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From: "Gina Marie Wylie" <gmwylie98260@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Spitfire and Messerschmitt Ch 14 {Gina Marie Wylie} (mf)
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Date: Wed, 22 Sep 2004 03:10:02 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Davey Ch 14.doc" begin>

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	The following is fiction of an adult nature.  If I believed in
setting age limits for things, you'd have to be eighteen to read
this and I'd never have bothered to write it.  IMHO, if you can
read and enjoy, then you're old enough to read and enjoy.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	All persons here depicted are figments of my imagination and any
resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly a blunder on my
part.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	Official stuff:  Story codes: teen, mf, cons.

	If stories like this offend you, you will offend ME if you read
further and complain. Copyright 2004, by Gina Marie Wylie. 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	I can be reached at gmwylie98260@hothothotmail.com, at least if
you remove some of the hots.  All comments and reasoned
discussion welcome.

Below is my site on ASSTR:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Gina_Marie_Wylie/www/

My stories are also posted on StoriesOnline:
http://Storiesonline.net/

And on Electronic Wilderness Publishing:
http://www.ewpub.org/

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


Spitfire and Messerschmitt

Chapter 14 :: Refreshers

When we got home the lights were out and all the cars were parked
in their customary places.  Wanda, as usual, had her keys out and
unlocked the door, letting us into the living room.

I started to walk past her, but she put her hand on my arm and
stopped me.  "You didn't get off, tonight, did you?"

I shrugged.  "I have a lovely souvenir to contemplate.  Mercedes
said to put it on my bedpost overnight and dream of her."

"I didn't get off either.  I told Emily earlier, one way or
another, tonight I was going to have some guy between my legs. 
Jack and I talked a lot, but we didn't..."

I nodded.  Right then my cell phone went off.  I expected the
worst, instead it was the best: Mercedes.

"Are you home, Davey?" Mercedes asked.

"Wanda and I just walked through the door," I told her.

"Davey, are you going to do what I asked you to do?"

"Yes," I told her.  "I'm going to give it back one of these days.
 On a good day."

She chuckled, "That's good!  Because Dad told me the replacement
comes out of my allowance.  Davey, about Wanda."

"What about Wanda?" I asked, not sure what she was thinking.

Wanda perked up at the mention of her name.  "Davey, I know she
probably doesn't know it, but I like her.  I think you and me are
important, but nothing should come between you and your sister."

"You mean..."  I started to say, but Mercedes interrupted.

"Davey, did you know people can listen to cell phone calls?"

I'd heard that.  Then I remembered Blade, Willy Coy and Hammer. 
I suspected if they wanted it, tomorrow the sun would rise in the
west and set in the east.

"Tell Wanda hello from me," Mercedes told me and then hung up.

Wanda wanted to know what part of the conversation was about her,
so I told her.  I wasn't entirely sure that I'd gotten the
message right, but I sure thought it sounded like Mercedes had
just told me that she wouldn't object if I made love to Wanda
again.

Wanda listened to my explanation and my thoughts.  "I like that
girl!  I do!  She is the smartest of all her brothers and
sisters!  Not that it's hard, because her oldest sister, even
though she was a fellow cheerleader, is as dumb as a stump.  It
took two people just to help keep her with a C average."

Wanda smiled.  "In that case, Davey, I think it best we get some
sleep tonight."

I'd been semi-hard, now I deflated; the hangdog look on my face
must have spoken volumes.

She chuckled, "No silly!  I mean the sooner you fuck my socks
off, the sooner we can get some sleep!"

I don't know why she talked about socks; two minutes later we
were naked in my bed.  I'd wanted to refresh my memory about how
to go down on a girl; Wanda wanted to refresh her memory about
how much she liked having a guy between her legs.  As usual,
first my sister got her way.

She pulled me down on top of her, fitted me into her, and started
moving against me.  As I moved against her, try as I might, I
couldn't stop making some sounds.  A few seconds later, Wanda
gave a little shriek, and then laughed.  That was enough to make
me come, right then.

"What?" I said, a little peeved.  I'd planned on going a little
longer before I came the first time.

"I was just mentally crossing my fingers that either our parents
really are cool about this or they are sleeping really soundly."

"Ditto Emily," I said, nodding.

Wanda just crumpled, like some giant had mashed a pop can.  "I
hope to God, Davey, she wasn't telling me what I wanted to hear.
That girl is sorely troubled, Davey.  She doesn't know what to
do.  She has moral principles and strong ones.  But you can take
just so much abuse from your mother, lack of support from
everyone else before it begins to tell.  Mom made me think, after
it happened to me, about what I was going to do if I was
pregnant.

"I had a bunch of test kits, I started testing at two weeks. 
Every day after that, until my next period.  Crossing my fingers,
praying every day.  God!  I had Mom!  I had Pammie!  Emily had
her shit-for-brains mother and a spineless father!"

I remembered the morning I'd met Emily at the doctor's office. 
"Was Doctor Jacoby your doctor?" I asked her and she nodded. 
"Did she help?  Did she talk to you?"

"Some, she was the one who knew a good counselor.  God, I respect
that woman!  The counselor, I mean.  She put me back together. 
Emily told me that her mother didn't want to pay and when Dr.
Jacoby got the counselor to offer to do it for free, her mother
didn't want to waste the time!"

I patted my suddenly sobbing sister on the shoulder; I'd long
since shriveled up to nothing.

Finally, she dried her eyes by wiping them on her shoulder.  "I
was going to spend more time with you, but Davey, I need to see
how she's doing!"

"Go!" I told her.

Wanda went and I laid back in my bed.

I'd wondered, when Mercedes had said she didn't have a problem
with my sleeping with Wanda, why she wouldn't get jealous.  And
yet, Wanda had just rushed off to be with Emily and I was the
opposite of jealous; I was hoping we'd not messed Emily up worse
than she already was.  Could it be as simple as that?  If you
loved and respected someone, you loved and respected them?  You
couldn't spend twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, three
hundred and sixty-five days a year with them.  It wouldn't be
fair to tell someone you loved, "Don't have any other friends but
me!"

I woke up suddenly, listening to voices and splashing from the
pool.  I distinctly heard Wanda say, "Emily!  You need to make
more noise!  Or that stupid boy will stay in bed until noon!"

Now that was really unfair!  I almost always got up earlier than
Wanda, particularly on the weekend.  I bounded up, grabbed a pair
of shorts and dashed outside.

And stopped.  Wanda and Emily were standing on the side of the
pool, holding hands, about to do another double cannonball.  This
time, Wanda had managed to talk Emily out of her clothes.  Woody
time!

Wanda grinned at me, and then they jumped, showering water all
over the place.

She came up, shaking her head, spraying water like a dog would. 
"I'll wait until you go to baseball practice, Davey, then, I
promise, cross my heart," she ran her fingers over her left
breast, pausing at her nipple, then flicked it a few times.  "I
will take care of the chemicals.  I'll even clean the pool while
I'm at it."

She pointed at my shorts.  "Either you take them off, or I
will!"

I'd been thinking about Emily and her state of undress; that was
the first few inches on the slippery slope -- plenty enough to
get me hard.  Watching Wanda flick her nipple made the difference
from being erect and being painfully erect.

"Ah, Wanda, I am not exactly at my modest proportions at the
moment."

I saw Emily staring at me; I couldn't read the expression on her
face, so I decided she just had to be shocked and horrified and
didn't need to see a naked guy with a hard-on.

"Don't be an idiot, Davey!  It's about time Emily got to see what
did the damage!  Next time, she's got to understand how small a
guy really is in the great scheme of things, and just how easy it
is to twist that crank right off!  Take off your shorts or I
will!"

To my surprise, Emily met my eyes and gave the briefest nod of
her head.  I sighed, undid my shorts and let them drop.  I stood
still for a second, then cannon-balled into the pool, myself.

Wanda slithered up to me, rubbed her breasts across my chest. 
"How are they hanging, little brother?"

"It's me I'm worried about hanging, Wanda," I told her.

She laughed, then reached out and grabbed my hand and tugged me
towards Emily.

"Emily, this morning you are going to get an important lesson
about boys, Davey in particular.  Mind you, I'm not trying to
change your mind or tell you I don't want to spend my nights with
you.  I do.  But there are some things you need to know."

Emily nodded, her face serious.

"Davey, is that item of apparel still hanging on your bed post?"

It was, but I blushed anyway.

"Mercedes gave Davey her bra last night, told him to put it on
his bedpost and think about her last night.  You did, right?"

I had, in my dreams.  Twice.

"Do you know why she did that, Emily?"  Emily shook her head.

"Because yesterday Mercedes went to the school nurse and got a
contraceptive shot.  Except she has to wait a few days for it to
be effective.  So, last night, Davey and Mercedes kissed.  And
nothing more."

"And now, Emily, right now my dear little brother has an
erection.  Tell me, Emily, when did he get it?"

Emily looked at Wanda like she'd never considered it, and
wouldn't.

"Yeah, I thought so!  Girl, let me tell you something."  Wanda
hefted one of her breasts.  "This is more than a mouthful.  It's
more than a handful.  It is, in fact, more than what fits in two
hands and a mouth."

She smiled at me, and then turned back to Emily.  "Emily, since I
first started growing, from the time I had only two teeny, tiny
bumps on my chest, Davey has stared at them whenever we were
alone.

I blushed even harder.  I'd gone years thinking she had never
noticed!

"But as I got older and my breasts got bigger, I noticed that
when there was another girl around with smaller breasts, those
were the ones Davey stared at.

"It's a fact of nature, Emily.  There are a certain number of
nerve endings in a human breast.  Doesn't matter if they are 48
DDD or 32 AAA.  Yep, a guy can wrap both hands and his mouth
around one of mine, and it doesn't feel as good as a guy with his
mouth sucking on one of yours.  Plus, that means he can finger
you and stroke your other breast at the same time.  I make that
out a whole lot better than Doublemint gum.  More like Triplemint
or Quadruplemint.

"Davey is standing here, hard as a rock, because he got hard
looking at you, Emily.  Not me.  Oh sure, when he can get his
hands on these," she rubbed her breasts, "he's as happy as
anyone.  But he'd rather be with someone like you or Mercedes."

I swallowed and decided that Wanda had made her point, so I spoke
up.  "I'm going to swim.  I have practice to go to in a while; I
need to work out some."

I really plowed a furrow through the pool, swimming harder than
ever.  This time I pushed myself past my limits until I was
nearly dizzy with exhaustion.  At least Wanda and Emily had gone
back inside.

I chinned myself a few time and then took a long shower.  For
breakfast I went and had something more than two pieces of toast
and a glass of orange juice.  About nine, I got a call from
Mercedes, asking if I had a ride to practice.

I told her Wanda had volunteered.

"My dad says he'll take us and wait until we're done.  Would you
ask and see if she'd mind us doing it?"

I knew the answer to that before I asked.  Wanda punched the sky
and said, "Yes!  Shopping!  Shopping!  Shopping!"

I told Mercedes I was ready.  When Mercedes and her father showed
up a few minutes later, I went out and got into the back seat of
their van.

Again, practice started with exercises and warm-ups but Mercedes
had turned in her papers and she was there with the rest of us. 
Coach Wells had us run like usual; I was pleased that Mercedes
was right beside me, as we ran the quarter mile around the
diamond.

She looked around when we'd finished, watching some of the others
puffing in obvious distress.  She caught my eye, and shrugged. 
Well, I'd told her about it.  Most of the baseball team didn't
impress me at all.  Maybe they would get better in the spring,
but why wait?

Then it was hitting drill, like before.  I'd sock the pitches
over the fence almost every time and twice I hit to straightaway
center field.

Mercedes was just like she'd said.  She could pull the ball
really well, dropping it just past the infield, on either side of
second base, wherever there was a gap in the coverage.  The only
way the outfield could play her would be in.

Then general fielding followed by specialty workouts.

Coach Delgado stood next to me this time and went over the signs
with me, then stood at my elbow again, while the batters came up,
one by one.

Chuck was first.  The catcher called for three straight
fastballs, one right after the other.  I was feeling good; I'd
not felt a twinge at all during the week, even when I'd dived
onto my hand at the theater, so I went all out.  Chuck took three
swings, all late.

Then Mercedes stood facing me.  I'd been sweating a little, now
it poured off in buckets.  The first pitch was supposed to be a
curve, low and inside.

Mercedes fell backward out of the box, the ball missing her by a
hair.  Waist high and way, way inside.  But hey, it had curved --
curved and then curved some more.

"That was nice action on the curve," Coach Delgado told me, "and
a good thing she's fast on her feet!"

The next pitch called was the same.  And the pitch I served up
floated waist high; maybe it curved, maybe not.  The important
thing, though, was that Mercedes had picked up that it was Coach
Delgado doing the pitch calling, knew he'd called the same pitch.
 So she tried to hit it, except her swing was nearly in the dirt,
while the pitch was two feet higher.

"I'm still working the kinks out of my curveball," I told Coach
Delgado.

His voice was quiet, "I'm not going to signal.  Pitch curveballs,
waist high until I tell you to stop."

The third one was right.  Mercedes hadn't seen the sign, and had
been, I thought, relying on it.  As a result she stood there,
while the ball cut a solid corner off the plate.

I saw her eyes glint, and I just wound up and threw.  She tipped
it foul.  Four pitches later, she got it down between first and
second and went back to the end of the line.

"Catcher, again," the Coach told me.

The third batter I recognized as the guy who'd faced Sean in the
cafeteria when I had my fight with Terry Toohey.  The first pitch
called was an inside, low fastball, and I dished it up perfect. 
The guy picked it up, and tried to golf it, but missed, hitting
the dirt with his bat instead.

I winced.  I'd done that a time or two in grade school.  It
hurt.

The next pitch was supposed to be inside again, a waist-high
fastball.  I was a little out over the center of the plate, just
a little low.  He swung level, aiming for the seats in the
outfield.

I pulled my glove up, and when it was in front of my face, I said
to Coach Delgado, "I think the word is out on the signs."

"Yeah!  Call your own pitches, Davey!  From here on out, I'll
sign high fastball, outside."

I fired a fastball, my very best ever; belt high over the middle
of the plate.  He missed it by a foot, and it was nearly to the
catcher before his swing really got underway.

He did something like a curtsey, so I lifted my cap to him.

I faced three more batters, dealing a few curves and more
fastballs.  Towards the end, I could feel my arm tiring, so I
tried a few change-ups.  It was clear that the batters in the
line were trading information; the changeups were really
effective at first, as the hitters would get way out in front of
them.

Then I joined the line, right behind the guy from the cafeteria.
"Davey Harper," I told him, holding out my hand,  "Thanks, for
the other day."

"Rob Oliver, left fielder and normally batting fifth.  I was
hoping to do better this year."

I had a feeling he was talking about the fact he couldn't hit my
pitching and was probably going to drop in the batting order.

"The pitching coach says I have a weird way of throwing, that
it's hard to pick up on what it is I'm going to do."

"That, and I got only the one shot, after we picked up on the
signs."

"It's competition," I told him, "the other side wants to win too.
 You have to adjust."

I said that and stood mildly amazed.  Those were my father's
words come home to roost.  And it wasn't the first time, either!

"You adjust better.  That was awesome, the other day, by the way.
 I didn't do anything but stare at the clown; he  was so
shell-shocked he just stood there."

When it was his turn, he hit a solid double out to the right
field corner.

The first pitch to me was sweet, and I hit it as hard as I've
ever hit a ball.  A foul ball, though.  It went down the line of
batters waiting to hit, like a rocket, three feet over their
heads.  It was like a cartoon -- they were diving right, left...
anything to get out of the way.

Except Mercedes, who went up and snagged the ball barehanded and
lightly tossed it out to the mound.  I winced, remembering the
ball I'd caught the other day.  But Mercedes laughed when someone
said something and clapped her hands together.  I wouldn't have
been able to do that last Saturday, and if I had I'd have been on
my knees from the pain.

The next pitch was just as sweet and I hit it even better.  It
bounced well on the other side of the center-field fence.

After the practice Coach Wells called us all together.  "Tuesday,
we're going to work as a team; we'll scrimmage.  Freshman and
sophomores against the upperclassmen.  Saturday morning, at
eleven, Lake Terrace's squad will be here, and we'll play a
practice game.  Get your game faces ready!  I want them wondering
what hit them!"

Mercedes and I walked towards the parking lot afterwards.  "Did
you do like I asked?" she said, a mischievous grin on her face.

"I did."  I reached out and touched her arm.  "Do you want to
know when Wanda and I...?"

She looked at me and then smiled.  "Davey, you have a ways to go
before I'm not going to know.  I told you, it's not a problem. 
Okay?"

"I'm a little confused," I told her, "I thought you'd be jealous.
 Or Wanda would be jealous..."  Or, I added to myself, I would
feel more guilty.

"Do you love me?" she asked.

"Yes!" I replied, meaning it.

"Then, Davey, I'm not jealous.  I can't spend every minute of my
life with you; you can't spend every minute of your life with me.
 There are going to be others in our lives, I know it, Davey.  I
won't be jealous, if you promise not to be."

Chuck Bradshaw came up, running.  "Just a quick thanks, Davey! 
Pammie and I had a long talk yesterday.  Thanks for the help!" 
He went on, heading towards the parking lot.

"What help?" Mercedes asked.

"I'm not sure who I'm helping.  Pammie's interested in him, and
he's interested in Pammie.  I think I'm mildly facilitating
something that didn't need any help."

She chuckled.  "And I'm not jealous of Pammie being with someone
else.  Are you?"

"Me?" I asked, surprised.

"Sure, I mean, you had your chance.  Real soon now, her birth
control will kick in again.  No matter what you think, Pammie
likes getting what she wants.  She wanted you.  She wouldn't kick
you out of bed."

"It was a wooden picnic table," I told her.

Mercedes thought that was funny, even when I told her Pammie had
put down a towel on top of it.

"Go home," she told me.  "Shower.  I'll be over about three and
we can study."  She saw my expression, and shook her head. 
"Study.  Tonight, you and my dad play poker and I check out what
it's like to be a babysitter."

I looked at Mercedes.  "I know this sounds stupid, I just want
you to know that I'm not really as dumb as I sound.  I don't have
hardly any way to earn the money to go on vacation in the summer.
 I can't baby-sit.  There are no newspaper routes unless I have a
car; I'm too young to work most places.  On the other hand, if
I'm sitting down playing poker with the Chief of Police and other
civic leaders, at least I have a shot."

"Davey, they've played the game for years and years.  They are
going to clean you out."

"They might," I told her.  "But I'm not stupid.  I watched and
learned last week.  Long before Hannelore Kimmel self-destructed.
 I think I have a window of opportunity here for one or two more
weeks.  Then we'll see.  What I did was put all but a hundred
dollars aside.

"I have what I started with, plus a hundred thirty-five dollars
that I won last week -- that's almost three hundred dollars and
I'm going to put two thirds of it in the bank.  If the hundred
dollars goes to zero, then I stop.  I'm going to put half my
winnings any week I have winnings into the bank, and use the rest
to fill up my hundred dollars.  If I have more than a hundred,
the excess goes into the bank, too."

"Gambling is addictive."

"My dad said the other night, he's addicted to his morning cup of
coffee.  It's only when your addictions lead you to screw up,
that they are bad.  I swear to you, if you hear me going against
the rules I just set up, you call me on it.  Just like I called
Irene.  Like you said I should call you on something where you're
going wrong."

She sniffed.  "You left out my temper.  Good luck, Davey!"  She
said it with a lilt and a laugh in her voice.

I went home, showered, then spent a while reading, then longer
sitting at my desk, trying to work out the numbers.  Fifteen
hundred dollars; that's what Mercedes said we needed.  We had
nine months, probably forty weeks.  We needed to earn nearly $40
a week.  There was, I thought, no way.  My father consistently
won ten or fifteen dollars a week at poker.  Everyone said he was
the best poker player there was.

So, it was impossible for me.  How about for Mercedes?  She was
going to need to baby-sit for three or four evenings a week. 
Each and every week.  With school, family, baseball... that would
be very hard to do.  She needed to average nearly forty dollars a
week; she'd told me she could expect half to three quarters of
that.

Mercedes arrived with her dad, who just wanted to sit on the pool
deck, grading papers.

I grimaced at the pile of papers he produced to work on.  Later,
I told Mercedes,  "We haven't had homework like that."

"We will next week; the idea was to let us find our feet for a
week, then start going hard and fast."

What?  We hadn't been going hard and fast?  Algebra?  English? 
Even geography was a tough course!  Who in the universe counted
Microsoft Office for much of anything, but Spanish was going to
be tough, really tough.

We studied then.  Studied hard.  It was cool when we started
doing our language class studies.  I didn't speak a word of
German, but Mercedes had me reading it, drilling her in the
vocabulary and asking simple grammar questions.  The big
difference when she did the same thing for me in Spanish, she
didn't have to refer to the book.

About four thirty Wanda and Emily got back from shopping, loaded
down with bags.  A few minutes later, they joined us at the study
table.  I wished, I really wished Emily was in the same classes
as Mercedes and me; I hoped my mother would be able to do
something about it, for both Emily's and Karen's sake.

Around six, Pammie and Karen showed up, and the four of them left
to get something to eat.  A pizza guy showed up, followed a few
minutes later by someone from the Chinese restaurant that was
just three blocks away.  Dad liked the food there, but said they
weren't going to be in business for very long.  The name of the
restaurant was the Poo Ping Palace.

	Then I hugged Mercedes as she went off to baby sit, while I
cleaned up and got ready for poker.

	When everyone was arrayed around the table, my dad looked
around.  "I've decided to change the speech."  The Chief, Willy,
Hammer and Blade all laughed.  "If you want to take the limit off
raises and bets, then the maximum goes to twenty bucks."

	Willy Coy chuckled, "It's your game, Phil.  But she blew her
cork even before twenty bucks."

	He turned to the Chief.  "Just so everyone knows, Vic and I are
in cohoots.  There has been no trace of Miss Kimmel, a white van
or a swarthy-skinned male suspect.  I think it was Napoleon who
said never assume a conspiracy when simple stupidity is a valid
explanation for events."

	"It think he said 'malice,' not conspiracy," my dad said.  "Not
that there is much difference."
	"All of which isn't getting any poker played," Hammer said.  He
thumped the table with his fist, but gently.

	Dad shuffled a few times and I cut; then he spread the cards
face down on the table.

	I drew the ace of spades, the Chief drew the ace of clubs, and
bit later Mercedes' father drew the ace of hearts.

	We drew a second round of cards, and the Chief and I both had
jacks.  Finally I had a four and he had a deuce.  "Never saw it
go to the third time," the Chief said, shaking his head.

	"It gets easier to double up after the first round," Mercedes'
father said.

	I shuffled and looked around the table.  They hadn't varied the
seating, except now Mercedes' father was where Hannelore had
been.  I called, "Five card stud," and dealt a down card, then an
up card.

	I had a deuce of hearts up, a deuce of spades down.  I
swallowed.  If I folded, no one would be surprised.  If I stayed
in, everyone would assume I had a pair of deuces.  Mercedes'
father had an ace and was high.  He bet a nickel, and no one else
did anything until it came to me.  I raised a dime.

	No one said anything, but in a second the pot was right and no
one had dropped out.

	Another round, now I had a six and a deuce showing, while Blade
had a pair of tens.  He bet a nickel; this time I simply called.

	Another round, and I got a second six.  I'm telling this so I
get to mention that I paid no attention to Mercedes' father
getting an eight.  The bet was a dime, and it ran around the
table without a raise.

	The last round and I didn't improve at all.  Mercedes' father
now had a pair of eights; Blade had a pair of tens.  He bet a
dime, my dad folded and I slipped out a dime, then another dime.

	The Chief folded, Willy Coy folded, and Mercedes' father raised
another nickel.  I contemplated my hand.  I'd tried to look like
I was bluffing my pair of deuces.  How many of them still
believed that?  The problem was, all I could do now was call.  It
was only a nickel, I thought.  Worth the risk.

	A few seconds later Mercedes' father flipped over his second ace
and started raking in the coins.  I sighed.  It had been a stupid
waste of a nickel.

	"Dead man's hand," the Chief said.  "Not exactly a good omen to
start the night on."

	"No," Ruy d'Silva told him.  "But then, there's no one sneaking
up behind me, is there?"

	"No," Willy said, a little sadness in his voice.  "Not that we
can see."

	"Poker!" Hammer said, hitting his fist a little harder on the
table.

	"Do you know about aces and eights, Davey?" Blade asked, while
the Chief started to shuffle.

	"No, sir."

	"It was, history reports, the hand Wild Bill Hickock was holding
when Jack McCall shot him in the back.  The two black aces, the
two black eights and the jack of hearts.  McCall was looking to
make a name for himself; alas, shooting a world-famous man in the
back wasn't the way.  They tried and hanged him within a day or
two."

	"A lot of that went on in Deadwood," my father said and everyone
laughed.

	I looked at him and he grinned.  "At one point a gang was
running the town, stealing from the miners and everyone else. 
Complain and you ended up dead.  One night the townspeople had
enough.  They hanged the lot of them, plus a few poor souls who
picked the wrong night to get drunk.  It gave vigilantism a bad
name."

	The Chief dealt seven-card stud.  My first three cards were a
three, a seven and a nine, all different suits.  I stayed in for
a dime and then folded.

	About ten I got up and went to the bathroom, and that seemed to
break the mood for a bit, everyone got up to stretch.

	I stood at the patio door, looking out at the patio and pool
beyond, while the others were getting drinks and taking trips to
the bathroom.  Dad came up and stood next to me.  "You're getting
better."

	"I need to earn some money," I told him bluntly.

	He listened as I explained why.  He didn't laugh, but he wasn't
much of a help, either.  "Thirteen year-olds, Davey.  You aren't
allowed to work.  You'll be fourteen next month.  I'll give you a
clue: the odds that you and Mercedes will be permitted to go
half-way around the world to Hawaii by yourselves is right up
there with 'not a chance in hell.'"

	I swallowed.  Oh gosh, Davey!  You were so caught up in
Mercedes' dream; you never bothered to think about it!  There was
no way to earn that much money and there was no way they were
going to let the two of us go by ourselves!

	The rest of the evening ran its course.  Around midnight,
Mercedes' father left to pick her up.  I was yawning and falling
asleep; the rest played for a while, I went in and sat on my
bed.

	I reached out and lifted Mercedes' bra from the corner post.  I
ran my fingers over it, wishing she was there and it was her
breasts I was stroking.  I put it back, and then buried my head
in my pillows, desolate and alone.

	Sunday I was up much earlier than Emily, much less Wanda.  It
was pretty clear Wanda had forgotten she'd promised to clean the
pool, so I turned on the snakes, and stood watching them for a
few minutes, as they whipped back and forth on the bottom of the
pool.

	Emily showed up; I was mildly amused that she was wearing a
swimsuit again, even if it was a two-piece; not very daring, but
a departure from the previous days.

	She looked down and saw the snakes.  "What are those?"

	"They stir up the water, get dirt and debris in the bottom of
the pool moving so the filter can deal with it.  In a bit, I'll
shut them off, then clean the filter."

	"Can I help?"

	"Sure," I said, thinking nothing of it.

	"Wanda said she'd do this, didn't she?" Emily asked.

	I shrugged.  "Wanda's heart is in the right place," I told her.
"But like the rest of us, sometimes things come up we think are
more important."  I saw Emily was distressed.  I thought about
touching her arm, but decided against it.

	"Emily, don't put more into this than what's there.  It's okay,
really."

	"It's not fair!  She wants to have her friends over; I heard
Wanda and Pammie talking about it.  Yet, when it comes time to
actually do something, she forgot."

	"Emily," I said patiently, "people should try to make good on
their promises.  But sometimes, they are more interested in being
polite than being realistic.  I don't think people should break
all their promises, but sometimes you have to understand when
they break little ones.  It's kind of like telling white lies."

	She looked at me, and then surprised me by leaning close and
kissing me on my cheek.  "Wanda's right, you are nice!"

	I felt embarrassed.  "I try to be," I said lamely.

	"Wanda doesn't really love me," Emily said, out of the blue.

	"Emily, I don't know what Wanda thinks.  I'm not sure she loves
anyone.  But, Emily, she likes you and doesn't want to hurt
you."

	"I'm not a mercy fuck," she told me.

	"And you're not.  Not to her, I know my sister.  She might be
horny, but if she didn't like you and want you, she'd just walk
away."

	"She will, one day," Emily said darkly.

	"Emily, I never will.  Okay?  I like you, I want to be your
friend."

	"If we were lovers, you'd walk away from me one day, too.  Just
about everybody gets divorced."

	I sighed.  "Emily, I'm getting a handle on how I feel.  Lust! 
Good God!  I know lust now!  Irene offered herself up to me on a
platter and I was right there.  I got seconds, thirds, and all of
that.  And I felt sick afterwards.  I was a willing participant,
Emily, but I felt sick to my stomach afterwards.

	"I am going to be careful from now on.  Sure, I have wants and
desires.  I have lust in my heart.  But I'm who I am, not a
hormone driven guy willing to nail a fence post if I can use it
to get off.  That's not me!  So, when you need someone, it's just
like I said.  I'll talk to you, or you can talk to me, vent on
me, whatever you like.  You can cry on my shoulder, you can do
whatever you want."

	"Would you do something for me?" Emily asked.

	"As long as it's not jumping off a cliff," I told her, "sure."

	"When my baby is born... will you be there?  Will you hold my
hand and tell me everything is fine?"

	"Yes," I said without hesitation.

	"I have a while to decide what to do.  Whether to keep it or
give it up for adoption."  Emily reached out blindly for me,
burying her head on my chest.  "Oh, Davey!  I know I should give
up my baby!  But it's so hard!  It's so hard!"

	"If it will take your mind off things, I'll be there with bells
on my toes, wearing a tutu and bouncing around on my toes," I
told her, trying to lighten the mood.

	She looked at me and laughed.  God, she was so much cuter when
she was laughing!  "I should hold you to that!  But no, just hold
my hand, just be there for me."

	"I will be there, Emily.  I promise."

	I went over and turned off the valve that made the snakes do
their dance, and they slowed and stopped.  I hit the button and
they started reeling in.  "You never want to go in the water if
the snakes are running," I told Emily.  "They might look kind of
funny, but the fact is they are heavy and they will wrap around
you just like a snake.  Someone has to turn the valve to make
them stop."

	She nodded.  "Now, I still have chemicals to add.  Why don't you
try it again?"

	She nodded and did it just fine.  We sat on the edge of the
pool, the early morning sun just clearing the horizon.  We sat in
silence, both of us alone with our thoughts.

When I swam, it was as if demons were chasing me, which, I think,
in my mind, they were.

<1st attachment end>


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