Message-ID: <55521asstr$1175476201@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-To: ckought69@hotmail.com Delivered-To: ckought69@hotmail.com X-Original-Path: news.giganews.com.POSTED!not-for-mail NNTP-Posting-Date: Sun, 01 Apr 2007 11:01:32 -0500 From: Nick Scipio <nick@nickscipio.com> User-Agent: Thunderbird 1.5.0.10 (Macintosh/20070221) MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-Original-Message-ID: <AOKdnQIpOZTBSpLbnZ2dnUVZ_ompnZ2d@giganews.com> X-DMCA-Notifications: http://www.giganews.com/info/dmca.html X-Abuse-and-DMCA-Info: Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers X-Abuse-and-DMCA-Info: Otherwise we will be unable to process your complaint properly X-Postfilter: 1.3.34 X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Sun, 01 Apr 2007 12:00:47 -0400 Subject: {ASSM} "Summer Camp - Book 4" by Nick Scipio - Ch 2 (no sex, tease, mast) Lines: 1909 Date: Sun, 01 Apr 2007 21:10:01 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2007/55521> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: newsman, dennyw 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. 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