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From: Nick Scipio <nick@nickscipio.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} "Summer Camp - Book 4" by Nick Scipio - Ch 2 (no sex, tease, mast)
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Date: Sun, 01 Apr 2007 21:10:01 -0400
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Author: Nick Scipio
Title: Summer Camp - Book 4: Christy
Part: Chapter 02
Universe: Summer Camp
Summary: Coming-of-age story about a young man whose family
spends their summer vacations at a nudist camp.
Keywords: no sex, tease, mast
Revision: 1.0
Word Count: 12,071
Web Site: http://www.nickscipio.com/summercamp/book4/
FTP Site: ftp://ftp.nickscipio.com/summercamp/book4/
Discussion Forum: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Scipio_Forum/

*****************************************************************
                        STANDARD DISCLAIMER

This story is intended as ADULT entertainment. It contains
material of an adult, explicit, SEXUAL nature. If you are
offended by sexually explicit content or language, please DO NOT
read any further.

This story is a work of fiction. All characters and events
portrayed in it are fictional, and any resemblance to real people
or incidents is purely coincidental. The author does not
necessarily condone or endorse any of the activities described.

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without
the written permission of the author, Nick Scipio. It may be
freely distributed with this disclaimer attached.

Copyright (c) 2007 Nick Scipio. All rights reserved.

*****************************************************************

Summer Camp - Book 4: Christy
by Nick Scipio

CHAPTER TWO

I arrived in Franklin a little after five o'clock, but I didn't
head straight to Trip's. Instead, I turned into the neighborhood
with our Colonial Revival. A roll-away dumpster sat in the side
yard. The house's exterior was virtually untouched, but the
interior was stripped to the walls. The plumbing, wiring, and
ductwork were intact, but none of the fixtures remained. Trip's
uncle, a contractor, had supervised the work while we were still
at UT.

The Craftsman bungalows were about a mile away, so I drove past
them as well. They had been completely gutted, down to the bare
studs and original floors. The dumpster in the yard between them
was full of debris, including the remains of the bushes from the
front beds.

I wondered what Trip would think about his unexpected need for
new landscaping. I started to chuckle, but quickly sobered. His
money was _my_ money, and we didn't have new landscaping in the
budget. With a grimace, I realized that some of our profit had
been uprooted and unceremoniously dumped. It was too late to do
anything about it, but it still bothered me.

Trip's schedule called for us to start with the bungalows. They
had the most potential for trouble, and he wanted the flexibility
to deal with any problems before our end-of-summer deadline.
According to him, something _always_ went wrong with a
renovation. He had plenty of experience, so I didn't doubt him. I
just hoped it wouldn't be _my_ fault.

I went over the plans in my head. I couldn't see where I'd left
anything out. I couldn't see any potential for disaster, either.
But then I chuckled to myself--they're called _unexpected_
problems for a reason. When I realized that, I stopped worrying.
I had to trust my own abilities and Trip's experience.

In the meantime I tried to remember how to get to his house. His
family lived in one of the wealthier parts of town, so the houses
grew steadily larger as I drove toward their neighborhood.
Finally, I turned into the Whitmans' driveway and parked next to
Trip's apartment. I got out and stretched, and spotted him coming
down from the main house.

"Welcome to Franklin," he said. We shook hands and then he pulled
me into a back-slapping hug. "I know it's only been a week," he
said, "but it's good to see you."

"It's good to be here."

"How was your trip?"

"Long. Boring. I wish I could've flown the whole way."

He chuckled. Then he nodded toward the main house. "Dinner in
about an hour?"

I nodded.

"In the meantime," he said, "can I help you unload your stuff?"

We carried my things up the stairs to his apartment. It was small
but cozy. His bedroom was in the back, with the only bathroom.
I'd be sleeping on the pull-out sofa in the living room, next to
the kitchenette.

"It's not much," he said when he finished the tour, "but it's
home."

I nodded my thanks.

"Darlene"--his stepmother--"bought you a wardrobe for your
clothes," he added, gesturing. "She also bought us new towels and
linens."

"That was nice of her."

"She fixed a big welcome dinner, too."

"She didn't have to do that," I said, although I'd skipped lunch,
which my stomach reminded me.

"Nah, she likes doing it. She takes pretty good care of me. Now
you, too." He grinned. "You're gonna like it here." He paused and
then gestured around us. "So, d'you need to go to the bathroom?
Get washed up? Have a beer? Relax for a while?"

I chuckled at his enthusiasm. "Thanks, I'm cool," I said.

"You ready to come up to the house? Dale and Josh are dying to
see you. They've been excited all day." Without waiting for an
answer, he grinned again and clapped me on the shoulder. "God,
it's good to have you here!"

-----

Darlene was a good cook, and I ate too much, including dessert.
Afterward, we sat in the den and talked as Dale and Josh vied for
our attention. They finally lured me into playing Atari with
them. I paid attention when it was my turn, but talked to the
adults while the boys were taking their turns. The evening was an
odd combination of childish enthusiasm and grown-up conversation.

Trip and I eventually said goodnight and headed down the driveway
to his apartment. The boys wanted to come with us, but Darlene
said it was already past their bedtime.

At the apartment, Trip opened two beers. Tennessee wasn't _quite_
as hot as South Carolina, but it was close enough. The apartment
had a window-unit air conditioner in Trip's bedroom, but it
labored to cool the entire space. I didn't even taste the first
half of my beer--it was simply cold and wet.

"So, tell me about this nudist colony of yours," Trip said
without preamble.

"_Camp_," I said when I recovered my composure. "We call it a
nudist camp."

"Oh yeah, that's right. So tell me about it."

I looked at him askance. "Why do you want to know?" I hid a grin.
"You're not turning gay, are you?"

Much to my surprise, he laughed, long and genuine. "No. But if I
were, I definitely would've said something last week."

Our last night at UT--a week before, although it seemed like
longer--we'd had a nudist party with Kendall and Abby at their
apartment. Trip and I hadn't gawked at each other, but it was
impossible to sit in the tiny living room and _not_ notice the
other guy's dick.

"Seriously," he said, drawing me back to the present, "what's it
like there?"

I shrugged and took a seat on the couch.

"That's all I've been able to think about since last week," he
said.

I looked a question at him, and it was his turn to shrug.

"Sorry, I guess I'm curious," he said. "I mean, actually curious,
too. Not perverted or anything like that."

I waved away his explanation. "I didn't think you were being a
pervert." I fell silent for a moment as I searched for words.
"It's just... I mean... not many people know that I'm a nudist in the
first place. And the ones who do are usually nudist themselves."
I shrugged. "A few people from high school, obviously, but not
many. And they were _close_ friends."

"What am I?" he said. "Chopped liver?" He was teasing, but not
entirely.

I shook my head. "It's not that... It's just..." I took another swig
of beer, and used the time to gather my thoughts. "What do you
want to know?"

"What's it like? What do you do there? What are the people like?
Are they everyday folks? _Playboy_ models? Fat and dumpy? What?"

"All of the above."

He frowned at my non-answer.

"Most of them are everyday folks. I mean, like Susan."

"The Susan I met last year?"

"Mmm hmm. She owns the place."

His eyes widened. "She does? _She's_ not everyday folks."

I shook my head.

"She's sexy as hell, even if she is old enough to be my mother."

_I couldn't agree more._

"No offense," he added quickly.

"Oh, I'm sure she wouldn't be offended," I said with a wry grin.

"A nudist, huh?" he said absently. "Yeah, she seems like the
type. I mean, she's an adult," he explained, "but she doesn't
seem like it. Maybe it's 'cause she's so... _cool_. You know?"

I laughed. "Yeah, she's cool all right."

"That's what I mean. She's cool enough to own a nudist camp, but
she's not a hippie or anything."

"Far from it. Her husband was in the Navy with my dad. They flew
in Vietnam."

"What happened to him?"

"He was shot down."

"That's too bad."

I had mixed emotions about Jack's death. I wanted to be like him,
but I barely remembered him--just fragments and flashes of memory
from when I was four or five. I hadn't even connected those
memories with Jack himself until Susan told me that she knew our
family when we lived in California.

If Jack hadn't been shot down, Susan and I never would've had a
relationship, and my life would've been very, _very_ different.
So I didn't know how to feel. I hated that I might be happy at a
man's death, but how else could I describe my feelings?

Susan said that I reminded her of Jack. She didn't talk about him
very often, so most of what I knew came from my father.
Unfortunately, I wasn't anything like the man he described. I
wasn't pure and good. I certainly wasn't confident or self-
assured. And I definitely wasn't brave or heroic.

Instead, I resented people like Professor Joska, who was only
trying to help me. I worried that I wouldn't succeed as a man,
much less an architect. And I'd been too much of a coward to face
my problems with Gina and fix them _before_ they ruined the best
relationship I'd ever had.

No, I wasn't anything like Jack MacLean. I was just a horny
teenager who happened to step in front of the wrong tree limb at
the wrong time.

"Are you okay?" Trip said quietly.

"Huh?"

"Are you okay? You got quiet all of a sudden."

"I'm fine," I lied.

He nodded slowly.

"So, what can I tell you about camp?" I asked. I didn't want to
sink into brooding, and comparing myself to a dead paragon was a
sure way to do that. Trip understood--he saw it in my eyes.

"What are the people like?" he asked.

"They're just people."

"Are the women sexy? Are the guys well-hung? Is it one orgy after
another?"

I chuckled, which did a lot to banish my self-doubt.

"Okay, it was probably a ridiculous question," Trip said, "but
still..."

"Most of the women are pretty average. They're wives and mothers.
They come in all shapes and sizes. Skinny and plump. Short and
tall. Big tits and small." I paused as we shared a grin. "Blonde,
brunette, and even a few redheads. But they're all sexy, if you
think about it."

He tilted his head with a question.

"I don't know about you," I said, "but _I_ think it's sexy when a
woman is nude in public. I mean, it's not really public, but you
know what I mean."

He nodded.

"So yeah, the women are all sexy, in their own way." I grinned.
"Some of them are _Playboy_ sexy, though." _Like Kendall,_ I
thought. _And Gina._ "Especially the younger women," I added.
"Some of the ones in their twenties or early thirties are total
babes." Then I thought about Susan, or Elizabeth Coulter, or my
own mother. "Heck, some of the women in their _forties_ are babes
too."

He grinned at my enthusiasm. "Like Kendall's mom?"

"Oh yeah."

"What's _that_ like? Seeing your girlfriend's mother naked?"

"It's hard." We laughed at the double entendre. "Seriously,
though," I continued, "it's not a big deal. Yeah, Kendall's mom
is sexy, but I don't think of her that way."

He looked skeptical. "Now I _know_ you're lying. Back when I was
still dating Lori, I'd've given anything to see her mom naked. I
actually did once... sort of." He paused and savored the memory.

"I used to go over to their house to swim," he explained, "and
I'd hide behind my sunglasses so I could watch her while she
sunbathed. She had this string bikini, and she used to untie it
so she wouldn't have tan lines. She forgot to re-tie it once, and
I _still_ have fantasies about that." He shook his head in
wonder. "Man, she was _hot_."

I grinned.

"So don't tell me that you don't think of Kendall's mom that
way."

"All right," I said. "You got me. I've had a fantasy or two."

"Or three. Or four."

I felt my cheeks heating.

He turned serious again. "What's it like when other guys look at
Kendall? Does it bother you?"

I shook my head. "In some ways, it's pretty cool. I mean, think
about it... Other guys are looking at her, but she's with _me_."

"Are there any other women who are... shaved? You know... down
there?"

"No, that's pretty rare." Then I decided to bait him. "There's
only one other woman at camp who shaves."

He tried to look nonchalant, but his eyes practically glowed.
"Oh?"

"Mmm hmm. You know her, too."

He didn't make the connection.

"Susan."

His jaw dropped.

"Yep. She's completely smooth down there. She usually wears a
pair of bikini bottoms, though."

"Then how do _you_--?"

_Uh-oh!_ I cleared my throat. "What else would you like to know?"

Trip might not know about nudist camps, but he wasn't stupid.
"Hold on a second," he said. "If she wears bikini bottoms, then
how do _you_ know she's shaved... unless...?" His eyes widened as the
light dawned. "Don't tell me that you and Susan...?"

I didn't want to lie, but I couldn't tell the truth, so I kept my
mouth shut. Unfortunately, that was practically an admission.

"Really?"

"No comment."

He didn't believe me. "You're _kidding_."

"I said, no comment."

"You can't lie to me, Paul. I see right through you. Besides,
you're not very good at it."

"I--"

"You and Susan?" he wondered aloud. "Really?"

"I don't kiss and tell," I said stiffly.

"You don't have to tell," he said. "I can see it written all over
your face." He paused and shook his head in wonder. "Wow. That's
really cool." His expression turned eager. "Was it a one-time
thing? Or more like Mrs. Robinson?"

"I _said_, I don't kiss and--"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You don't kiss and tell." He suddenly stood
up. "You want another beer?" He returned with two fresh bottles.

Was he trying to get me drunk? On two beers?

"It was a Mrs. Robinson thing," he said, "wasn't it?"

"Why does it matter?"

He thought about that for a moment. "It doesn't, I guess. I'm
just curious. I mean, you're the guy with two girlfriends--"

"I _was_ the guy with two girlfriends."

"Still," he said, "you've had as many girlfriends at one time as
I've had, period. And now you tell me that you and Susan had a
thing."

_If I breathe_ one... measly... word _about my mother,_ I thought,
_I'll never forgive myself._ Trip was entirely too perceptive,
especially with things I didn't want to talk about. So I decided
to keep him focused on what he already knew.

"It wasn't a 'thing,'" I said. "It was--_is_--a relationship."

"It's still going on?"

"Not like that," I said hastily. "We don't have sex anymore. But
we're still friends. Good friends. Next to you and Gina, she may
be my best friend in the world."

His eyebrows quirked with a question.

"What?"

"You said Gina. Not Kendall?"

I thought back through the conversation and felt my face flush.
"I meant Kendall," I said, although it sounded like an excuse.

"How are things with her?"

I shrugged at the change of subject. "Good. I guess." He shot me
a shrewd look, so I told him about the scene at the airport.

"That's too bad," he said. "Doesn't she know how much you love
flying?"

"She doesn't care. She's afraid, so she thinks _I_ should be
afraid too. It's stupid."

"What does Gina think about flying?"

"She loved it."

He nodded slowly. Then, completely out of the blue, he asked, "Do
you ever think you broke up with the wrong girl?"

I blinked in surprise.

"I mean, Kendall's fantastic. She's smart and sexy, and she
obviously loves you. But... do you ever have second thoughts?"

"Well, Gina broke up with _me_, not the other way around."

"I know how _that_ feels," he said ruefully. "But the question
still stands. Do you ever wish you'd done things differently?"

"All the time," I said. We shared a knowing look.

"Let's get another beer," he said at last.

We stopped at three beers apiece, but we talked long into the
night. He was eager to hear about camp, but he had some wild
ideas about how much sex people had. In reality, most of the
camp's visitors were regular people on vacation. Out of the sixty
or seventy families who visited regularly, less than a dozen
couples were swingers.

I didn't tell him about the swinging, of course, but he knew
about my relationship with Gina and Kendall, so he probably
guessed some of it. He was polite enough not to ask, but I didn't
think he'd be shocked by the truth.

As I lay awake after he'd gone to bed, I realized that Trip had
never been shocked by the things I told him. He accepted me for
who I was, and he liked me in spite of my flaws. That alone was
worth more than anything else. In many ways, he reminded me of
Susan. No wonder I liked him.

-----

I heard Trip's alarm and I fumbled for my watch on the end table.
I couldn't focus on the dial, and it was too dark anyway. Trip
stumbled out of his bedroom a moment later, wearing only a pair
of white briefs.

"You awake?" he said.

"Yeah. What time is it?"

"Five o'clock."

"Ugh."

"You want some coffee?"

I sat up and rubbed my eyes. "When did you start drinking
coffee?"

"When I started getting up at 5:00 AM."

I threw back the sheet and swung my legs over the side of the
bed. I was stiff from the thin mattress, not to mention the metal
bar strategically placed in the small of my back.

Trip filled the coffeemaker and started it brewing. "I'm gonna
take a shower," he mumbled.

I stood as he returned to his room. The kinks in my back would
ease with a little exercise, so I did a set of sit-ups and then a
set of push-ups. I hadn't brought my weights with me, but Trip
had a set of dumbbells in the corner. I did a few quick sets of
curls and presses.

When I heard the shower stop, I opened the wardrobe and unzipped
my suit bag. I'd brought three suits, and I hoped they'd be
enough. After all, I didn't want to wear the same thing every
time. I'd also brought a couple of pairs of slacks, so I could
mix and match.

I wouldn't have to dress up all the time, though. I'd be working
on the houses themselves, doing construction work. When I did,
I'd wear work clothes. But for the first day, I wanted to look
like a professional--I wanted to look like an _architect_.

Trip emerged from his bedroom. He had a towel wrapped around his
waist, and he looked more awake than when I'd first seen him. He
poured a cup of coffee, added two spoonfuls of sugar, and took a
cautious sip. It was too hot, so he blew on it.

I thought about asking his opinion on which suit I should wear. I
was leaning toward the Brooks Brothers one Susan had given me,
but before I could ask, Trip spoke up.

"It's supposed to be pretty hot today."

I nodded.

"I think I'm gonna wear shorts instead of jeans."

Once again, I nodded, but I didn't know where the conversation
was going. Why did it matter what he wore?

"Are you gonna wear jeans?" he asked. "Or shorts?"

"I thought I'd..." The words died on my lips. He was trying to tell
me something, and he was trying to be polite about it. A suit
wasn't the right outfit. Why? Wasn't I supposed to look
professional, if only for my first day? My spirits sank.
"Probably shorts," I said at last.

He nodded and took an experimental sip of coffee. Then he took a
longer sip. "Good thing you brought a suit, though," he said.
"You'll need it for the closings."

"The closings?"

"When we sell the houses. People want to know they're buying from
professionals, not some good ol' boy contractors who probably
forgot to shingle the roof."

"Oh."

"I should've told you to bring one," he said. "I'm glad you were
thinking ahead. Good job."

"Thanks," I said, but my heart wasn't in it. More than anything
in the world, I wanted to be an architect, and that meant looking
the part. I had visions of arriving on the job site in a sharp
three-piece suit. In my mind's eye, the men were deferential.
_"Yes, Mr. Hughes. No, Mr. Hughes. How should we proceed, Mr.
Hughes?"_

"You'd better jump in the shower," Trip said, interrupting my
fantasy. "We need to leave by six o'clock. Breakfast at the
diner, and then on the job by seven. Got it?"

Something about him was different, and it took me a moment to
figure it out. Then it hit me--he wasn't my friend from the night
before. Now he was a businessman talking to his partner. He had a
schedule to keep, which meant that _I_ had a schedule as well.

With a sigh of regret, I zipped the suit bag and headed for the
shower.

-----

"Okay," Trip said over the remnants of our breakfast. "A guy
named Blackie Barnes runs the construction crew. I've worked with
him for three years, and he's a good guy. Solid and dependable.
He's the foreman, so he runs the job site. Got it?"

I nodded.

"He tells his crew bosses who's doing what, and what to do when.
I'm the contractor, so I make overall decisions, but we don't
have enough time for me to play God." He leaned forward, arms on
the table. "And I work, just like everyone else. Blackie knows
what I can do, and he's pretty good at keeping me busy. But if he
needs decisions, he asks me. We work well together. The men on
the crew all know I'm the owner, but they also know I pull my own
weight."

"What do you want me to do?" I asked.

"Well, you're in an odd situation."

I nodded. I was both the architect (more or less) _and_ the
construction novice. I wasn't a complete beginner, though. I'd
worked on projects with my father, so I knew how to use hand
tools, and I could run most power tools. At the same time, I had
no idea how to renovate a house.

"Blackie will make sure you're working with guys who'll teach you
what you need to know." Trip leaned back and looked at me
seriously. "But at the same time, you're the guy who knows the
designs better than anybody else."

I nodded.

"Normally, the architect visits at least once a week. With you on
site, we shouldn't have any snags with the design. But you need
to remember something."

"What?"

"You and I may be the hotshot architecture students, but these
guys are good at what they do. I've been doing this for years,
and I don't know a _fraction_ of what Blackie does. So I listen
to him when he says we need to do something a certain way."

I nodded.

"And it's important that you don't get a big head," Trip
continued. "Yeah, you're the guy with the design, but you're also
the guy who doesn't know squat about construction. You can learn
a lot from these guys, but not if you treat 'em like underlings."

"I'd never--"

"I didn't think you would, but you need to be clear about this
job. You'll be one of the top guys on the site, but you're also
the bottom guy. If you act like the top guy, the men'll treat you
like 'The Boss,' and they won't teach you anything. Instead,
they'll make fun of you behind your back when they realize you
don't know what you're doing."

"So you want me to act like the bottom guy?"

He hesitated. "You don't have to act all 'please, sir, show me
what to do,' but you need to have a healthy dose of humility.
Like I said, these guys can teach you a lot, but only if they see
that you're eager to learn and willing to work. Hard.

"They'll find out that you're the architect sooner or later, but
if they know you're willing to work as hard as them, they'll
respect you for it. They won't see you as 'The Boss.' Instead,
you'll already be one of the guys, who just happens to be the guy
who did the drawings."

I tried to hide my disappointment. "So you don't want to tell
them I'm the architect?"

He shook his head. "Not at first. Blackie knows, but the rest of
the guys don't. I don't want them to treat you like the fancy
hotshot who's slumming with the construction crew for the
summer."

"Why not?"

"You don't want to know what these guys think of architects."

I felt my brow lower with a question.

"Architects are the guys who screw things up," Trip explained,
"and these are the guys who fix them. Architects are guys who sit
in nice clean offices and dream up ways to screw up a simple
house. Blackie's guys are the men who get the job done. Most of
them know more about houses than a dozen architects."

"But they can't _design_ one," I insisted.

"Yes they could. Most of 'em, anyway. It might not be a Frank
Lloyd Wright house, but it'd be a nice basement rancher with a
two-car garage." He paused to let that sink in. "_You_ have the
design skills and the formal training, but these guys know about
real construction. If you can learn that, you'll be a better
architect for it. Trust me."

"I know," I said, although I wasn't sure it was true.

He looked skeptical. "I mean it, Paul. Don't bring a big attitude
like you're an architect and you know what you're doing. You
don't. Trust me. You're a first-year architecture student who's
never swung a hammer on a construction site."

"Okay, I get it!"

"I'm not saying this to piss you off," he said evenly. "I'm
trying to help."

I looked at my watch. "It's almost seven. Are you ready to go?"

I was sullen on the short drive to the bungalows. I had such high
hopes of what the job would be like, and Trip had shattered them
in fifteen minutes. When we pulled up to the house, he held up
his hand to stop me from getting out of the car.

"Look," he said evenly, "I'm sorry I was so blunt. But first
impressions are pretty important, especially with these guys.
You're either 'one of us,' or 'one of _them_.' I want you to be
one of us. I _need_ you to be one of us. We don't have the time
or the money to hire more guys, and you'll have to pull your
weight. You'll have to pull _more_ than your weight, since we
have so much riding on this. Okay?"

I nodded.

"Make an impression on these guys _before_ they find out you're
an architect. Even a first-year student. Okay?"

"Yeah, okay," I said at last. My dignity was bruised, but I
wouldn't screw things up simply because I was being petulant. "I
understand."

He gave me a hard look, as if judging my sincerity.

A truck pulled up behind us, followed by a white panel van.

"This is it," Trip said. Then he glanced at me and his expression
softened. "You'll do fine. Just be yourself. I wouldn't've asked
you to be my partner if I didn't trust you." He held out his
hand.

I shook it, awkward in the confines of the Cruiser's front seats.

"This is the first day of the rest of our lives," he said, much
too solemn.

With just as much gravity, I looked him in the eye. "Oh, Trip," I
breathed, "I _do_."

He cracked a smile. "Yeah, that was a bit too serious."

"Just a bit."

He nodded over his shoulder. "C'mon, let's meet Blackie." He
spared me another smile. "God, it's good to have you here!"

-----

Blackie Barnes was a grizzled fifty-year-old with tanned and
tattooed forearms. He knew I'd done the drawings, but he didn't
blink when Trip introduced me to the others as "my friend Paul
from school."

Blackie put me with three other men: Mike, Mike Junior, and Big
Jim. We shook hands all around. Mike was Junior's father, no
surprise, as well as Jim's uncle. Mike and his son were stocky
and solid, and Big Jim lived up to his nickname. At 6'4", he had
beefy arms, a thick waist, and legs the size of tree trunks.

Mike cleared his throat. "Blackie said you know a little about
construction."

"Um... yes, sir."

"Tell me."

"I know 'measure twice, cut once,'" I said.

"That's a good start. What else?"

"I can hammer, saw, drill, screw, you name it. I mean, I know the
basics."

"All right," he said. "We'll see how you do."

Blackie assigned crew bosses to various tasks. Mike was our boss,
as well as Blackie's number two guy. The other crew bosses were
Cyrus and Jim. When I heard their names, I understood why our Jim
was _Big_ Jim (aside from his size, that is).

Cyrus's crew started stripping the roof from the first bungalow.
Jim's crew began work on the closets in the smaller bedrooms. Our
crew headed for the master bedroom.

We worked hard through the morning. The house was hot, despite
the huge oak trees shading it. It was loud, too, filled with the
sounds of hammering, saws, and Country music. The music wasn't my
favorite--actually, I hated it--but most of the time I was too
busy to notice.

Instead, I kept my mouth shut and did what Mike said. He didn't
seem impressed with what I already knew, but he wasn't
disappointed, either. I mostly held boards, or fetched them from
the stacks outside. He occasionally let me measure for a cut,
although he double-checked everything I did. I took my time and
made sure I was right.

_God is in the details,_ I said to myself with a half-chuckle.

Once, Mike even let me cut the board we'd just measured for. I
wasn't nearly as deft with the saw as Big Jim, but Mike was
satisfied when he measured my cut.

Our crew didn't speak much throughout the morning. Mike told me
what to do, and sometimes talked to his son, but it was always
about the job. Big Jim didn't say a word--not that I heard, at
least.

We broke for lunch at eleven o'clock. Most of the men had brought
their own food in little Igloo coolers. Darlene had packed brown-
bag lunches for Trip and me, although our "brown bags" were full-
sized grocery bags.

Mine contained a Coke (warm, but gloriously wet), a foot-long
hoagie sandwich, a big bag of potato chips, a baggie of pickle
spears, and two Twinkies. I thought it was too much, but I was
ravenous. I ate everything but the Twinkies, which I gave to
Junior and Big Jim.

Lunch break ended promptly at noon, and we got back to work. The
afternoon was much like the morning. We finished framing the
master bath and moved to the other house, where we started the
same thing.

I didn't really learn anything new during the afternoon, but I
tried hard to prove myself. I paid attention to how Mike did
things, and I double-checked my own work. I found a few problems,
but I fixed them _before_ Mike had to point them out. If he
noticed, he didn't say anything.

Blackie came by late in the afternoon. He asked about me, and I
expected Mike to say something good. After all, I'd been working
hard all day.

Instead, he said, "We'll keep him." That was it.

I shouldn't have expected more, I guess. Mike expected me to do
the job right. My "reward" was that I still had a job. I knew
that, of course, but I still wanted to hear some praise for my
efforts. I didn't, though, and I kept my mouth shut about it.

At four o'clock I thought the men would pack up their tools and
leave, but we kept working. Two hours later, someone turned off
the radio, and the men finished what they were doing. I helped
Junior and Big Jim bring power tools inside. With the house
locked overnight, we wouldn't have to worry about equipment
walking off.

The men said goodbye, got into their cars and trucks, and drove
off. Blackie and Trip were in the middle of a conversation on the
front porch of the first house, so I joined them.

"How'd he do today?" Trip asked Blackie.

Blackie gave me an appraising look. "Mike said he'd keep him.
That's good enough for me."

"That's high praise from Mike," Trip said.

Blackie merely nodded.

Trip turned businesslike again. "I know it's early," he said to
Blackie, "but how do you think we're doing on our schedule?"

"Good so far. We'll know more by the end of the week."

Trip nodded.

With that, Blackie said goodnight and gathered his things. Trip
and I locked the houses. He checked mine, just to be sure. I was
a little tired of everyone double-checking my work, but I told
myself to keep my mouth shut. I was the new guy. Shut up and
learn.

Trip and I talked about the crews' progress during the drive
home. He'd seen more of it than I had, of course. At first, that
bugged me--I should know everything about the job--but then I
realized that I had to start somewhere. I was learning
construction while Trip managed the job itself. My biggest
contribution had been the drawings. I didn't like feeling that I
was out of touch with the houses themselves, but I knew the
reason for it. Still, that didn't make it any easier to live
with.

-----

The rest of the week was more of the same--ten-hour days in the
sweltering heat--but I worked hard. By the end of the week, Mike
had stopped checking my measurements. He also let me cut boards
without supervision. I still couldn't make it seem as easy as Big
Jim, but even he showed me a few tricks.

Curiously, he still didn't say anything. He got his point across
with hand gestures and little sketches. He understood me when I
spoke, but he didn't make a sound. Ever.

My curiosity finally got the best of me, and I asked Mike about
it when we were alone. To my surprise, he scowled.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Sorry," I said quickly. "I was just curious."

"He ain't stupid," Mike said, almost an accusation.

"I didn't say he was," I said, but I didn't back down. "He showed
me that trick with the speed square... and how to use the miter
jig. Heck, he showed me a dozen things. But he didn't say a word.
Not the entire time. Does he just not like me? Was it something I
did?"

"Nah, it ain't you," Mike said at last. "He's just quiet, is
all."

Later that night, I asked Trip about him.

"His parents and brother were killed when he was six," Trip said.
"He hasn't spoken since."

"Not once?"

"Not that I know of. He's a smart guy, and he's good with his
hands, but he doesn't speak."

"Wow."

"Yeah." Trip chuckled at a sudden memory. "He's kind of a
prankster, though. Watch out for him, especially once he gets to
know you better."

I looked a question at him.

Trip laughed again. "Last year he faked some paternity papers and
sent them to Mike Junior."

"You're kidding."

"Uh-uh. Junior was pretty freaked out. Jim made up the name of a
lawyer, and used the name of a girl Junior had slept with."

"How long did it take him to figure it out?"

"A couple of days. He finally called the lawyer's phone number."
Trip paused, grinning.

"And...?"

"Jim used the number for the free VD clinic."

I burst out laughing.

"He had Junior going. We were laughing our asses off."

"I bet."

"The year before that, he put an ad in the classifieds for a
porcelain doll collection. But he listed Blackie's phone number."

I laughed again.

"Yeah, Blackie kept telling us about the little old ladies who
called about the collection. He couldn't figure out why. Mike
finally told him. Boy, Blackie was pissed, too. He threatened to
fire Big Jim."

"What happened?"

"Oh, Blackie calmed down. Eventually. But don't mention porcelain
dolls around him. He's still sore."

I laughed.

"Yeah," Trip said. "Big Jim's pretty crafty. He may not talk, but
you'd better watch out for him."

"Who do you think he'll get this year?"

"I have no idea," Trip said earnestly. "But I'd stay on my toes
if I were you."

-----

Trip and I spent most of Saturday relaxing, although "recovering"
was more like it. I was in good shape, but construction wasn't
anything like wrestling or weightlifting. I thought I was eating
too much, but I got sick headaches if I didn't eat _some_thing.
Trip didn't have a scale, so I didn't know if I was gaining
weight or not. Fortunately, I had too many distractions to worry
about it. Much.

That night we went to a concert at one of Trip's favorite clubs.
I don't remember the band, but Trip was pretty excited to see
them live. The club was hot and loud and full of people. Not
surprisingly, Trip talked with a parade of friends from high
school. He introduced me to all of them, but I forgot their names
almost as soon as I met them.

We hung out with a group of three girls most of the night. Two
were interested in Trip, so they spent most of their time hanging
on him. The third girl was cute, but she wasn't my type (and she
smoked). We had fun, though.

After the concert, we went to one girl's apartment. Plenty of
Trip's friends from high school were there, along with people he
didn't know. Old friends or new, he was the center of attention,
the prodigal son returned home.

We finally left after three in the morning. Not surprisingly, we
slept late the next day. When we _did_ finally get up, we put on
our bathing suits and headed up to the main house. We swam for a
while with Trip's little brothers, but then spent the rest of the
day soaking up the sun and being lazy slugs.

-----

The second week began much like the first. Cyrus's crew had
finished both roofs, so they began installing new gutters,
downspouts, and soffits. Jim's crew moved to the Colonial Revival
to begin stripping _its_ roof. Blackie assigned our crew to
install new sashes and windows.

In addition to the regular guys, three specialist crews arrived:
the electricians, the plumber and his assistant, and the HVAC
contractors with the new furnaces. Trip had to be several places
at once. On top of that, he and I stayed later than the rest of
the men.

We used the time to go over the day's progress. I found a few
problems with my drawings--usually where the house itself didn't
match the plans--so I sketched out modifications.

The next morning, Trip and Blackie talked about my changes before
they made them, but Blackie agreed with most of my suggestions.
None of the guys knew what I'd done, but _I_ was proud of my
work. Still, I couldn't help but hear Professor Joska's voice in
my head: _"You'll have to do better than this, Mr. Hughes."_

While we were eating lunch, Junior asked how I knew Trip.

"From UT," I said.

"So you're in college?"

I nodded.

"I never saw much need myself," he said.

I nodded--not in agreement, but acceptance. "I guess somebody has
to do the work while the rest of us are goofing off." College
wasn't about goofing off--not as far as _I_ was concerned--but
Junior obviously thought so. I didn't need to argue about it, so
I joked instead. He didn't seem to notice.

"Yeah," he said. "I can't believe Trip's gonna ruin his career
and become an architect. He'd make a great contractor. He really
knows his stuff. And he works hard. Not like most architects we
know. Ain't that right, Jim?"

Big Jim merely nodded.

"So," Junior asked, "what are you going to college for?"

I felt a flush creep up my cheeks. "Um..."

"Drinking beer? Banging sorority girls?"

"No," I said at last. _The moment of truth._ I thought about
lying, but decided that would be worse than telling the truth.
"I'm an architecture student."

Junior shook his head sadly. His father merely grunted. Big Jim
looked disappointed, but not terribly surprised.

"Then what're you doin' here?" Junior finally asked.

"For starters, I'm helping my friend."

"Yeah, all right," Junior said.

I could've left it at that. I probably _should've_ left it at
that, but I wanted these men to respect me. "And," I said, "I
want to design houses one day. I'd better learn how to build 'em.
Right?"

"So you're slumming for the summer? We get all kinds of college
kids trying to do construction. None of 'em last."

"I will," I said, a bit nonplussed by his resentment.

He scoffed.

I felt my hackles raise. "Wanna bet?"

"What do you have that I want?"

I reached into my pocket and fished out a ten-dollar bill.

He gave it a dismissive glance. "You won't last," he said. "I'll
just be takin' your money."

"Maybe. Maybe not." I offered my hand.

We shook, and his callused grip was hard. I didn't have the
calluses, but I easily matched his strength. He met my eyes and
tightened his grip. I squeezed back and didn't flinch. If he
wanted to test me, I wasn't going to back down. We went at it
until his face turned red. I had to grit my teeth to keep from
crying out.

Finally, his father said, "Will you two fairies stop playing
touchy-feely?"

Neither of us let up.

"I mean it," Mike said. "Quit that shit."

Junior squeezed one final time and then we let go. My hand ached,
but I would've died before I let it show.

-----

That evening, I told Trip about the incident.

"You handled it okay," he said. "You probably shouldn't've bet
him, but--"

"What was I supposed to do? Back down? Uh-uh. That would've
proven his point."

Trip shrugged. "Maybe."

"No, definitely. I'm not some lazy college student slumming with
the construction crew. I work as hard as he does." I thumped my
chest. "I may not know as much--_yet_--but I'm catching up. And
I'll be damned if-- What're you grinning about?"

"You. You're always so competitive."

"And you aren't?"

He reluctantly admitted it.

"I wasn't about to let him put me down just because I'm in
college."

"Make sure you don't put him down just because he's _not_," Trip
warned. "Junior has his pride, just like any man."

"Just like me."

"Just like you," he agreed. Then he laughed and shook his head.
"You two are a lot alike. You know? Now, let's wash up," he said,
changing the subject. "Darlene fixed pot roast."

"Darlene's going to make me fat," I muttered.

"She's been trying to do the same thing to my dad," Trip said
with a chuckle. "She hasn't managed it, though." Trip laughed
again and clapped me on the shoulder. "C'mon, my stubborn,
competitive friend, let's go."

-----

After dinner, Trip and I both had mail to read. My letter was
from Gina. She'd gotten my address from Leah, who'd gotten it
from Erin. I'd been meaning to write a letter of my own, but I
hadn't had the time (or energy).

Gina talked about her new apartment, and her job at the hospital.
Los Angeles took some getting used to, she said, since it was a
lot bigger than Atlanta. She'd bought a map of the city, which
was actually a spiral-bound _book_ instead of the folded maps she
was used to.

She talked about the people, and how different they were. She
missed her family, and she missed camp. She also missed me, she
said. She gave me her phone number and asked me to call her
sometime. Finally, she closed the letter and signed "Love always,
Gina."

My chest suddenly felt tight, and I had to blink to clear my
eyes. Trip pretended not to notice. He was sitting across from me
at the little kitchen table, reading his own letter.

"How's Abby?" I asked.

"She's fine," he said. "She wants me to come to Louisiana this
weekend. It's her birthday."

"I could fly you down," I said, glad for the distraction. "No
problem."

"There's a Van Halen concert on Friday," he said, "but we could
get up early Saturday." He met my eyes. "Are you up for it?"

"Cross-country time?" I asked rhetorically. "Sure."

While he wrote a reply to Abby, I dug out my sectional charts and
started planning the trip. It was a long time before I looked at
Gina's letter again. When I did, I set it aside. I'd reply in a
day or two, when I could do it without feeling like I missed her
more than ever.

-----

For the rest of the week, Junior and I tried to ignore each
other. When we did work together, it was always a competition to
see who could work harder. He was determined not to let "the
college kid" show him up, and I was determined to do just that.
Finally, his father took notice.

"Quit it. Both of you," Mike said. "We're here to work, not have
a pissing contest."

Junior and I both looked stubborn. Big Jim merely shook his head.
He'd grown tired of our antics as well, and wasn't "talking" to
either of us.

"If you can't play nice," Mike said, "I'll work you to death, so
you won't have time to play games. You got me?"

"Yes, sir," Junior said.

Mike leveled his eyes at me.

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now, Jim's gonna work with me for a while," Mike said. He
fixed his son and me with a hard stare. "I want you to start
moving the lumber for the decks. Sort it into stacks behind each
house." He gave each of us another stare, and we nodded.

After a few false starts, Junior and I got into a rhythm. The
work was backbreaking, and we barely had breath to speak, much
less argue. Mike had intended just that, which Junior and I both
understood.

We finally finished well after five o'clock. We sat on our stacks
and stared into space, each dripping with sweat. Mike suddenly
appeared, as though he sensed our idleness. He put us to work
moving sacks of concrete for the deck footings. We finished
shortly before quitting time. I felt like sagging to the ground,
but I refused to let Junior see how tired I was.

"You work pretty hard for a college kid," he said at last.

"I have to keep up with you."

I was too tired to say more, but it seemed to be enough.

-----

Trip and I arrived at the airport about an hour after sunrise.
The skies were clear, although the weather service said a low
pressure front was pushing in from Arkansas. Since I still wasn't
IFR certified, I planned to skirt the southern edge of it.

At the FBO, Trip paid for the plane rental, a Cessna 182. It was
more than we needed, but I was already current in it. Besides, it
was faster than a 152. As much as I loved flying, I didn't want
to spend all day at the controls.

We took off twenty minutes later. I turned toward Louisiana and
set the navigation radios for the first set of beacons. Departure
cleared us to our cruising altitude, and I set the throttle for
135 knots. After a few adjustments for trim, I set the autopilot.

Trip was quiet for the first hundred miles or so.

"What do you think of Abby?" he said at last.

"Why?"

"Do you think she'd ever go to a nudist camp?"

"I dunno. She took off her clothes back at UT."

"'Cause she was drunk," he said.

"Well, yeah, but..."

He shrugged. "She's not the adventurous type."

"Um... no."

"She's like that in bed, too."

I shot him a quick look.

"Don't get me wrong," he said, "I enjoy it, but..."

"But...?"

"It's little things," he said, but left it at that.

I knew what he meant, even if he didn't explain. Kendall had told
me most of it. Abby let him come in her mouth, but she didn't
swallow. She'd have sex in different positions, but only if he
asked. And she wouldn't try sex in front of another couple, much
less anal sex.

He saw that I understood. "Yeah," he said heavily. He shook his
head. "I just don't know. I mean, she's a really nice girl. She's
sweet and kind and smart..." He sighed. "I just don't feel it. Does
that make sense?"

I nodded. "You don't love her."

"I do, I guess. But not like I should."

"You're not _in_ love."

"Exactly. I think she's great, but..." He stared out the window. "I
dunno, man."

"What are you gonna do?" I said at last.

"That's the big question, isn't it?"

We fell silent, and I watched someone _else_ lost in thought for
a change.

-----

The low pressure front had pushed further south than forecast.
Towering clouds loomed on the horizon as we crossed into
Mississippi. A thunderstorm was brewing. A big one, by the looks
of it.

Memphis Center cleared us to vector south of the storm, where we
ran into a headwind. I called the airport at Natchitoches and
revised our arrival time.

Abby was waiting for us when we landed. As I refueled the plane,
Trip and I made plans to meet on Sunday. He'd told Abby that I
was going to meet "a friend." In reality, I didn't want to hang
around and be a third wheel. Besides, I wanted to go home and
sleep in a real bed. I didn't _mind_ living with Trip, but I was
still getting used to it.

-----

Dekalb Peachtree Airport was a familiar, welcome sight. I entered
the pattern behind three other planes, and watched impatiently as
they touched down and cleared the runway. Finally, I crossed the
threshold and flared over the numbers.

At the FBO, I put the fuel and tie-down fees on my father's
account. Then I headed out to the parking lot and found his beat-
up airport car. The magnetic box with the key was right where it
was supposed to be, and the trusty little Karmann Ghia started on
the first try. After so many hours in the air, driving a car felt
odd, smooth, quiet. Still, I was glad to be in Atlanta.

Two hours later, I was thoroughly bored. I didn't want to watch
MTV. I didn't want to listen to my Walkman. I didn't want to
read. And I didn't want to be alone anymore.

I thought about calling Gina, but decided against it. I could
write a letter, but decided against that, too. I thought about
writing one to Kendall, but she'd be back in Chattanooga in a
day. Besides, she hadn't written me a single letter since I left
camp. I figured she was too busy studying.

I didn't know what any of my friends from high school were doing,
so I did the only thing I could think of: I called Wren. Her
mother answered.

"Hello, Mrs. Hilliard," I said. "It's Paul Hughes. May I please
speak to Wren?"

"Oh, hello, Paul," she said. "It's so wonderful to hear from
you." Something in her voice made me stop and think. Why was she
being so friendly?

Then it hit me--I'd been Wren's boyfriend! Of course. We hadn't
_really_ been a couple, but her mother didn't know that. Wren had
used me as a convenient stand-in, to keep her mother from
pestering her about a boyfriend. We "broke up" toward the end of
the school year, but I'd forgotten all about it.

"Thank you," I said. "It's nice to speak to you again, ma'am."

"Oh, posh," she said. "You know better than to call me that. Call
me Helen."

"Um... thank you, Helen. Is Wren there?"

"Oh, no, Paul. I'm sorry. She's not."

"Oh. Is she in Florida? Could I call her th--"

"She's at work. You could stop by, though."

"Where's she working?" I asked. I was eager to get out of the
house, but not nearly as eager as Helen was for me to see her
daughter. I shook my head. Maybe Wren had been right to have a
pretend boyfriend after all.

Helen gave me directions. "Oh, she'll be so happy to see you!"

I thanked her and hung up. Then I grabbed the car keys and headed
out.

-----

I pulled into the restaurant parking lot and found a space. I
couldn't imagine Wren as a waitress, so I decided to request a
table in her section. With a chuckle, I pictured her surprise
when she saw me.

Unfortunately, I wasn't really dressed to eat there. It was a
fancy place, with dark wood paneling and a slate-tiled entryway.
It reminded me of an upscale English hunting lodge, which fit the
name, The Wellington House. Still, I thought I'd surprise her by
showing up unannounced.

Instead, _I_ got the surprise when I reached the hostess stand.
The girl there was petite and attractive, with dark, lustrous
hair piled atop her head in curls. She wore a forest green
evening dress, which showed just enough cleavage to draw my eye.
She was looking down at the seating chart, so I took a moment to
admire her compact body.

She looked up when I drew near. "Welcome to the Wellington
House..." Her eyes widened.

I blinked in surprise. "Wren?"

"Paul?"

I laughed, but my eyes drank her in. She looked even better than
I remembered.

"What're you doing here?" she said.

"I came to see you."

"But I thought you were in Tennessee."

"I'm home for the weekend," I said, which sounded lame. "I
thought maybe we could do something tonight. But..." I gestured at
the hostess stand. "Maybe after you get off?"

She considered for a moment, and then said, "Hold on a second."
She turned to a newly returned hostess and whispered something.

A couple came in behind me, and the second hostess led them
toward their seats.

"Let me make a quick call," Wren said. She picked up the phone
and dialed. "Hi, Denise," she said. "It's Wren. Can you cover my
shift tonight? I know it's last-minute, but a friend from out of
town just got here... He wants to go out tonight... No, I had no idea
he was coming... Who is he?" Wren looked at me, and a flush crept
up her cheeks. "Just a friend..." Another nervous glance. "Um...
Paul." Her flush deepened. "Yes, _that_ Paul." She frowned. "No,
I'm _not_," she said sharply. "Can you cover for me? Thanks, I
really appreciate it. See you in twenty minutes." She hung up and
looked at me. "I guess you heard?"

"Sorry."

"That's okay," she said. "Denise...um... Denise thinks you're my ex-
boyfriend."

Wren told her about me? Why? I kept my questions to myself,
though, and we made small talk until Denise arrived.

"You must be Paul," she said. "I feel like I already know you."

Wren tried not to glare daggers, but we managed to make it out of
the restaurant without too much fuss.

"Where's you car?" she finally asked.

I sheepishly pointed to the old Karmann Ghia. "It's my dad's
airport car," I said. "I flew in from Louisiana. My car's still
in Franklin."

"Aren't you the jet-setter."

I felt my cheeks heat.

She decided to let me off the hook. "So, what do you want to do
tonight?"

"I thought we'd go to dinner," I said. But then I gestured at my
clothes, shorts and a Polo. "One of us needs to change, though."

"Do you have anything nice to wear?" she asked.

I nodded. "At home."

"Then what're we waiting for?"

During the ride to my parents' house, I told her about the reason
for my trip.

"So you have to leave tomorrow?" she said.

I nodded. Then I eyed her legs--the slit in her dress had fallen
open. "I wish I could stay longer," I said, "but..."

At the house, I took a quick shower and then shaved. Back in my
bedroom, Wren was sitting on my bed, her legs crossed. The dress
had fallen open again, and I took a moment to admire the expanse
of thigh.

"I always wanted to get you into bed," I said with a chuckle.

She grimaced.

I decided to tease her some more, so I pulled off my towel and
draped it over the back of my desk chair. Wren and I had been
nude models in a drawing class, so we'd seen each other countless
times, but she obviously didn't expect me to simply bare it all.

I hid a smirk as she blushed. I wanted her to get a good look, so
I paused to consider the pile of things I'd hastily shoved into a
corner of the room. Finally, I knelt to look for something to
wear. Unfortunately, my suits were in Franklin, so I picked out a
dark pair of slacks, a button-down shirt, and a tie that matched.

When I posed for her approval, she straightened my collar and
smoothed my tie.

"So, where do we want to go?" I asked.

She merely hooked her finger in my waistband and tugged. With a
chuckle, I followed.

We ended up at one of her father's restaurants, a place called
Hilliard's. The staff knew her, so we had excellent service. Her
father was at another restaurant, but she insisted on putting the
meal on his tab. I argued, but she said it'd be okay.

"Since I had so much fun in your bed," she teased, "I should pay
for dinner."

"You're too kind," I deadpanned.

"What do you want to do now?" she asked. She gave me a sultry
look and made a subtle move that pushed her breasts together.

I let my eyes linger on her cleavage, which was what she wanted.
When I met her gaze, I shrugged theatrically. "They're nice," I
said, "but I've seen 'em before."

Her eyes flew wide and she swatted me. "You'll never see them
again with an attitude like that."

I smirked.

She made a face, but then turned serious. "Do you want to go
dancing? I know a great club."

I thought about it, but then had to stifle a yawn. After a hard
week at work, the concert the night before, a day of flying, and
a full meal, I was exhausted. In reality, I wanted to go home and
collapse.

Wren seemed to understand. "Can you take me back to my car?"

My heart sank.

"I'll follow you to your house," she said, "and we can hang out
there."

Back at my parents' house, I changed into a loose pair of shorts
and my Polo from earlier. Wren undressed in Erin's room, and was
already wearing borrowed shorts and a T-shirt by the time I
knocked on the door.

She flashed a smug smile and returned to the dresser. She
unpinned her hair, which cascaded over her shoulders in soft
waves. I leaned against the door jamb and watched as she brushed
it out. She wasn't wearing a bra, and her nipples stood out
against the thin fabric of the shirt. She knew I was watching, so
she took her time and made a show of it.

We decided to watch a movie on cable. She snuggled close and I
put my arm around her. Part of me hoped for more, even though I
knew I shouldn't. Kendall and I had a unique relationship, but it
didn't include me having sex with other women without permission.

Still, I hadn't had sex for nearly two weeks, and I felt my dick
swell as my imagination roamed. I knew it was dangerous, but I
didn't want to stop. Besides, we were sitting like two people
long familiar with each other, and the contact wasn't doing
anything to suppress the urge.

"This is nice," she said softly.

I nodded, and hoped she didn't notice the bulge in my shorts.

When the movie ended, we turned to MTV. Unfortunately, I couldn't
keep my eyes open. Horny or not, I wanted to go to sleep. I
suppressed a yawn, but Wren noticed. She pulled away and I
thought she was going to leave, but she merely slid to the end of
the couch and patted her lap.

I took the invitation and rested my head on her soft thighs. She
stroked my temples, and my eyelids drooped. I tried to stay
awake, but her fingers felt so good. The last thing I remember
was listening to a Flock of Seagulls video and thinking how
comfortable I was.

-----

I woke up the next morning to the sound of the shower. I threw
back my blanket and leapt out of bed. No, I leapt off the
_couch_.

I looked around in confusion and tried to remember what had
happened the night before. Did Wren spend the night? Did we...? No,
I was still wearing the shorts and Polo, and I didn't smell like
sex. Worse, I was as horny as ever.

The bathroom door was ajar, so I pushed it open. "Hello?"

"I'll be done in a minute," Wren said, without the least sign of
concern.

"Do you want company?" I asked, more bold than smart.

She laughed, chiding and playful at the same time. "You can
shower when I'm done."

I waited until she finished, and handed her a towel when she
groped for it.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

She opened the shower curtain. Unfortunately, she had the towel
wrapped around her. She chuckled when she saw my hopeful look.
"You've seen them before," she taunted. "Remember?"

"That doesn't mean I don't want to see 'em again."

"Sorry, you had your chance."

I snorted and pulled off my shirt as she began combing her hair.
She didn't even glance my way as I shucked my shorts and climbed
into the shower. I didn't want to jerk off with her in the
bathroom--that would just seem pathetic--so I decided to talk.

"Where'd you sleep last night?" I asked.

"Your bed," she said, a grin in her voice. "I called my mom and
told her I was going to spend the night here. I'm sure she thinks
some hanky-panky was going on."

"I'm sure," I said dryly.

"Too bad there wasn't."

_Was that an invitation?_ I stuck my head out to gauge her
expression.

She smiled, too sweetly.

I stuck out my tongue and then ducked back into the shower.

"I could've used that last night," she said.

I sighed. She was worse than Susan. "You should've asked," I
said. I finished under the shower and turned it off. When I
reached for a towel, Wren smirked at me.

"I was really in the mood."

I harrumphed. Then I stepped out of the shower and made a show of
wrapping my towel around my waist. If she wanted to tease, then
_two_ could play that game.

"I took off my clothes and got into bed," she said.

Unfortunately, my imagination kicked into gear, with the
predictable results

She dreamily ran her fingertips over her towel-covered chest. "I
decided I wouldn't say no if you climbed into bed with me." She
continued, still remembering, "I kept hoping you'd wake up and
come to bed."

I swallowed hard.

"So I started playing with myself as I imagined your body." She
closed her eyes and moistened her lips. "I spread my legs and
touched myself."

I was hanging on every word, and my dick was rock hard. A
distracted part of me knew I should try to hide the bulge--why
give her more ammunition to tease me with?--but I couldn't tear
my eyes from her.

Still dreamy, still sultry, she trailed her fingers down her
stomach to the bottom of the towel. She ran a finger along its
edge, mere inches from her pussy.

I started salivating at the thought of tasting her.

"I wanted you to go down on me," she said, as if reading my mind.
Her breathing grew deeper and a flush crept up her cheeks. "I
wanted you to fill me with your big, hard dick."

Her eyes popped open, glittering with mischief. "But you never
came to bed," she said, mock-sad. "So you missed your chance to
rock my world. Sorry." She didn't look sorry at all. In fact, her
eyes danced with delight when she saw my trapped erection. "I
really could've used that last night."

"It's not too late," I rasped.

She made a moue and tried to look apologetic. It didn't work. "I
guess you'll have to take care of yourself."

I clenched my jaw. "I'll get you for this. You know that, right?"

She grinned and nodded, insufferably smug. Then she took pity on
me. "I'm not a total prick tease," she said. She reached up and
tugged her towel loose. It fell.

Her breasts were perfect, full and firm, with dark nipples,
puckered with arousal. Her stomach was soft and flat, and led to
a neatly trimmed bush of dark pubic hair. She posed, and my dick
throbbed painfully.

"That should give you something to think about," she said. Then
she turned to leave. "Say hi to Rosy for me," she called as she
shut the door behind her.

_How evil can one girl be?_

I stared after her, but the closed door didn't have the answer.

_I can't believe it,_ I silently griped. _She's... She's too sexy
for her own good!_

-----

"Rosy says hello," I said when I finally sauntered into the
kitchen. "Twice."

"Twice?"

I shrugged. "Twice."

"Impressive."

I nodded as nonchalantly as I could. Then I opened the
refrigerator.

"I made orange juice," Wren said, "but I didn't feel like pickles
and Thousand Island dressing for breakfast."

I chuckled. The fridge was full of salad dressing, condiments,
and a solitary jar of pickles. My family didn't keep food in the
house when they were away for the summer. Wren had found some
frozen orange juice, though.

"Would you like a glass?" she offered.

I nodded and she poured.

"Do you want to take me to breakfast after our night of passion?"

"Only _one_ of us had a night of passion," I grumbled. I was a
bit annoyed by her teasing, but I had to admire her at the same
time. I wasn't used to a woman who said no.

"Hey," she said, "it's not _my_ fault you were too tired. I
would've said yes in a heartbeat. But you fell asleep." She
artfully studied her fingernails. "Just like a man." Then she
grinned, her eyes full of warmth and mischief at the same time.
"I did have fun last night," she said, much kinder. "In a way,
I'm glad you didn't come to bed."

I sipped my orange juice and arched an eyebrow in question.

She shrugged. "Sure, we would've had sex, and you probably
would've rocked my world"--her eyes glittered--"but then what?"

"What do you mean, 'Then what?'"

"Well," she said, "you have a girlfriend, who I happen to like.
Would you break up with her to date me?"

I looked at her long and hard, but she didn't blink. Was she
_asking me_, or simply raising the question? I started to answer,
but then fell silent.

"I didn't think so," Wren said, reading me perfectly. "Besides, I
wouldn't want you if you did," she added. "So it's better that I
took care of things myself." She giggled. "And you had a date
with Rosy."

"_Two_ dates."

She inclined her head.

I reluctantly smiled, amazed that we could flirt but still have a
nonsexual relationship. I'd never felt that way about a girl, and
I didn't know what to think. It was... different. Nice, but
different.

"When do you have to leave?" she asked softly.

I glanced at my watch. "Soon."

"Do you have time for breakfast? I was going to be nice and fix
you something, but..." She gestured at the nearly empty
refrigerator.

"Thanks," I said. Then I glanced at my watch again, calculating
the flight time to Louisiana. "Yeah, I have time."

"I could follow you to the airport and we could eat at that
restaurant there."

We cleaned up the kitchen and then the rest of the house. She
helped make my bed, and apologized for not washing the sheets.

I teased her: "You didn't get them _too_ wet, did you?"

She blushed. "Um... no."

"Then they'll keep."

She followed me to the airport, and we had a quiet breakfast. We
talked about a few things, but nothing profound. When we were
done, she followed as I returned my dad's car to the airport
parking lot and replaced the key in the magnetic box.

On the flight line, she watched as I preflighted the plane. When
I was ready to go, she smiled and easily slid into my arms. I
hugged her, and she pressed her cheek to my chest. We stood like
that for several moments.

When she pulled back, she looked at me with shiny eyes. I smiled,
but couldn't think of anything to say. She closed her eyes and
her lips parted. Our kiss was soft and tender, lingering, but
then she pulled away. I opened my eyes slowly.

"Thanks for being such a good friend," she said. "I shouldn't
tease you, but..." She shrugged. "I can't help myself." She looked
up at me again. "Thanks for not taking advantage of me. I know
you really care. That means a lot."

"I do care," I said.

"I know. I can see it in your eyes."

I nodded.

"Friends can love each other, right?"

"Of course," I said, my voice husky with emotion.

"Promise we'll always be friends."

"I promise."

She closed her eyes and hugged me again. I kissed the top of her
head and inhaled the scent of her. When she pulled back, her
expression was composed.

"You're not so Mysterious after all," she said softly.

"You're still Beautiful."

Her smile was soft and warm. She hugged me one last time and then
we said goodbye. She walked back to the FBO as I taxied to the
runway. I looked for her when I lifted off. She waved, and I
waggled the wings in reply.

-----

Copyright (c) 2007 Nick Scipio. All rights reserved.

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