head. What happened at these meetings, these orgies, how was it arranged, how many people showed up, and was any business conducted?

Henry chuckled. "It is harvest time, and the Bacchanalia happens at the end of the harvest. The grapes are harvested with the help of the local Aggies, where Steve went to school. People start showing up on Wednesday or Thursday, and the last of the folks drift off the next week. Not everyone shows up, you know. In the past, we've usually had about a hundred people. I expect more will come this year to remember your aunt. It starts with a big meal. There is a report about the past year, but really, everyone is here to see old friends, eat, dance, and have fun. On Saturday, there is a traditional wine pressing, stomping grapes, and an initiation for anyone new to the vineyard who bought stock or has started working here. It is all a pretty crazy weekend."

As Henry talked, visions of some crazy toga party were racing through my head. This was going to take a while to process. Could I do this with strangers? Henry had made it clear that many people would be missing my aunt and want to celebrate her and what she had done, what she had made. Could I not do this?

The next morning, I cleaned up the kitchen and started on the living room. That gave me time to think about the vineyard, the conversation with Steve, the conversation with Henry, and the Bacchanalia. I'm not sure I was any closer to figuring things out.

In the afternoon, I met Brad Barker in the store. He listened to my pitch and said he wasn't really interested in selling but would entertain a proposal. We agreed to meet in a week to discuss things further. "I thought you wanted to meet about the Bacchanalia," he said. He told me he was just a small investor in the vineyard but never missed the festival. "I met my wife at the first Bacchanalia years ago," he said. Barker's General Store supplied a lot of the food for the event, and every year, Aunt Belle would give him a list of what she would need. I told him I didn't know what would be needed and asked if he could give me a list of what she had bought in previous years. That, too, would be part of our meeting the following week.

The same thing happened the next day when I was in the bookstore. Amy Newhouse told me about the Satyr Society, which puts on a bawdy play every year at the festival. "We've been meeting all summer to come up with something special in honor of Belle," she told me. It seems this festival had a life of its own.

I had been avoiding Steve, and I assume he had been avoiding me. I could hear my aunt telling me that I had to confront this issue head-on. So, the next morning, I headed down to the barn. The harvest season was starting, and I found Steve working with about thirty students from the agricultural college, teaching them how to pick grapes. It was a mixed group of both males and females, and they all seemed to be hanging on everything he said. I sat back and watched him easily explain things, demonstrate on a few nearby vines, and answer questions. When the students broke into three different teams and started to gather their harvesting supplies, I approached Steve. "Looks like you have your hands full."

He looked up with one of his hundred-watt smiles. "I love harvest time. It's the culmination of everything we have been doing all year. This is literally the fruit of our efforts." He looked at the kids starting to head out to the vines. "We have a great crew this year. Some of the team has worked with me for the past three or four years and will direct the others." I could see the pride he took in all of their efforts.

"You think you could teach me to pick grapes?" I smiled.

He chuckled and looked me up and down like he was sizing me up. "You might want to find some work clothes. I'd hate for you to ruin your sundress. But yeah, I'll bet even you could learn to pick grapes. Meet me on that hill over there when you've changed."

I shook my head, muttering to myself as I walked back to the house, but I also had a smile on my face that I couldn't repress. Forty minutes later, wearing a pair of overalls, work boots, and one of my aunt's big sun hats, Steve and I were working a row of vines as he showed me what to look for and where to cut. It seemed I was the junior member of the third team, a bunch of great kids, excited to meet the new owner and tell me about their studies.

After a day of hard work and a lot of fun, I followed Steve into the barn and his office. "When were you going to tell me about the Bacchanalia?" I asked.

He dropped his clippers and gloves on the desk and fell into his chair, glancing at me a little sheepishly. "You found out, didn't you? Did Henry tell you or Chris? You didn't need to hear it from me."

"Henry told me most of it, and Amy told me a bit more. It seems everyone knows about this party except me. Still, it would have been nice to hear about it from the manager. Were you going to invite me?"

He sort of shrugged. "I guess if you wanted to come."

"If I wanted to come? What does that mean? May I remind you that I have a sizable share in this vineyard? Of course, I want to come to learn about the vineyard and the wines." After what had been a wonderful day, I was getting pissed with Steve again. I put my arms across my chest and fumed at him.

Steve let out a loud sigh and just looked at me for a while. "I'm sorry. I should have told you. I got upset when you said you might sell the vineyard. Your aunt and I have worked so hard to make something of the crazy idea she had, and I couldn't consider that it might have been for nothing."

Now, it was my turn to sigh. Slowly, I unfolded my arms and sat on the edge of the desk. Steve and I had been talking past each other, not communicating much like we had at the end of that last summer before I went to college. "Can we start over? It was great working with you today in the vineyard. I want more of that. You have so much you can teach me about the vineyard and winemaking, so much to tell me about Aunt Belle. I haven't decided about the vineyard because I don't know enough."

Steve looked a little sheepish and then smiled and nodded. "I would like that. I would like that a lot."

We just sat there for a while, not talking, looking at each other. Finally, I stood up. "I'll see you tomorrow. What time do we get started?" Steve told me he was in the office by 7 AM, but the crews don't show up until 7:30, and he wanted them on the vines by 8:00, before the heat of the day. I saluted and left his office, heading back to the house.

For the next week and a half, I worked the vines as much as possible. It was hard work, but the picking crews were a fantastic group, and I got to know all of them. Three of the girls, in particular, took me under their wings. They were a redhead, a brunette, and a blonde, and they called themselves Thyia, Chrysele, and Melissa, after three nymphs from mythology.

"Thyia was a spring nymph and lover of Apollo. She was one of the first to worship Dionysus or Bacchus as the Romans called him," the redhead who had adopted her name proudly said.

"Chryse was the nymph of Lemnos who caused Philoctetes to be bitten by a snake guarding the altar to Athena," the brunette said.

"Melissa was the nymph who created honey, the nectar of the gods, and nursed Zeus," the blonde said.

"Melissa is her real name," Thyia said. "She didn't choose her name like we did."

"So what?" Melissa replied, sticking her tongue out at Thyia. "I'm still sweet as honey." All of the girls laughed.

"And what about the boys?" I asked. "What names do they have?"

"They claim to be various mythic heroes, but really, they are just Satyrs," Chryse said, and again the girls laughed.

I don't think I'd ever felt that level of satisfaction that I felt filling crates with grapes. I could only imagine what Steve felt, having watched the vines grow. When I talked with Deb a few nights later, she said, "I told you so."

Working with Steve was magical. It was different from our summer of light when we were exploring and having fun. Now we had work to do. Still, there was a constant banter and a tension between us. I would catch myself staring at him and smiling. I did a lot of smiling. I caught him staring at me a few times as well. It felt like we had some magical power drawing us together.

Steve knew about my relationship with Chet, so we both kept any sexual tension banked. The real sexual tension was with the picking crews. I noticed some couples paired up with stolen kisses and obvious flirting. Others were less obvious, with some kids hanging out together one day and then hanging out with others the next. They reminded me of how Steve and I probably looked so many years ago.

I only left the harvest to work on the Bacchanalia and the Barker's General Store proposal. Henry was the head of the planning committee, which included Chris Sanders, Amy Newhouse, and a few of Aunt Belle's closest friends from town. A lot of the work had already been done, but there was still a lot to do. I was a little overwhelmed by the festival's size and scope.

A nearby farm would be the gathering point with parking, registration, and a shuttle bus to Baccus Vineyard. While people would start arriving on Wednesday or Thursday, the main event would kick off on Friday with a pig roast. There would be a best toga contest and the Satyr Play. On Saturday, there would be wine-making the traditional way, stomping grapes, a scavenger hunt through the vineyard, and a dance in the evening. Sunday would finish with a big breakfast and a tug of war. We would have a tarot card booth, a Roman and mythical-themed photo booth, face and body painting, and other extra activities on the side. We would also have wine baskets for everyone and other gifts.

I pulled together the proposal for the store as best I could, but it wasn't my best work. Frankly, Barker's General Store was doing fine as it was and didn't need a bunch of new high-end products or corporate management. My heart just wasn't in the project. Deb looked over the proposal and improved it, but I could tell she was also a little disappointed. I hoped she wasn't disappointed in me.

I delivered the proposal to Brad Barker at the beginning of the following week. We also discussed the festival, and he gave me a proposed shopping list he had worked out with Henry and the rest of the planning committee. I told him I would review the list and get back to him the next day.

The farm had become a beehive of activity in the last week. Besides the picking crews, Henry, as the winemaker, had begun pressing grapes. He had a small crew helping him run the presses and fill the kegs. What I thought of as a quiet little farm had become a bustling operation.

I was coming to the end of my third week at the farm and needed to decide what to do next. There was so much that needed taking care of that I felt I couldn't leave now. However, my bosses had only agreed to four weeks of leave. If I were going to stay, I would need to talk with my bosses at Franklin and take some leave without pay. I wasn't sure how well that would go over. I would also need to speak with Chet and Deb. All of this was a jumble in my head as I headed down to the barn to talk with Steve at the end of the workday.

Steve wasn't in his office, so I headed out the back door of the barn to see if he was still in the vineyards. At the door, I stopped dead in my tracks. Steve was standing naked in the outdoor shower behind the barn. He was facing away from me, his body covered in soap suds, glowing in the setting sun. I was rooted there, staring at this Adonis, his muscles rippling as he scrubbed away the dirt of the day.

The shower was against the back wall of the barn, sheltered from the house and the rest of the farm, looking out over the vineyard to the west. Steve and I shared some wonderful times that last summer, washing off the dust of our adventures and making love under the cool flow of water. All of those memories came flooding back.

Then he turned, and I saw his cock. How many nights had I dreamt of his cock, long and thick? How many times had I strummed my pussy, imagining it was his cock making me feel good? Seeing it again was even better than I remembered.

"Hello there," he said with a big smile and no sense of modesty. I stammered something and started to retreat into the barn when he reached out and grabbed me, pulling me into the shower and kissing me. We stood there for minutes, him naked and me clothed in a now drenched sundress, kissing. The world stopped spinning. All the worries about the festival, the proposal, work, and all the years melted away. It was just the two of us.

When we finally pulled apart, he began undressing me, pulling my dress over my head. I kicked off my sneakers, helped him remove my bra, and shimmied out of my panties as we continued to kiss, our hands exploring our naked bodies. His cock was semi-hard and getting harder, and my hands seemed to gravitate there, stroking him. He was kissing my neck and soon sucked a nipple into his mouth. All of the tension between us these past weeks flowed off of us like the soap suds swirling around the drain. I wanted this, he wanted this, we wanted this. When he pushed me against the barn wall and entered me, it felt like I had finally come home.

Our love was urgent and passionate. It was also tender. Neither of us said anything more than incoherent moans. This was not just weeks of tension dissolving. This was years of longing exploding in both of us. He seemed as driven as I was, as if that was even possible. With our kisses, our hands, our bodies, our sex, we both wanted it all at once.

Finally, we slumped against the barn wall, the cool water still flowing over us. All I could say was, "Wow!" and even then, he interrupted me with another kiss.

Finally, reality started intruding, and I worried someone would find us there. Steve just laughed and pulled on his jeans before handing me my wet dress. "Come with me," he said, taking my hand and leading me toward the quarry.

As we approached, I heard the squeals and laughter. It seems that after work, the crew had all headed down here for an after-hours party. There was a large bonfire, coolers of wine and food, and thirty kids swimming, drinking, and partying, mostly naked. Here were the nymphs and satyrs that would make Bacchus proud.

As we approached, someone yelled out, and suddenly, everyone applauded and cheered. It seemed the whole crew expected Steve and me to hook up and wanted it to happen. Soon, I was surrounded by a dozen naked girls pulling off my clothes and leading me into the water. The boys were cheering, and Steve was standing there with a big smile on his face. He dropped his jeans and dove into the water, surfacing beside me.

"You were keeping this from me as well," I accused him with a smile.

"You have a lot on your plate. I haven't been down here much this year, so I figured we'd just let the kids have their fun." He leaned in and kissed me to another cheer from the group.

"It seems the Bacchanalia has already started," I said.

I was a bit shy, never having been naked around this many people or this public in my sexuality. The kids had no such shyness. People were eating, drinking, and making out all around us. They had set up tents in the field near the quarry, and some of them moved back there to continue their lovemaking. All around me was a hedonistic orgy the likes of which I'd never seen before.

Steve and I enjoyed the food and the wine and stole kisses now and then. We were still the center of attention and didn't make love again in public, though there were couples around us not showing the same restraint. At the end of the evening, Steve walked me back to the house. I was a little unsure about what had just happened. Steve and I hadn't discussed what I would do next, and now there were more complications for me to figure out. I needed to talk with Deb. I needed to sort out what I would do about Chet. If anything, my mind was more of a mess, though my body was having a little party of its own.

"It just happened," I whined to Deb. She was ecstatic. She wanted to know how it happened, how it was, all the gory details. "He was naked, and then I was naked, and neither of us stopped." I told her it was good and then about the party by the quarry. "It's like this place is some sort of sexual summer camp. All the kids are naked and swimming and having sex in the open. I've never seen anything like it."

"What are you going to tell Chet?"

I just moaned. "What am I going to tell Franklin? I need more time to figure everything out. What if this was a one-off? We're not kids anymore. We have a business to run."

"An orgy to host," Deb teased.

"Fuck. I went down there to sort some things out and made everything worse."

"Don't worry about Franklin. They'd be crazy to push you. Remember, deep breaths," Deb advised.

"What am I going to tell Chet? This is what we were worried would happen." I was whining again. I felt like my life was out of control.

"Just tell Chet you need some more time there, that maybe you need a break for a bit. He doesn't need to know about Steve. Not yet, anyway." I could hear her taking deep breaths. "I'll talk to Franklin. You'll have to ask for more time, but I can soften them up for you." I thanked her. "You need to talk to Steve and get things sorted there."

"I know, I know." We hung up, and I just sat there, alone for a long while.

I wussed out with Chet. I called him after a bit and said I had a rough day and that it was really hard dealing with stuff here. I think he knew something was up, but he didn't pressure me.

The next day, I showed up in the vineyard later than usual. The crew was happy to see me. They thought it was great that I came to the party. It was as though they had a secret that they didn't have to hide from me any longer. Steve just smiled and didn't say anything. It was a bit awkward, or maybe I just felt a bit awkward. At the end of the day, when I followed him into the office, he apologized. "I'm sorry about last night. I shouldn't have..." He let the last bit trail off.

"You don't have to apologize. I wanted it, too." I sat on his desk, just looking at him. He just looked at me. I don't think either of us knew what to say. "Does it change anything?" I asked. He sighed and shrugged. I said I'd see him tomorrow and walked slowly back to the house.

"You're killing me," Deb said when I called her. I told her my life was a mess. "Are you kidding me? You've fucked your dream guy. You've got a great guy here waiting for you. You own a vineyard. You are hosting an orgy in two weeks. Which part is a mess?" That made me laugh. "Didn't you say your aunt would tell you to confront your issues, take control of your life, or some such rot?" I knew I was in trouble when Deb quoted my aunt to me. "It's good advice," she said.

The next day, I was working a row of vines with a few of the girls. I could tell they wanted to talk about the party and Steve and me but didn't know how to ask. Finally, Melissa sort of just blurted out, "So you and Steve.... eh?" I probably blushed, making the girls giggle, and Chryse told her to mind her own business.

"Steve and I have known each other a long time," I told them. "We have history, you know." That made them giggle again. So yeah, I needed to take control.

I asked Steve to come to dinner that night, and he agreed. We sat on the porch and had pasta with sausage, salad from the garden, wine, and fresh bread. I didn't know what to say, but as it turned out, Steve stepped up and started us off. "I've missed you, and it has been tough working with you and not being us, you know the way we were." He took a big bite of pasta, and I did the same. Both of us let food keep us from saying anything for a bit. "I know we've both grown up. Hell, we own a vineyard that we have to run."

I laughed. "Who would have guessed when we were kids that would happen?"

"Sometimes I wonder if Belle did this..." He waved his arm across the farm. "If she did this to get us together?"

"I hope to hell she didn't die for that reason."

"No, I don't think that was her plan." He smiled and took a sip of wine.

"Everyone says she lived her life in the present and made the most of every day," I said. "I saw that myself as a kid growing up here. I guess that is one more lesson she can teach us, that we never know when our time is up."

We watched the sunset over the vines before I spoke again. "I've missed that carefree us from so long ago, and I wondered if we could capture a bit of that. I felt like maybe we did the other night in the shower." I set my dishes aside and moved beside him on the porch swing, curling into his arms.

Capture it we did. Over the next four days, we spent nearly all our time together. We worked in the vineyard, cooked and ate wonderful meals, slept in the big bed, and made love every night. It wasn't like our last summer, or maybe I should call it our first summer. We were older now, with experiences and responsibilities. I think that made it better for both of us.

I told him about some of my relationships over the past nine years, and he told me about some of his. We joked and laughed. I couldn't believe how wonderful it all felt. Lying in bed together, both of us naked after sex, I stared at him and wondered how I could be so lucky.

One morning, as the first rays of light crept through the window, I was splayed out, catching my breath, and Steve was propped up on one arm, looking at me with a smirk. "What are you thinking?" I asked.

"How much Belle would like seeing you here like this."

I laughed. "Naked and ravished?" I could feel his seed leaking out of me.

He chuckled. "That too, probably. I was thinking she'd love seeing you here at the farm. I see that girl I knew years ago now. You weren't like that when you first arrived. I was worried you had changed, maybe we had changed, that we had lost something special. If anything, this feels even better."

I moved to hold him, resting my head on his chest. "It does feel better, maybe more real."

Our first bump came when Steve learned about my proposal for Barker's General Store. Brad Barker turned down Franklin's offer, as I knew he would. There just wasn't enough in it for him to want to sell. Steve saw my copy of the proposal on the bookshelf and asked me about it. I had previously explained my work to him, but he didn't know about the proposal to buy Barker's.

"What's the matter with the store?" he asked in a gruff voice I hadn't heard in a long time.

"Nothing is wrong with the store. It's a great place. You know, this is what I do. My company buys small independent stores like Barkers." Steve grumbled and still looked pissed. We were in the kitchen finishing breakfast. I took the dishes to the sink and went over to kiss him. "It doesn't matter. Brad Barker turned me down." We didn't talk about it for the rest of the day, but I could tell it still bothered him.

"I'm sorry I reacted the way I did," he said when we returned to the office after work. "I know you were just doing your job."

"You know, working on that proposal gave me another week here," I told him. "Of course, maybe you'd rather I'd left and was out of your way." He looked up at me, surprised, and I laughed. "I'm joking." I walked over, leaned my forehead against his, and kissed him. "Let's go get dinner."

We walked back to the house holding hands. The Bacchanalia was just ten days away now. Some folks would start arriving in the middle of next week. I felt like everything was falling into place.

That night, after dinner, Steve volunteered to clean up while I sat on the porch and called Deb. It had been a few days since we talked, and I was sure she wanted an update. "Have you told Chet?" she asked. I said I'd sent him a few texts, telling him I was super busy. "You really shouldn't leave him hanging," she said.

"I know. It's just that this is exactly what he feared would happen, and I almost promised it wouldn't." I felt guilty, like I had led him on or something.

"Just tell him," Deb said.

My mother wrote to tell me she would be arriving on Thursday. I said she could stay with me in the big house. I considered moving into the small house next to the barn that Steve used.

Deb said she was coming up on Wednesday and would stay through the weekend. I warned Steve about her. "She can be a little intense, but she is really good deep down. She probably just wants to check you out and make sure you're good enough for me." We were cooking dinner together on Monday evening. "Either that, or she just wants free wine. I doubt she could stay away from a great party."

"It is going to be a great party. Maybe the best ever," Steve said.

Deb arrived late Wednesday afternoon. I'd cleaned up the guest room for her. Steve said he would stay at his place, but I told him that wouldn't be necessary. "Are you kidding? That is not how you are going to win points with Deb. She wants to see lots of public displays of affection, if not outright sex," I told him. Still, he insisted, at least for the first night, giving the two of us some girl time together. I made him promise to stay over starting on Thursday night, and he reluctantly agreed.

Deb raved about the wine and the food. Afterward, when Steve had left, she raved about the farm and about Steve. "Oh my god, girl. He is even better than you described." She caught me up with everything at work, including all the gossip.

"Am I going to have a job when I return after dragging this out for three more weeks than we agreed to?" I asked her.

"About that..." She got up, went to her bag, and pulled out one of Franklin's proposal binders, handing it to me.

"What's this?" I stared at the cover, and it hit me. "Oh my god, what the fuck?" Right there on the front, it read: Franklin Holdings, LLC Baccus Vineyard Proposal.

A proposal is sort of the reverse of the annual report we prepared for the shareholders, and everything was there: profits and loss, expected earnings, and capital investments. Of course, the difference is the last page, which has an offer to buy and a proposed price. The bottom line number was generous, to say the least, well beyond anything I could have imagined.

"I may have talked up the vineyard a little too well," Deb admitted. I sat there in shock, staring at the binder. "Of course, you don't have to accept it, but it is good to know what all of this is worth, isn't it?" she asked sheepishly.

"I'll have to bring this up to the shareholders," I said in a whisper. "I'm just a part owner of the vineyard. Henry made a point of telling me that Aunt Belle never did anything without first getting everyone's approval." All of this was a big mess, happening two days before the shareholders' meeting. I decided I needed to talk with Chris Sanders, my Aunt's lawyer. I thought about what Steve would think of this, and it wasn't good.

Then things got worse. Deb told me that after my last text with Chet, he had called her. They talked for hours and then got together for drinks the next day. "You've got to call him. It is only fair."

I didn't sleep much that night. The next day, my mother arrived. I tried to talk with her about all of this, mostly because I thought talking about it would clear some of it in my head. I did not expect her to offer sound advice on the vineyard or my love life. To her credit, she listened. I think she was impressed with the value of the Baccus Vineyards, as represented by the proposal offer. I thought she might want to sell, putting us closer to the 50% share needed to win any vote if I went in that direction.

She had no real way of judging Chet or Steve, but she seemed to understand my situation. However, talking it out with her only muddled my mind about what to do.

I met with Chris Sanders that afternoon. He, too, was impressed with the offer to buy the vineyard. He said we could give the report the same way we planned, and then I could give a brief presentation about the proposal at the end. He asked me what I wanted to do, whether I wanted to sell or not. "I just don't know."

I met Steve in the office at the end of the day. He told me the crew was excited about the Bacchanalia and probably planning some events of their own. "I have something to show you," I finally said and slid the proposal for the vineyard across his desk. He looked at the cover and frowned. Having seen the proposal for the store, he knew what it was. He turned to the last page, and his eyes widened when he saw the price offered. Then he looked up at me.

"Why did you do this? I thought..." He had that gruff voice again.

"I didn't do this. I didn't know anything about it. Deb said it was the idea of my boss at Franklin." I was pleading with him to believe me. I knew it looked bad, and I knew he wouldn't like it, even though he would make a sizable return on his investment like the rest of us. He just sat there, thumbing through the proposal and glaring at it.

He stood up suddenly and dropped the proposal on his desk. "Fine," was all he said.

"What does that mean? What do you want to do?" I asked.

"I don't know," he said and looked at me for the first time since I'd given him the proposal. "I need to think about it."

"Okay," I said, not sure what to do next.

"You have guests you need to take care of, your mother and Deb. Some of the others have arrived. I'm sure they will want to talk with you about this." I told him we had already discussed it, and I wanted to talk with him about it. "I just need some time to read the proposal and think. We'll have to bring this up at the meeting. I'll see you tomorrow." He picked up the proposal and walked out, heading to his house.

"I'm so sorry. I should have told you," Deb said when I returned to the house.

My mother and Deb were cooking dinner and getting along like best friends. They said that they thought, or hoped, I would either stay with Steve or bring him back to dinner. They had certainly made enough food to feed all of us, and they had been drinking enough wine. That night, I lay in bed wondering what had gone wrong and what I could do to fix things. What would Aunt Belle want? What would she do?

Friday was chaos. Folks were arriving. Brad Barker and his crew set up the pig roast, the food tables, and the tents. The picking crew in their togas welcomed people and directed them where they needed to go. They all looked so sexy and cute with laurel wreaths on their heads. Even my mother and Deb got into the spirit, looking like Roman princesses.

As the sun set, everyone gathered in the big tent for the business meeting. I could tell folks were excited about the meal and the rest of the festivities. Chris Sanders ran the meeting, hitting the highlights over the past year. I have to say that the crowd was rowdy, cheering at points and jeering at other points. There were a lot of tributes to Belle and what she had done. I came in for a lot of praise as well. Generally, everyone thought I was an excellent choice to pick up the reins and move forward with the vineyard.

I was standing next to Chris as he wrapped up his portion of the meeting. Just before speaking and telling everyone about the proposal, I looked up and saw Chet walking into the tent in the back. He looked out of place in jeans and a t-shirt, surrounded by toga-wearing participants. This was the worst timing. Still, I needed to push forward and deal with the proposal.

I told the crowd that the last six weeks had been the best of my life and that while I missed Belle every day, being back on the farm had been magical. I thanked all of them for making this happen over the years and for having the confidence in me to take over. Then, I told them about Franklin's proposal to buy the vineyard. At first, there was silence, as if no one understood what I had said. Then there were shouts and questions, and everything broke into bedlam. Finally, Steve stepped up in a booming voice and told everyone to calm down and listen to what I had to say. I answered as many questions as possible and said we needed to vote on the proposal. Again, there were shouts, and again, Steve stepped in to calm things.

The vote was simple: either accept the proposal and take the buyout or reject it and keep doing what we were doing. When we held the vote, some folks voted to sell. However, it probably amounted to about 15% of the shares. The overwhelming mood was to reject the proposal, including Steve, Henry, and my mother. I was the last to vote, and with my share in the farm, it would determine which way we went.

I looked at Chet in the back of the room. I looked at my mother and Deb, standing in the front row, holding hands and waiting to see what I would do. I looked at Henry, Chris, and the other folks from town who had welcomed me with open arms. Then I looked at Steve. At first, he crossed his arms across his chest as if he were expecting me to sell. Then he smiled. I rejected the offer, and everyone cheered. We had a vineyard, and we had a party, an orgy.

When I looked up, Chet was standing there, looking a little shocked. I walked over and embraced him. "I'm sorry, I should have told you."

"I get it. This is beyond anything I could have imagined." Then Deb walked over in her very fetching toga. She said he needed to get with the program, took him by the arm, and led him away.

"Looks like we have a vineyard to run," Steve said.

"We do, but first, we have an orgy to host." I smiled up at him, and he leaned in to kiss me. The meal was as gluttonous as any Roman banquet, and the play was hilarious. Steve and Henry came in for a lot of good-natured ribbing, and I was portrayed as the savior who saved all of the wine. They even included Aunt Belle, who had earned her place among the gods. Steve looked great in his toga and won the best male toga. There wasn't much competition. The female competition was much more challenging, with the girls mostly appearing barefoot and topless as they skipped across the stage.

The next day, Deb was a hit at the wine pressing when her toga fell off, and she just tossed it away, continuing to stomp grapes naked. When she finally got out of the barrel, she raced over to Chet and gave him a big hug. He looked smitten. I was pretty sure Deb would be happy with Chet, and I just hoped he could handle her. I couldn't deny they were a cute couple and seemed to be having a great time.

Mom and Henry hooked up as well. This was a side of my mother I had never seen before. She was playful and happy. They would sneak off to the house together and then return to the party smiling. Each time, my mother's perfectly quaffed hair would be a little more messed up, and by Sunday, I thought it looked a lot like a darker version of Aunt Belles' birdnest of curls. She even had some flowers tucked in there. I wondered if she was doing that to her hair to make her look more like Belle, if maybe Henry was doing that to her hair, or if it was just something that happened here. Whatever the cause, both of them looked amazingly happy, laughing and shoving each other playfully, like a couple of kids. I don't think I'd ever seen my mother that happy before.

Of course, Steve and I were the center of attention. I finally relaxed as we walked through the festival hand in hand. Steve would lean over and whisper in my ear or give me little kisses. During the scavenger hunt, we snuck off and made love among the vines. Of course, we were discovered by the three nymphs, Thyia, Melissa, and Chryse, who had dragged one of the satyrs off to do unspeakable things to him. They surrounded us, squealed and laughed, and then led the lucky boy a few rows over, not exactly out of earshot. Steve laughed, and when I reached for my toga, he pinned me to the ground and went back to fucking me.

The Bacchanalia ended with fireworks over the vineyard I hadn't known about. Standing there, wrapped in Steve's arms with everyone cheering, I knew I had done the right thing keeping the vineyard, and I knew Aunt Belle would be happy. I was home.