Swinging for the Fences

Chapter 32

Christy and I flew from San Diego to Atlanta and then drove to Knoxville instead of camp. We’d forgotten a certain suitcase, the one with our sex toys. I didn’t think it was a big deal—not enough to drive three hours for—but Christy made it clear that I was wrong. Worse, I complained about it and then had to eat my words when we discovered other things we’d forgotten. Most of them were minor, but one would’ve been a problem—I’d left the house thermostat set to cool.

“I had a checklist and everything,” I berated myself. “I went over it before we left.”

Christy thought back and then avoided my eyes.

“Hold on,” I said, “I did, didn’t I?”

“Maybe you wanted to, but I… um… might’ve… distracted you. A little.”

“Oh, that’s right,” I laughed. “You did!”

“Sorry?”

“It’s all right. And it’s a good thing you made a stink about the suitcase—”

“I did not ‘make a stink’!”

“Fair enough. You were pretty insistent, though.”

“So? I wanted our toys. I have plans.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we came home first. The bathroom light and basement door weren’t a big deal, but the A/C was. Unfortunately, now I’m wondering what else I missed.”

“Why don’t we just ask Sayuri?” Christy said. “To keep an eye on the house, I mean.”

“Do you think she’d mind?”

“Of course not. I’ll go ask her.”

“Hold on a sec.” I glanced at my watch and counted forward. “You know it’ll be late when we get to camp. We might as well spend the night here. I mean, we have the house to ourselves,” I hinted.

“Uh-uh, no way. You have to say it. That’s what you’re always telling me, Mr. Good for the Goose.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Talk to Sayuri and then hurry back. We’ll get something to eat first. Maybe Chinese?”

“Yum!”

“And then I have plans for you.”

“Nefarious plans?”

“Naughty ones.”

“Ooh, even better.”

* * *

I swallowed to moisten my mouth and then waited for my eyes to focus. My heart rate and breathing would take a minute before they returned to normal, so I pushed myself upright. The ache in my hand reminded me that I needed to avoid putting too much weight on it.

Christy lay on her stomach, and her back rose and fell with her own heavy breathing. I sat back on my heels, and she sighed as my cock slid out of her.

“You okay?”

She nodded. “Tingly.”

I caressed her pink bottom and stretched toward the nightstand to snag the ribbon with the handcuff keys.

“Thank you, Mr. Kidnapper,” she said as I released her. “Did my father pay the ransom?”

“No. He told me to keep you.”

“Unh! He did not!” She pulled off the blindfold and pretend-glared over her shoulder.

“You’re going to have to pay it yourself.” I slapped her thigh with my semi-hard cock as a reminder. “The hard way.”

“Mmm, hard… Do I need to make another payment?”

“Oh, boy.” I swung my leg over hers and scooted to the side.

“Well, I have to pay if I want my freedom.” She rolled to her side and grinned up at me. “Isn’t that the deal?”

“Sounds like a letter in Penthouse.”

“Ooh, it does!” Her enthusiasm turned to a frown. “Speaking of which…?”

“No, I haven’t subscribed yet. We were so busy that I forgot. Besides, we’re about to leave town for three months.”

“That’s okay. We can stop on the way and you can buy them. It’s in the Handbook, you know. Page two.”

I laughed and lay on my back. Christy scooted closer, lay along my side, and slid her leg over mine. We sighed in mutual exhaustion.

“I thought page two was seducing your friends,” I said after a moment.

“No, that’s page six.”

“How do you remember all this stuff?”

She shrugged and fibbed, “I just do.” She changed the subject before I could ask her about it. “If we’re going to buy magazines, do we need to buy anything else?”

“Like what?”

“I dunno. Maybe flavored lube or something? A new collar? Oh, darn! We were supposed to go to the store in San Diego.”

“We were kinda busy.”

“I know.”

“Besides, we have plenty of toys to keep us occupied.”

“I know. Only, I like shopping for them.”

“Let’s try window shopping instead. Or maybe a catalog.”

“Ooh, that sounds fun! I’ll ask Brooke. She’ll know which is the best.” She sighed and fell silent, although I could feel her working up to something. “I… um… thought of something else we might need.”

“Oh?”

“Maybe some rope? And tent stakes?”

I frowned uncertainly. “What for? Camping?”

“Um, no, not exactly.”

“Then… what?”

“Think about it,” she prompted. “What do I like?”

“Well, the ropes are obvious. To tie you up.”

“Mmm hmm. And…?”

“Ah, right. The tent stakes are so we can do it outside.”

“I promise, I’ll be a good captive. I won’t scream or anything, even if you have your way with me.”

“You’re a kinky little thing,” I chuckled.

“Mmm, I know. But only for you.”

“Maybe I should thank God.”

“You should,” she said. “He made me this way. He made you like it.”

“No, I think you did that,” I said. “I wasn’t into bondage and discipline before I met you. Maybe a little, just for fun, but nothing serious.”

“Well, you’re into it now. And you’re very good at it. Master.”

“Ha! Master, huh? Okay, but… what should I do with you?”

“I have a few ideas,” she said coyly.

“I bet you do,” I chuckled. “So… tell me.”

“I can’t just tell you! You have to force it out of me.”

“Which is exactly what you want me to do.”

“Of course.”

“So… Wren was right? I don’t know what I want until you tell me?”

“No. You weren’t ready. Before, I mean.”

My eyebrows rose with a question.

She felt it and answered, “That’s what my mom thinks. Marianne too. She said you had to ‘sow your wild oats’ before you were ready to settle down.”

“And… am I? Ready to settle down?”

“I don’t know. Are you?”

“Yes and no,” I said after a moment. “I’ll be honest, I dunno if I’ll ever be ready to ‘settle down’ like Marianne and your mom mean it.”

“Good,” Christy said with obvious relief. “I won’t either.”

“But whatever I do, it’ll be with you.”

“I know. I feel the same.” She sighed. “It’s kinda scary, though, isn’t it? Not really, but you know what I mean.” She paused to gather her thoughts. “I get so worked up sometimes, especially when I think about all the things I want to do. And not just with you. Maybe I need to sow some of my own wild oats.”

“Maybe you do.”

“I’d… like that. Especially if you watch. And for the record, I don’t mean like Wren. She wants everyone to watch. I only want you. And only ’cause I know you like it.”

“That’s sort of why I enjoy bondage and discipline,” I said. “I don’t really get off from tying you up or spanking you. I get excited ’cause you get excited. The fun part is what comes after. Well, for me.”

“I like that part too, but I know what you mean. My mom says that’s what real love is, when you do something for the other person. Something you wouldn’t normally do, I mean.”

“She’s right.”

Christy fell silent and then said, “You really aren’t upset? That I don’t want to have sex with other men? I will if you want me to. Well… I’ll try. I don’t know if I can.”

“I don’t want you to. Not if you don’t want to.” I thought about it and tried to explain, “I guess it isn’t fun if I like something and you don’t. Like anal sex. Or vice versa. You like pain, but I don’t.” I held up my splint and flexed my healthy fingers. “I can live with it ’cause I have to, but I don’t particularly enjoy it.”

“I can’t explain why I like it,” she said.

“Doesn’t matter. You do. But you don’t try to make me like it too. That’s how I feel about you and other men.”

“Or me and anal sex.” She shuddered for effect.

“Exactly.”

“Thank you, by the way. For not trying to force me.”

“What? To do anal? Or to have sex with other men?”

“Either? Both!” She laughed and then fell silent. After a moment she sighed. “I’m kinda excited to do things with Trip. I know I complain about him, but Wren’s right, he’s a nice guy. Well, when he isn’t annoying me, but you know what I mean. Besides, I know how you are.”

“Oh?”

“You get excited when I talk about guys in my past and things I’ve done. So I’m kinda hoping you’ll get more excited if you watch.”

“Oh, I think I will. As long as you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Paul, dear… I love giving head. I do it for myself. Don’t get me wrong, it’s even better ’cause you enjoy it too, but that isn’t really why I do it. I know that’s kinda selfish—”

I shook my head.

“—but it’s what I discovered with Vaughn. Yeah, he was a jerk, but I didn’t really care.”

I nodded.

“At least I learned some things. About myself, I mean. Like how I like being forced. Or humiliated. The threat, at least. And I learned from you that it’s okay to do the things I used to be afraid of.”

“And that’s a good thing,” I finished.

“The best.”

* * *

Trip had left us several surprises at the Retreat, and they were all good. He’d bought a used truck, a weathered Chevy that had probably been new about the time I’d started kindergarten. He explained in a note that it ran fine, despite its looks. We’d need it to haul building supplies from town and around camp. He’d also finished the work on two of the bungalows, he wrote, so Christy and I wouldn’t have to sleep on an air mattress in the clubhouse. Last but certainly not least, he’d installed the pool pump and filter equipment.

“Trip finished the pool for us,” I told Christy when I finished reading.

“He did it for Wren, I’m sure. Oh, don’t look at me like that. I know you want me to say he did it for me, but even if he did, she probably told him to.”

“It was the last thing he did. He literally added it as a postscript, an afterthought.”

“For real?”

“Mmm hmm. Besides, why do it before he left? I mean, if he did it for Wren, she won’t be able to enjoy it till they get here. On the other hand,” I pointed out, “someone else will be able to enjoy it now.”

“Oh, wow. That was really nice of him.”

“Yep.” I gave her another moment to appreciate it. “All right, let’s unpack and make a list of things we need from the store.”

The bungalows didn’t have proper furniture yet, so we’d be sleeping on an air mattress after all. But Trip had found some apple crates to use as nightstands and dressers. Christy hummed happily to herself as she emptied our large suitcase.

My work clothes took up most of the space. I normally brought a few T-shirts and pairs of shorts, but I didn’t fancy the idea of doing construction or demolition with that much skin exposed.

Slashes and gashes and cuts, oh my!

I chuckled at my own wit and said to Christy, “I’m gonna clean out the pool. Then I’ll start the hose running to fill it.”

“Ooh, we can go for a swim tonight.”

“Um… no, probably not.”

“Why not?”

“The pool won’t be full. It’ll take days.”

“Please don’t tease me like that.”

“No, I’m serious. Gimme a sec and I’ll figure out how long.”

“How?” she asked suspiciously.

“Math. It’s easy. Length times width times depth for the volume. Oh, wait. Yeah, I’ll have to do average depth. The rest is easy, though. Multiply by seven point five gallons per cubic foot. Divide by nine gallons per minute for an average garden hose. Finally, divide by sixty. Then twenty-four. For hours and days. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” she said, unamused. “Do you really just know all those numbers? Seven times sixty, point five into nine…? What was the rest?”

“Of course I know ’em,” I laughed. “I have to. It’s my job.”

“Okay, but can you really do all that math in your head?”

“I can if someone stops asking questions.”

She glared.

“Here, I’ll prove it.” I knew the exact dimensions of the pool, but it was shaped like an L, which complicated things. Still, the math simplified nicely. “Seventy-two hundred. Cubic feet,” I added. “Now, multiply by five-sixths.”

“Hold on. You said seven point five. And divide by nine.”

“Ah, so you were paying attention?”

“I’m always paying attention, Paul, dear. I just don’t know what it means.”

“Well, seven point five divided by nine is five-sixths. It simplifies.”

“Uh-huh. If you say so.”

“Math says so. Anyway, seventy-two divides evenly by six, so the rest is easy. A hundred. Hours.”

“What? How long it’ll take to fill? That’s, like, a week!”

“More like four days and four hours, but yeah.”

“Four days and four hours,” she mocked grumpily. “You’re worse than Brooke.”

“Much worse,” I laughed. “But cheer up. If we start now, we can go swimming on Saturday. Evening. At seven twenty. And thirty seconds.”

“Smarty-pants,” she said under her breath.

* * *

We spent the rest of the afternoon in town. We stopped by the hardware store for chlorine and pool supplies. Much to my surprise, Christy knew most of what we needed, and she charmed old Mr. McMasters in the process. He added several things we’d need for a new pool and threw in a booklet that explained the whole process. Afterward, he told us where to go for lawn and garden furniture. Christy worked her magic there too, and the woman gave us a discount on folding lounge chairs.

“You’re going to have the whole town wrapped around your finger by the end of the summer,” I teased Christy as I loaded the chairs.

“End of the summer? I’m hoping for the end of the day.”

“Well, good luck at the liquor store.”

“I don’t need luck,” she boasted. “Smile and be polite, and the world’s your oyster. That’s what my nana says.”

“She’s right about that.”

The dapper old gentleman at the liquor store wasn’t exactly immune to Christy’s charm, but she delicately cleared her throat and nudged me instead.

“Go on,” she whispered. “Smile. Be polite.”

“Excuse me,” I said. “I’m hoping you can help me. I have a list…?”

We started with the liquor, and he quickly pulled bottles from the shelves. Then we moved to the wine. He even suggested a few that were better and cheaper than the ones on our list. Thirty minutes later, Christy and I left with four cases, plus the man’s promise to order anything special if we wanted it.

“That poor man,” Christy said as we pulled out of the parking lot.

“Poor man? He seemed happy enough to me.”

“I’m sure he’s terribly lonely. Can you imagine what it’s like for him? Here? In South Carolina?”

“Why? What’s the matter with him?”

“Nothing, really. Only, he’s gay.”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course. Couldn’t you tell?”

“I just thought he was polite. And a snappy dresser.” I listened to what I’d just said. “Oh, please, that’s such a cliché.”

“Whatever you say, dear.”

We pulled into the parking lot at our final stop, the Winn-Dixie. Christy surprised me when she took over. I’d been grocery shopping with her before, and she’d never been that serious.

“I’ve moved a dozen times since I was five,” she explained. “I can’t plan a menu or feed a family, but I know the basics, like how to restock a kitchen. And we need even more in this case, ’cause Trip didn’t leave anything. I don’t think he even ate there.”

“Why would he?” I said. “He probably ate with Susan. Besides, the kitchen is Wren’s department.”

“You mean a woman’s department,” Christy accused.

“Maybe in Trip’s mind, but not in mine. Then again, you should probably cut him some slack. You’ve seen Wren in the kitchen. She’s the boss. Can you imagine anyone trying to tell her what to do?”

“I know. You’re right.” Christy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t know why I’m getting upset. Trip’s been fine lately. Yeah, he made that dumb crack on your birthday, but he’s been fine since. He even did the pool for us.”

“For you,” I corrected. “He wouldn’t’ve done it if it were only me.”

“Yeah. So… why’m I picking on him?”

“No clue.” I glanced at her sideways and added, “Maybe we can all start fresh when he and Wren get back from Florida.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“I… um… think they’ll both be pretty happy.”

Christy narrowed her eyes. I didn’t think she could read me that easily, but she must’ve seen something in my bland expression.

“Oh my gosh! Are you serious?”

“What? I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to! Is he really going to do it?”

“Do what?” I said evasively.

“Propose! You have to tell me. Please, please!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Paul Dean Hughes, don’t lie to me.”

“Okay,” I relented. “But you have to swear—”

“Paul!”

“Yeah, all right. If I can’t trust you, I can’t trust anyone.”

“Thank you. But you’re stalling.”

“I don’t know how much there is to tell.”

“Where’d he get the ring? What’s it look like? How’s he going to ask? Where? Oh my gosh! There’s a million details, and they’re all important.”

“Note to self…,” I chuckled.

“Exactly! This is a really important moment in a woman’s life.”

“It’s pretty important for the man, too. Okay, here’s what I know… It isn’t much,” I cautioned.

“Stalling.”

“Right. Sorry. Here goes…”

* * *

Christy chattered happily as we unloaded everything back at camp. She even offered to cook dinner.

“Mom says I need to be more ‘domestic,’ whatever that means.” She paused and then sighed as her mood went from upbeat to pensive. “I don’t think she understands. That I don’t want to be like her, I mean. It’s so weird. She understands about me being on the pill and even us living together. Erin’s right, though. ‘Out of sight, out of mind.’ But this is something else. It’s like she’s stuck in the past sometimes. Like, ‘a woman’s place is in the home.’”

“Really? She said that?”

“She didn’t actually say it, but what else could she mean? Only, I don’t want to be stuck at home.”

“Who said you have to be? Not me.”

“I know. You’ve always been very good about us deciding for ourselves. But I suppose I’m feeling guilty.”

“Why?”

“I… don’t know. And that bothers me more than anything.”

“Regular old Catholic guilt?”

“Maybe,” she conceded. “And maybe I’m just annoyed.”

“At what?”

“All this!” She gestured at the grocery chaos in the Retreat’s clubhouse.

“What about it?”

“Maybe I am ready to settle down. No, not like that,” she added quickly. “I still want to be a swinger. But… I want someplace permanent. I hated moving when I was little. My mom practically had to drag me out of the house at a new place.”

I nodded.

“Well, I’m sick of it! No, not camp. It’s fine. I know it’s only temporary, and we’re doing it for work. But when we’re married, I want a house with a yard and a pool and a studio. I want pets, too! Dogs. Big ones. And I don’t want to move every three years when your job changes.”

“We might have to,” I said as reasonably as I could.

“Not if you and Trip are successful.”

My eyebrows rose with surprise and a question.

“I really want you to succeed. Not only for you, but for us. I know I’m never going to have a real job, much less a career, but—”

“Of course you will. At least, you will if I have anything to say about it.”

“Thank you, Mr. Positive,” she said. “But… think about it. I know how hard it is to be an artist. I’ll never make a living at it. I certainly won’t be able to support myself. So I’ll probably end up teaching kindergarten. Or worse, art classes at the community center. Or I’ll be a stay-at-home mom, like Marianne. She loves it. But what if I’m like Lynne instead?”

I pulled her into my arms. “We’ll figure it out.”

“I know. Thank you. But that’s why I want you to do well. With Trip, I mean. I… know it’s only a dream, but I want to be a real artist, not a teacher or a sad nobody at the community center.”

I chuckled. “I can’t imagine you as a nobody.”

“Thank you. But that’s why you and Trip need to succeed. Then maybe I can have a real job. And we won’t have to move if you own the company.”

“You know,” I said after a moment, “this is why your father became an admiral.”

Christy frowned at the non sequitur. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that your parents probably had a similar conversation. Oh, say, thirty-five years ago. You’ll have to ask your mom.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“The reason your father’s successful. Sure, he’s smart and ambitious, but he couldn’t’ve done it without your mother. I think he realizes that.”

“Of course he does.”

“And you see the similarities?”

“What? Between them and us? Of course. But you’d be successful even without me.”

I snorted, polite but firm disbelief.

“You would,” she insisted.

“Probably. But only middling so. I need you if I want to be really successful. My designs are better with you. And I work harder. This is going to sound crazy, but I want to impress you.”

“Oh, Paul, you do! All the time.”

“Thank you. But still, it isn’t enough. Not for me, at least. And especially not when you say things like that, about a house and pool and pets. You’re right, I can give you all those things if Trip and I are successful.” I had a sudden thought and laughed. “Listen to me, talking like the patriarchy. I won’t ‘give’ you anything. You’ll earn it, just like your mother does. Like mine too, for that matter.”

“How?”

“Keep encouraging me. Keep telling me you want me— want us to be successful.” I paused for a moment to gather my thoughts. “Your mom told me it took your dad a while to figure out what she was doing, directing things and encouraging him from the background. Oh, I’m sure he listened to her, but maybe not at first.

“My parents are the same,” I continued. “I think that’s why my dad left the Navy. And it’s why he’s been successful with the airlines. My mom wants nice things and a nice life, especially for Erin and me, so she supports him, encourages him.

“But they’re from a different generation. Your parents too. They got married with the idea that the man would have a career and the woman would raise the family. It took them a while— Well, it took our fathers a while to figure out that our mothers were important too. Not to the family, but to their careers. You and I are different. And I know it, right from the beginning. You’re just as important as I am to our success.”

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“You’re welcome. But don’t start thinking our partnership is a one-way street, where you support me and my career. I support you and yours too. Heck, one day you might make more than me, and I’ll stay at home and raise the kids.”

She scoffed.

“It could happen. And if it does, I’ll be proud of you, proud of us. So keep encouraging me. But encourage yourself too, and listen when I do it. You will have a job. You will have a career. And you will be a somebody. Maybe not right away, but eventually.”

“If you say so.”

“I say so.”

She smiled and pressed her face to my chest. “I love you so much right now.”

“I love you too.” After a moment I chuckled at a predictable urge from the little head.

“Yes, please,” Christy said before I could ask.

* * *

I jogged to the main camp to say hello to Susan the next morning. She and my mom were having breakfast on the patio outside the master bedroom. They were talking and reading the newspaper like an old married couple, which they sort of were.

“Morning,” Susan said. “And welcome. We came by on Monday, but you weren’t there.”

“Yeah, sorry we didn’t call. We made an unscheduled detour to Knoxville.” I didn’t elaborate. “We got here yesterday but spent most of the afternoon in town. I thought I’d stop by this morning before I got busy and forgot.”

“Very nice of you.”

“Is Christy getting settled okay?” my mom asked.

“Yeah.” I told them about our trip to town and how she’d taken over the kitchen.

“Oh? So she decided to cook?”

“Don’t start, Mom, okay?”

Susan teased her gently, “No one’s good enough for your little boy?”

“Well, how did you feel when you met Dawn and Olivia?”

“It didn’t matter. They love my sons and make them happy.”

Mom frowned at the evasion.

“Besides, I liked them both from the beginning.”

“You did not! You thought Dawn was after Kirk’s money.”

“She was,” Susan laughed. “And she’s nearly doubled it already. She’s making twenty-six percent. Twenty-six!”

“What about Olivia?”

“What about her?” Susan said disingenuously.

“Her looks?”

“So she looks like me. Men marry their mothers, you know that.” She gestured at me. “You think it’s a coincidence that Christy’s a blue-eyed blonde with brains and ambition?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, my,” Susan laughed. “Someone’s in denial.”

“I am not in denial.”

“Okay,” I said abruptly. “This conversation just took a turn for the Freudian. That’s my cue to say goodbye. I love you, Mom.” I bent and kissed her cheek. I did the same to Susan and added, “I love you too.”

“What a nice young man,” she teased my mother. “Someone must’ve raised him right. Who could that be?”

“It certainly wasn’t his father,” Mom muttered.

“Don’t worry about her,” Susan said to me. “She woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.” Susan grinned and added to me, “She’ll come around. Between you and Erin and… other things, she’s dealing with lots of changes.”

“Am not.”

“Are too. In the meantime,” Susan continued, “I’m sure you have work to do.”

“Yes, thank God,” I said.

“Him too,” she agreed.

* * *

I went to work on the Retreat and started with the next bungalow. But I struggled with things that would’ve been easy without my splint. My hand felt fine, maybe a little sore, but not too bad. So I took off the splint and went back to work.

Christy brought me lunch and noticed immediately. She frowned but didn’t say anything, although she probably should’ve. By the time I finished for the day, my hand was swollen and tender, and I couldn’t grip a tool without pain shooting up my arm.

“Let me see.” She shook her head and sighed. “You’re as bad as my brothers. It isn’t bruised, so I don’t think you re-broke it. Let’s ice it tonight and see the doctor in the morning.”

“It isn’t that bad,” I protested.

“Paul, this is your hand. Your right hand.”

“So? I can jerk off with my left.”

“Funny, ha ha. But think about it. Your entire career depends on your hands. Do you really want to risk nerve damage or permanent injury?”

“No.”

“Mmm.”

To her credit, she didn’t continue to browbeat me, and she didn’t ask silly questions about why I’d taken off the splint. Instead, she brought me an ice pack and cut up my dinner so I could eat one-handed.

The swelling went down eventually, although my hand still ached in the morning. Christy insisted on driving us to town.

“You don’t have to,” I said. “Besides, I’m not even sure you can. I’ve never seen you do it.”

She found her purse, took out her wallet, and defiantly showed me her California Driver’s License. Her sixteen-year-old self even looked good in the photo.

“Very cute,” I said. Then, “Hold on, you never got a Tennessee license?”

“No. Why? Was I supposed to?”

“You’ve lived there four years,” I said in mild exasperation.

“So?”

“You were supposed to get one when you became a resident. Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

“Thank you. Now…” She gestured for the car keys.

“Oh, no, you still aren’t driving.”

“Why not?”

“Because your license expired.”

“It did not!”

“Did too. A year ago.”

She looked at it and then stomped in frustration.

“Oh, boy,” I chuckled, “you really hate losing.”

She glared.

“Don’t worry, I’m okay to drive.”

“Stupid license,” she grumbled.

“Come on, let’s go.”

* * *

The doctor X-rayed my hand and said that I hadn’t re-injured it. He added that the fracture showed signs of healing. Then he asked why I hadn’t been wearing my splint. I told him and braced for a lecture. He didn’t disappoint. He didn’t give me too much grief, but he made it clear that I needed to give the bone time to heal. He described all the bad things that could happen if I didn’t, while Christy silently nodded along.

“So,” he finished, “wear the splint, young man, for another ten days. You shouldn’t have any complications. But it might be several weeks before you can use the hand for work.”

“I can’t wait that long,” I balked. “I have a job! Several, as a matter of fact.”

“You do construction? I can write your boss a note. Light duty, things that don’t require the use of tools.”

“No. But thanks.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind.”

I shook my head. “I’m sort of the boss.”

The doctor’s shaggy eyebrows went up.

“I have a partner, but he’ll understand. I can still work,” I said, “just not with my right hand. Correct?”

“You can hold things with your thumb and other fingers,” he agreed, “but only to steady them. No gripping.”

“Yeah, okay,” I said in resignation.

“Give it a couple of days to recover first. Can you do that?”

“I think so.”

“After that, take things in stages. Start exercising your hand in five to seven days. Don’t overexert yourself. Once you stop wearing the splint, work up to holding and lifting things.” He added a laundry list of symptoms I should watch for. “Come see me if you experience anything I just mentioned.” He waited for me to nod and then finished with a smile. “Would you like a lollipop?”

“No, thanks.”

Christy cleared her throat.

“On second thought…”

The doctor chuckled and extended a glass jar of Dum Dums. “Try the watermelon.”

* * *

We returned to camp, and Christy offered to help if I really needed to work. I told her it could wait. Besides, I had plenty of things to do that didn’t require manual labor. Trip probably wouldn’t be happy, but I’d cross that bridge when I had to. Some part of me was counting on him to be in a good mood after Wren agreed to marry him.

“Let’s just hope she says yes,” I said.

“Are you kidding?” Christy said. “She’s been ready since last summer. That’s part of the reason I was so grumpy.”

“For real?”

“Yeah. I was miserable, but everyone else was happy, which only made it worse.”

“Sorry about that.”

She shrugged. “I’m happy now. That’s all that matters.”

“Yeah. And speaking of which… I think I’ll take the doctor’s advice and take a couple of days off.”

“Oh. Okay. Do you want to go to the lake?”

“Well, I might have a better idea.”

“I’m sure you do,” she laughed. “But I should be on top.”

“Ha! No, it isn’t sex.”

Her eyebrows shot up.

“Well, not right away,” I admitted.

“Whew! You had me worried.”

“Let’s pack a lunch and go on a picnic.”

“Ooh, where to?”

“It’s a surprise.”

* * *

“Oh my gosh, Paul, it’s beautiful!”

I surveyed the lake and the gravel that formed a beach of sorts. The rocks were as bright as I remembered, especially in the noonday sun. A series of boulders led like stepping stones to the big flattop rock, with clear water beyond. The quarry wall on the far side of the lake rose in a sheer cliff. It wasn’t as tall in real life as in my memory, but the waterfall was just as serene, just as beautiful.

“It’s even better in person,” Christy added. “Let’s go for a swim.”

She dropped her pack, kicked off her shoes, and hopped toward the water as she flung her socks in different directions. She danced from boulder to boulder until she reached the big rock, where she scampered to the top.

She stopped and peered over the far edge. Then she turned and waved happily, with an ear-to-ear smile and white teeth that flashed in the sun. I returned the wave before she faced the lake, raised her arms, and sprang into the air. She arched gracefully, her body in a perfect diver’s pose. At the top of the arc, she brought her hands together and plunged out of sight.

I held my breath until she swam into view and waved. Her brown skin glistened in the sun, and she laughed exuberantly. After a moment she kicked away. Then she turned and swam toward the middle of the lake, a water nymph entirely in her element. I took off my own pack, grabbed her shoes and socks, and added mine to the little pile.

When I looked again, Christy had reached the far side. She frolicked and swam through the edge of the waterfall. Then she dived and stayed under for nearly a minute, until I began to worry. I shouldn’t have. She surfaced and blew out her breath. Then she swam toward me with a lazy backstroke, until she reached the gravelly slope of the beach.

“Aren’t you coming in?” She stood and waded toward me. Her brown nipples had shrunk to the size of dimes, and her wet hair looked almost sandy blonde instead of its usual sun-kissed flax.

“I don’t know if I should.” I waved my splint by way of explanation.

“Don’t be silly. Take it off. Just be careful. Besides, I’ll be doing most of the work.”

My eyebrows rose with a question.

“My mother said I should be more domestic.”

“Oh?”

“Mmm hmm. And I have a nice little house that needs warming.”

“Oh, you do, do you?”

“Yes. It’s very cozy. The garden’s nice, too. Not a single bush to spoil the view.”

“Ha!”

“Do you know anyone who wants to visit?”

“I might know someone,” I admitted.

“Mmm. So… what’re you waiting for?”

* * *

We spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing on the big rock. Well, I relaxed. Christy was in the water about half the time, swimming or diving. She started with basic dives and gradually worked up to somersaults and gainers.

“I can’t do the really fun ones here,” she explained. “Not without a springboard. Besides, the water’s only about twelve feet deep.” She squeezed water from her hair and nodded toward the waterfall. “It’s probably a hundred out there. I only went down about thirty feet, but I could see things on the bottom, like the crane.”

“I’m sorry, did you say ‘crane’?”

“Yeah. It’s sticking up. The whatchamacallit. The part that sticks up, the lifty part.”

“The boom?”

“Yeah, the boom! But it’s far enough down that you’d never hit it in a million years. The water’s really clear, isn’t it? So I could see the other stuff, too, like the bulldozer.”

“The bulldozer?”

“Hold on, I thought you’d been here before. Didn’t you see what was under the water?”

“No,” I said slowly. “I didn’t think I needed to.”

“Oh my gosh, yes! And you need to make sure it’s deep enough.”

“Deep enough? For what?”

“For diving! What’ve I been doing for the past hour? D’you think I’m going to dive if I don’t know what’s under the water and how deep it is? That’s crazy.”

“Well, yeah, I get that part,” I said. “But why’s it matter how deep it is out there?”

“That’s where the cliff is.” She frowned in genuine puzzlement.

“And…?”

Her frown turned into disbelief as realization dawned. “Hold on, haven’t you ever dived from the cliff?”

“Are you crazy? That’s, like, fifty feet!”

“More like thirty,” she said calmly.

“This from the girl who can’t do math?”

“I can do math. I just can’t multiply and divide. But I know what thirty feet looks like.”

I ignored the Christy-logic and simply stared at her.

“It’s the same as a 10-meter platform. Maybe a little higher, but close enough.”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course. I’ve done it a million times. It’s the best feeling in the world. Well, not as good as sex, but pretty close. It’s like flying.”

“Are you serious?” I repeated. “You really wanna jump off the cliff?”

“Dive,” she corrected. Then she thought of something and grinned. “Any idiot can jump off a cliff.”

“Well, I’m not an idiot.”

“No,” she said quickly, “that isn’t what I meant. It’s something you said to me, about how sex is a skill. ‘Any idiot can slide a dick into a pussy,’ you said. ‘But there’s a lot more going on than just Slot A and Tab B.’ Boy, you were right about that!” She flashed back to the original subject before I even had time to react. “Do you think we can go? To the top, I mean. And… um… maybe bring a ladder next time?”

“A ladder? What for?”

She frowned in thought. “Hmm, you’re right. That wouldn’t work. It’d have to be a rope or something. Ooh, I know, a rope ladder!”

“What’re you talking about?”

“How’m I supposed to get back to the top? I can’t walk all the way around. That’d take forever. And please stop,” she added. “Being slow on the uptake. I’m talking about diving from the cliff. So I need a rope ladder. Please and thank you.”

She made another logical leap. “Ah, now I get it. Why you say ‘your wish is my command’ to Wren. She’s very demanding, isn’t she. And that’s your way of making fun of her. Well, please don’t do it to me.”

“Furthest thing from my mind,” I said with absolute candor.

“Good. Now, are you ready?”

“To go to the top?”

“Yes, please. And maybe bring a blanket?”

“Because we’re going to need it? For a little housewarming party?”

“See? You do know what I want.”

* * *

We hiked to the quarry the following day as well. Christy ran the last hundred yards. I picked up her pack from where she’d dropped it and then followed the zigzag trail of shoes and socks to the little beach. She was already halfway across the lake.

I took off my splint and joined her, although I had to go easy on my pinky. I could still use my right hand for steering and gentle strokes, but I relied on my left hand and feet to get where I was going. Christy swam around and treaded water until I reached her. Then she beckoned me toward the waterfall.

“Come see.” She took a couple of deep breaths and went under.

I followed as far as I could, deeper than I’d ever been, even in the ocean. My ears popped after a couple of seconds, and I felt the pressure in my chest. I stopped and peered toward the bottom. The water was crystal clear, and I could make out the crane’s boom, far below. Other shapes leapt out, including a boxy white one, but I couldn’t tell what they were. Christy’s eyes were better than mine.

She kept going another fifteen feet or so, until she realized I wasn’t with her. Then she rolled to her back and hung motionless below me. Rays of light played across her nude body and made her look like a siren sent to lure me to the depths. At least I couldn’t hear her song, since I hadn’t thought to tie myself to the mast. I admired her lithe figure instead, until my lungs cried out for oxygen. I headed toward the surface and treaded water until Christy popped up beside me.

“How deep were we?” I panted. “Fifty feet?”

“I was. You only made it to about thirty.”

“I’ve never been that deep.”

“I can tell,” she grinned. She wasn’t even breathing hard.

“I didn’t expect so much pressure. At least, not so quickly.”

“One atmosphere every ten meters. That’s thirty-two feet, nine and three-quarter inches,” she added matter-of-factly. “I memorized it. And the inches are important. A girl needs a certain number of them, every day. They’re like vitamins, you know. Mmm, vitamin P.” She immediately scrunched her nose. “Oh my gosh! P as in penis, not the other pee.”

“What, no golden showers?” I laughed.

“Eww, gross, disgusting!”

“Stick to waterfalls and diving?”

“Yes, please.”

“Speaking of which, where’d you learn to dive like that? So deep, I mean.”

She shrugged. “I’ve always been able to. I don’t float very well. I used to think it was ’cause I’m so small, but Rich said I’m dense. No, not like that. It has to do with muscles and fat and… um… displacement! Yeah. Ask Rich. He’ll explain it. Anyway, he and I used to have contests to see who could hold their breath longest.”

“Who won?”

“He did, usually. But only ’cause he’s more stubborn.”

“That’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

“I suppose. Did you see the crane? The bulldozer? And I think there’s a truck down there. An old-timey one, with a camper or something.”

“For real?”

“Uh-huh. Other things too, but I can’t tell what they are.”

“Why don’t you just dive down and check ’em out?” I suggested, only half joking.

“Paul, dear, it’s a hundred feet. I can only go fifty or sixty.” She grinned. “Besides, I have better things to do… up here.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”

“I have needs, you know. Vitamin Penis. Hmm, maybe I’ll just say vitamin S. Yeah, that works. I need several doses, every day.”

“You already had one.”

“But I need more. Now, please.”

“Insistent little thing, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Besides, we can’t very well have sex in the lake back at camp. So we have to do it here. You know I love doing it in water.”

“And on land,” I teased, “at the beach, in the car…”

“I seem to recall someone else who likes doing it those places,” she said loftily. “Maybe next time we can bring a float or something. Ooh, I know! An air mattress.” Her eyes glowed with enthusiasm. “I love floating when I lay out, and my mind gets going sometimes. You know what I mean. So… um… it’d be nice to have a convenient boyfriend. Then I could ride you or suck you whenever I feel like it. Mmm, vitamin injections.”

I snorted a laugh. “Sounds like you’ve thought about this.”

“Oh my gosh, yes! All the time. Ever since you told me about the quarry. But even before. I used to float in Brooke’s pool and daydream about all the things I wanted to do with—” She stopped abruptly and turned thoughtful. Then she frowned.

“Uh-oh,” I said. “What’s the matter?”

“You. What you said.”

“About…?”

“That I didn’t sleep with you until we started talking marriage.” Her frown turned into a glare, but I knew her well enough to interpret it.

“I was right,” I laughed, “wasn’t I?”

“No,” she lied.

“Mmm hmm.”

“Well, that’s how I was brought up. Women only had sex with their husbands. And ‘good girls’ didn’t have sex with anyone.”

“Do you still believe that?”

“You know I don’t. Only, sometimes I do. Not for real, but when I’m not thinking. Maybe that’s why I was upset the other day, when we were unloading groceries. My mom doesn’t want me to be like her. She wants the opposite, in fact. She wants me to have choices she never had.”

I nodded.

“So… I guess maybe I was feeling guilty. About what I want. What we want. Not the house and careers, but the other stuff, the sex stuff. And just now, when I was talking about daydreaming. I almost said ‘husband,’ like I could only have sex with one person, ever.”

My eyebrows rose with a question.

“No,” she answered immediately, “I’m not thinking about sex with other men. I still don’t want to do that. But… maybe you were right. About me, I mean. Maybe I did only sleep with you ’cause we were talking about marriage. And… um… maybe that’s why I did it with Simon too.”

I let her work through it.

“You’re right about the other things, darn you. About me and sex, I mean. It makes sense when I stop and think about it. You probably think I’m crazy, though. I want to do all these perverted things—spanking and bondage and all my fantasies—but I won’t do something ‘simple’ like sex with another man.”

“Sex isn’t simple,” I said.

“You can say that again.”

“Sex isn’t simple.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled. “You really get me, don’t you? And I don’t mean my weird hangups and silly justifications. You understand. Like, you truly understand what’s going on in my head.”

“Not always,” I admitted, “but most of the time. You don’t always say what you mean—”

She snorted agreement.

“—but I can usually figure it out.”

“I’m glad you do. And… I think that’s why I’m so horny all the time. Yeah, my libido, but it’s more than that, isn’t it? It’s the way you make me feel. Like now. You aren’t doing anything special, but I wanna make love to you more than anything. And I don’t mean sex or fucking,” she added. “We can do that later.”

I nodded.

She glanced down and realized she’d sink if she stopped treading water. “Um… maybe we should go back to the shore first?”

“Yeah,” I laughed.

“I told you, I don’t float very well. Stupid density.”

“That’s okay. Once I can stand up, you won’t have to.”

“I can float on your penis instead. And you can shoot me full of vitamins!”

“Yes, please.”

* * *

We eventually moved our little campsite to the top of the cliff, where we spread our blanket at the edge of the forest. We ate lunch and drank a bottle of wine, and Christy lay quietly until she dozed off.

I gave her another few minutes before I dug into my backpack and pulled out several lengths of rope. The tent stakes clanked against each other, but I’d wrapped them in a T-shirt that muffled the sound. I set them aside, along with my hammer and a few other things.

I spent a couple of minutes tying ropes to a pair of stout pine trees about eight feet apart. I tried a shoelace knot first, the only one I knew. It didn’t work, so I tried a couple of other loops. I couldn’t really call them “knots,” because knots were supposed to hold the rope instead of slipping or coming loose entirely. I eventually managed a tangle of knots and hitches that worked, but the Boy Scouts would’ve laughed me out of the troop.

“Note to self,” I muttered, “buy a damn book on knots.” I snorted a laugh when I imagined myself with a merit badge in Bondage and Discipline.

Christy was still sleeping lightly, so I knelt by her side. I covered her eyes with the T-shirt. She jerked awake, and I put my hand over her mouth before she could cry out.

“Well, looky here,” I said in my best redneck voice, “Sleeping Beauty.” I uncovered her mouth. “Scream if you want. No one will hear.”

“Who are you?” she asked instead. “Where’s Paul? What’ve you done with my boyfriend?”

“Him? Oh, he left. Went on a nature hike or somethin’.” I tied the T-shirt into a makeshift blindfold. “Don’t want you to see our faces. You might recognize us.”

“You’re from camp?” she said uncertainly.

“Yep. Been watchin’ you. And we thought we’d have a little fun while your boyfriend’s gone. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Hold on… ‘we’?”

“Yep. Me an’ my friends… um… Bo an’ Luke.” I cringed and hoped she wouldn’t laugh. Note to self, I added, write the script before you have to come up with something on the fly.

Still, Christy played along. “What’re you going to do?”

“Oh, we’ll think of somethin’. Start with this.” I lifted her to her knees and thrust my half-hard cock in her face. “Suck it.”

She hesitated a moment and then practically attacked me. I breathed a long, low sigh as her lips worked their magic.

“Enthusiastic little thing, ain’t she?” I said to my imaginary friends. “You want a turn, Bo?”

“Yeah, okay,” I said with a different redneck accent. I was overdoing it, but Christy didn’t care, especially when I “replaced” my dick with Bo’s.

She tried to swallow him whole, the lucky bastard.

After a couple of minutes, I tried another accent. This one was rougher, more insistent. “Hey, lemme have a turn.”

Christy moaned when I pulled my hard-on away, but she started sucking again when I gave her Luke’s dick instead.

“Think we should fuck her?” I asked in his voice.

“Oh, we’re gonna fuck her,” I said in my own. “But let’s tie her up first. We don’t want her to run off before we’re done havin’ our fun.”

She whimpered in faux-fear but didn’t stop sucking. I gave her another minute before I pulled my cock away. Then I lifted her to her feet, and she squeaked in surprise.

“Time to try your shaved snatch,” I said.

“I bet it’s as hot as her mouth,” I added in Luke’s voice.

“No, please,” Christy begged. “I’ll do anything you want, but not that.”

I ignored her and marched her toward the trees. She struggled weakly as I raised her arm and slid the knot over her hand. The rope was too long, so I looped it around her wrist a couple of times. She figured out what I wanted when I pressed it into her palm. She didn’t struggle at all when I tied her other wrist and looped the rope around it.

“Let’s have some fun, boys,” I said.

“No, please,” she whimpered as I moved behind her.

I ignored her and thrust my cock between her thighs. The heat of her pussy caressed my shaft as I began teasing her with it.

“We saw you fucking your boyfriend earlier,” I whispered in her ear. “You’re a horny little thing, ain’ you? Well, we have plenty o’ cock for you.”

“Yeah!” I added in Luke’s voice. Or was it Bo’s? I couldn’t keep them separate, so I gave up trying. “Fuck her… uh… Jethro.” Seriously? Jethro?

I rolled my eyes and shook off the distraction. Then I pulled back, angled my hips, and slid into Christy’s molten pussy. She arched her back and moaned, so I grabbed her by the throat. She stiffened with one of her mini-orgasms as I finished impaling her.

“Damn, boys,” I said when I could think straight, “she’s more than ready.”

“Hurry up,” I said in Luke’s harsh voice. “I want me a piece o’ that.”

“Wait your turn. I’m’a have some fun first.”

I rolled my eyes at the ridiculous dialogue. Fortunately, Christy didn’t seem to care. I grabbed her breast and squeezed hard. The temperature in her pussy shot up a couple of degrees.

“You like it rough,” I said in her ear, “don’t you?”

She whimpered. I slammed my hips into her ass, and she cried out.

“Yeah, boys,” I said, “she’s a good’un, all right. Nice ’n’ tight.”

I began fucking her with short, hard thrusts. I held her in place with one hand on her throat and the other on her clit. She gasped and moaned and then went silent with another mini-orgasm.

“Did you just come on my cock?” I said.

“Lemme have a turn,” Luke said. Or maybe it was Bo.

I pulled out, slapped Christy’s ass, and moved aside. Then I stepped into place again. I grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back.

“Tell me you want it,” I hissed.

She shook her head stubbornly.

“Beg for it.”

“Never.”

“Beg.” I started rubbing her clit again. She whimpered and shook her head. “Beg for it,” I repeated. “Tell me you want it.”

“I… want it,” she rasped.

“Want what? Say it!”

“Your cock.”

I grinned. “Where?”

“In— Inside me.”

I slid into her again and steadied her with my hands on her hips. Then I began fucking her harder than before. I slapped her ass a couple of times too, although I nearly cried out from the pain when I used my right hand in the heat of the moment.

I pulled out after several minutes, and Bo started fucking her. He was the gentle one, I decided. Luke was the roughest, and Jethro was somewhere in between. I pulled out, shifted to Jethro, and started fucking her again. Then I switched with Luke, who pounded her mercilessly. Her soft cries and slapping sounds filled the clearing.

“On your knees,” I said at last.

She released the ropes, and the loops gave her enough slack to fall to her knees. Her arms stretched upward, and her chest heaved with her breathing. Her blindfold had slipped out of place, so I tugged it over her eyes again.

Then I grabbed a handful of hair and shoved my cock into her mouth. I was still in my Luke persona, so I switched to Jethro instead. I didn’t want to hurt her for real, and Luke was the kind of guy who’d ram his cock down her throat without thinking.

“That’s a good girl,” I said in my own voice. “I’ll give you what you want.”

She moaned and swallowed me deeper.

I should have my head examined, I thought wryly, for multiple personalities.

Do you mind? the little head shot back. I’m trying to concentrate here.

Oh, shut up, I told him. You’re part of the problem.

Am not.

I fell silent and enjoyed Christy’s enthusiasm. A minute later she moaned as I filled her mouth. She kept sucking after I stopped shooting, until I pulled my semi-hard cock from her mouth.

“Don’t go anywhere,” I told her facetiously. Then I let her listen as I hammered the tent stakes into the ground around the blanket.

“Please don’t,” she begged. “Just let me go. I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

I ignored her and tied a couple of ropes to the stakes. Then I spent several frustrating minutes trying to pick loose the knots around the trees. I finally managed it, but not before I seriously considered just cutting the things. Unfortunately, I hadn’t brought scissors or even a knife.

Note to self…, I thought for the fourth or fifth time.

Christy followed docilely as I led her to the blanket and told her to lie on her back. I spread her arms, tied them, and did the same to her legs. Once she was secure, I checked her blindfold and gave her a light slap on the cheek. Then I stood back to admire her.

Her cheeks and chest were pink with arousal, and her taut breasts heaved with her breathing. Her outer labia were puffy from the pounding earlier and had turned a darker pink than her chest. Her inner lips peeked out. They were plump and damp with moisture. I let the tension build until she began to squirm with anticipation.

“Okay,” I said at last, “let’s get down to business.”

“What business?” Bo asked. (He wasn’t too bright.)

“The business of fucking,” Luke said.

I knelt between Christy’s legs and settled into the missionary position, although I was careful not to put too much weight on my right hand. I set my dick at her opening and then slammed into her. I fucked her hard as Luke. I never said a word the whole time. I simply grunted and slapped her around, and she cried out when I buried my cock and filled her with come.

I needed a little more time to recover before the next round, so I read the Forum and Letters in Penthouse. And when I was ready, I played with her pussy and pinched her nipples as she sucked Jethro’s growing hard-on. Then I moved between her legs. I lifted her hips and scooted under her thighs. I slid into her, and she came almost as soon as I started playing with her clit. I made her come two more times before I unloaded inside her.

I gave her some water after that. Then I checked her blindfold and brushed away tendrils of sweat-damp hair. I wanted to make sure she was okay for real. She hadn’t said her safe word, but I didn’t want to take any chances. She seemed fine, so I moved to the end of the blanket and opened the latest issue of Playboy.

The pictorial with Bo Derek was hot, but the other models were nothing special. Pretty? Yes. Arousing? Not really. I flipped through the articles and decided that they were worse than the vanilla pictorials.

“The final days of John Belushi?” I muttered to myself. “Talk about depressing.” I set the magazine aside and knelt by Christy’s head.

She opened her mouth and began sucking my soft cock. After a couple of minutes, I switched to my Bo persona and caressed her face. She moaned and swallowed me deeper. I eventually grew hard, and I played with her clit as she sucked me. She coaxed a final load from my balls before she came again herself.

I sat back to catch my breath. My watch lay on the other side of the blanket, so I checked the time by the sun. It had sunk about halfway to the horizon, and I realized that Christy had been tied up for several hours.

She hadn’t complained, but she was obviously tired. She was probably hungry too. She usually had an afternoon snack, and semen wasn’t a real substitute.

“Time for us to go,” I said in my Jethro voice. “I’m gonna untie you.”

I loosened the knots around her ankles. Then I released her arms, and she rubbed her wrists. She had faint red marks where the ropes had dug into her skin. I added another mental note—the sixth?—to learn what the hell I was doing. Pain was one thing, but permanent marks were another.

“Don’t move,” I told her. Then I used the ropes to tug the tent stakes loose. I shoved them in the bottom of my backpack, ropes and all. “Count to a hundred,” I said at last. “Then you can remove the blindfold.”

She nodded and relaxed. Her nipples rose and fell with her regular breathing. I flirted with the idea of having sex with her again, while she was simply blindfolded instead of bound, but that was the big head talking, not the little one.

Maybe some other time, he said flippantly. You can be Gomer Pyle. Or Goober. Yeah, Goober!

I rolled my eyes and gave the area a final scan for anything that might connect Jethro to me. I felt guilty for running off and leaving Christy alone, but that was part of the fantasy. Still, I couldn’t resist one last tease.

I knelt beside her and kissed her. She resisted at first, but then she realized I was kissing her as me, not one of the attackers. The kiss heated up, and the little head twitched with interest. He wasn’t really serious, so I pulled back and let her cool down.

“That was fun,” I said in my own voice. “We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

“Yes, please.”

“Now, count to a hundred.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Or five-sixths of one twenty, whichever is less.”

“Smarty-pants,” she laughed.

“Yes, ma’am.” I stood and jogged down the hill.

* * *

I returned about fifteen minutes later and found that Christy had cleaned up. Her damp towel hung from the limb of a pine tree, and she’d tidied the blanket. She’d even replaced the T-shirt and magazines in my backpack. She lay curled on her side, as though she’d been asleep. She pretended to wake up when she heard me. She even yawned and stretched.

“How long was I asleep?”

“A while.”

“Mmm, I had the most wonderful dream.”

“Oh?”

“Bo and Luke Duke.”

I suppressed a grin. “At the same time?”

“Oh my gosh, yes! And Jethro Clampett. Did I ever tell you I had a crush on him?”

“For real?”

“Yeah. Laurie and I used to watch reruns when we lived in Japan. He never did any of the things he did in my dream, though. Jethro, I mean, not Laurie.”

“So it was one of those dreams?” I chuckled.

“Uh-huh. And now I feel like I’ve been rode hard and put away wet.”

I snorted. “Wren’s right, you sound like an imposter when you try to talk like us.”

“So sue me,” she said playfully. “That’s how they spoke in my dream. You don’t speak like that, though.” She pretended to think of something. “Hold on, where’ve you been?”

“Me? Oh, I… um… went for a hike. You were asleep, so…”

“Well, I’m awake now. And starving! Do we have anything to eat?”

“Of course.” I knelt on the blanket and opened her backpack. “A couple of granola bars and an orange.”

“Yum!” She tore open one of the bars and took a bite.

“Want me to peel the orange for you?”

“Yes, please.” She gave me a coy look. “Unless you want to feed me something else.”

“Seriously?”

“No,” she grinned, “I’m just kidding. I’m still a little worn out from my nap.”

“Oh, thank God,” I said under my breath.

“Mmm, I do. Five or six times. Every day.”

* * *

Trip and Wren arrived after dinner on Sunday evening. Christy and I were relaxing by the pool when we heard the car. It rolled to a stop, and Wren jumped out. Christy ran to her and shrieked with excitement when Wren showed her the ring. Trip climbed out and stretched his back. He shook his head at the girls’ antics and greeted me with a wave.

“Congratulations,” I said.

“Thanks.”

“She said yes?” I added wryly.

“Yeah. I still can’t believe it. I feel like the guy who’s won the pennant before the season’s even started.”

I chuckled. “That’s a good thing, right?”

“I hope so.” He nodded at my splint. “What happened there? You hurt yourself?”

“In a manner of speaking. I hit something hard. Rich’s head.”

“Oh, that’s right! Wren told me. Sorry. I sorta forgot everything that happened before Friday.”

“I understand.”

“Have you done any work?” he asked.

“Not really. A few things, but…” I shrugged guiltily.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “A broken hand’s always worse than it seems. Besides, I’ve been thinking…”

“Oh?”

Wren interrupted, “Are you already talking about work?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Trip said. He glanced at me. “We’ll catch up later.”

“Or tomorrow,” she suggested.

“Yes, dear. Isn’t that what you say to Christy?” he asked me. Then he asked her, “Does it really work?”

“Of course.”

“Sounds like good advice. Yes, dear,” he repeated to Wren. “Whatever you say, dear. Tomorrow, dear.” He paused to listen to himself. “I kinda like it. It has a certain… ring to it.”

Wren rolled her eyes but smiled.

“Come on,” I said. “We’ll help you unload. Have you eaten?”

* * *

Trip and I spent the next morning going over the project schedule.

“I can still work,” I assured him. “I just can’t use tools with my right hand. Not for several days.” My injured finger didn’t hurt, but I wasn’t sure how strong it would be after weeks of inactivity. “Maybe longer,” I conceded.

“No problem,” Trip said. “I know how it is. We’ll deal with it. Can you draw? You have a ton of design to do.”

“I think so. I can probably do it now, even with the splint. Rough sketches, for sure.”

“That’s fine. We need to get approval for the design of the new cabins. Same with the clubhouse. Then I need some preliminary floor plans. I can’t do cost estimates until I see them. And speaking of drawings, I still haven’t seen them for the RV bathhouse.” He added a pointed look, in case I didn’t feel guilty enough already.

“Yeah, all right. I’ll start working on them.”

“You should’ve started weeks ago. Hustle up. Time is money.”

“You’re no fun,” I griped. I was trying to be funny, but he took me seriously.

“I’m plenty of fun when I’m your friend. But right now I’m your business partner. This is still a business, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Okay, then let’s talk about moving things around, schedule-wise. With you on the DL—”

“Whoa, the what?”

“Sorry, I’ve been listening to baseball. The DL, the Disabled List. Anyway, even with you on the DL, we have plenty to do until you’re healthy. I need to work on the bungalows. You need to design some buildings. I need to get a crew started on the road. You need to design—”

“Hold on. We’re doing that now? I thought it was for later in the year, after the busy season.”

“It was. But the company had a contract fall through. I got them for a good price, but only if we start now. So they’re doing the road and utilities at the same time. We need to expand the right of way first, to thirty feet— What’s so funny?”

“Thirty feet. Ten meters.”

He frowned in confusion.

“Never mind.”

“Right. Anyway, as I was saying… Widen it to thirty feet. Then the utility companies can bury the mains. I want to bury new phone lines too, while we’re at it.”

“Why? We already have poles.”

“Yeah, but underground is better. I wouldn’t bother if it was still the old Southern Bell. Those guys were assholes. The new company is BellSouth. Same people, but now they understand what happens when they annoy their customers. Gee, I wonder why. Anyway, they’re a lot more accommodating. Then again, maybe it’s just ’cause a large shareholder is doing the asking.”

“You mean Susan?”

“Yeah. I swear, Paul, she owns stock in a hundred different companies. Technology, telecoms, healthcare, you name it. Those are just the big ones. She’s a major shareholder in at least a dozen smaller ones. Hell, she even owns things like hotels and day care centers! I had no idea.”

“I did,” I admitted, “but not the extent of it.”

“The woman’s a genius. I learned more from her in a week than I did in a year of business classes.” He paused and shifted gears. “Back to the utilities. It’s twice as expensive to bury the phone lines, but we have to do most of the work anyway, so…”

“Right. Got it. Bury everything.”

“Yep. And then upgrade it and turn it into a proper road once they’re done.” He shuffled his notes. “Okay. So, you need to spend this week designing things.”

“What about the bungalows? I can still work,” I insisted.

“Let me worry about that. I’ve been injured before. It takes longer than you think to heal. So you do light work this week.”

“But—”

“It’s still work,” he said. “Not manual labor, but I know how much time goes into designing things.” He chuckled softly. “It used to bug the hell out of me, especially when you’d stare out the window or into space. I thought you were goofing off. But then you’d come up with these amazing ideas, and I realized you were thinking and designing the whole time. Maybe not consciously, but that’s how it works. And it’s one of the things that convinced me to shift my priorities from architecture to business.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I’m really a hands-on guy. I need to have things in front of me. Sure, I think about ’em, but not like you. You can work in your head. So it might not seem like you’re doing anything, but then you put pencil to paper and designs appear. It’s pretty impressive.”

“Thanks,” I said humbly.

“You’re welcome. So, don’t worry about the bungalows. I’ll take care of ’em. You just do what you do best.”

“What’s that?” Wren said from the door. She wore a T-shirt and shorts. Christy was with her, also in a T-shirt but with a skirt instead of shorts. “I’m just kidding,” Wren added. “You’re talking about work, right?”

“Yeah,” Trip said. “What’re you up to?”

“I need the keys to the car, please. We’re going to town for groceries.”

“You wanna talk schedules before you go?” he asked. “Since you’re here and all.”

Wren looked at Christy, who shrugged and nodded.

“Pull up a chair,” Trip told them. He scooted toward me to give them room. “I put Paul on the DL for this week,” he began.

“Hey,” Christy squawked, “he isn’t disabled!”

Trip gave me a wry look. “See? Even she knows what it is.”

“I know what Osoto gari is,” I muttered.

“What?” he laughed.

“I’ll show you sometime.”

“Nah, it’s cool.” He turned to the girls and continued, “Anyway, he’s on the DL, but I still need him to design stuff. Christy, you too, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure. How can I help?”

“Keep him focused. And do your thing to make his designs better.”

She shot me a grin.

“But also… I was hoping you’d work on the landscaping. Sorry, lemme rephrase—Susan was hoping.”

“She wants me to plant flowers?” Christy asked.

“No,” he chuckled, “she wants you to design the landscaping. She has a good idea what she wants, but… I told her you had experience.”

“Not really.”

“Your mom said you did it when you moved to San Diego. I overheard her talking to Paul’s mom.”

“I didn’t really do anything,” Christy demurred. “I just said what looked good and where it should go.”

“That’s sort of what landscape design is,” he chuckled. “Besides, from what I understand, it’s mostly about color and scale. You can do that in your sleep. And… it’s something you and Paul can do together, while his hand heals.”

“Oh, okay. Since you put it that way…” Then she added, “If it’s okay with him.”

“Are you kidding?” I said. “I get to design something with my girlfriend? Sign me up!”

Wren rolled her eyes. “Oh, brother.”

“Hey, be nice!” Christy told her.

“I’m just kidding, my love. It sounds fun.” She turned to Trip. “What do you want me to do?”

“Would you mind helping me?”

“Do what? Never mind. Of course I’ll help.”

“I want to finish trimming out the bungalows. It won’t take long, three or four days, but it’s quicker with an extra pair of hands. Besides, the furniture’s supposed to be here soon. Once we get it assembled and installed, the Retreat’ll be complete. Or close enough. Susan still has to decorate—Christy, she wants your help with that too—but we can sign off on our part.”

We all nodded.

“One other piece of business before we go,” Trip added. He looked at Christy and me. “Wren and I need to head back to Atlanta next week. Her father’s throwing his annual Fourth of July party. Y’all’re welcome to come…”

“Sure, maybe,” I said.

“Only, I wanna see the fireworks here,” Christy said.

“So we’ll be staying,” I finished smoothly.

Trip and Wren smiled at each other, although hers turned into a smirk when she looked at me.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I said. “I don’t know what I want until she tells me.”

“What’s this?” Trip asked with a curious grin.

“Nothing,” Wren said. “You were saying…?”

He knew an “I’ll tell you later” expression as well as anyone.

“Right. Okay. So, we also need to buy a computer while we’re in Atlanta.” He held up his hand to forestall my objection. “Yeah, we’ve been using yours. No offense, but it’s old. And it isn’t an IBM. I need a real computer, a work PC.”

He was probably right, but I still felt an irrational urge to defend my Commodore. It had been a good little computer and done everything I’d asked it to. That wasn’t saying much, but it was the principle.

“So?” I said mulishly. “Why do we need a new one? Besides, they cost a fortune!”

“It’s a company expense,” Trip insisted. “And we can afford it.”

Christy added in a more soothing tone, “Paul, yours is fine for typing papers, but it doesn’t have a spreadsheet or hard drive or anything.”

“I don’t know what those are,” I said, “but we don’t need ’em.”

Christy and Trip shared a look.

“Anyway,” he said cautiously, “Wren’s father put me in touch with the guy who does the computers for the restaurants. He’s going to set up a new one with all the bells and whistles. I’ll buy it myself if you don’t want the company—”

“No, you’re right,” I said. “Christy too. I guess it’s time for me to join the Digital Revolution. Besides, I… um… I’ve been reading about this new thing called AutoCAD. Professor Ledbetter says it’s the wave of the future. Professor Joska doesn’t think much of it, but…” I shrugged and remained undecided.

“Ledbetter’s right,” Trip said. “And no offense to Joska, but he’s an old fogey.” He waited a moment before he added, “So, we’re agreed? We’re getting a new computer for the company?”

I nodded.

He polled the girls as well.

“Whatever you think,” Wren said.

“Absolutely,” Christy said with enough enthusiasm for both of us. “It’s the wave of the future. I’ll convince Mr. Stick-in-the-mud.”

Trip grinned. “My partner in crime.”

“Uh-uh, not so fast,” Wren joked. “She’s mine, remember? Besides, we still need to run to town.”

“That’s fine,” Trip said. “Paul and I can work out the rest of the schedule, now that we have a plan for the next week or so.” He thought for a moment. “I think I left the car keys in my shorts pocket.”

“Stop doing that,” Wren said flatly. “It’s fine when you do your own laundry, but I don’t remember to check the pockets like you do. One of these days, I’m going to wash your wallet or something you care about.”

“Yes, dear,” he said facetiously.

“Stop that too. It works for Christy and Paul because they mean it.”

“What? I mean it too.”

She wasn’t buying it.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he admitted. “Sorry, babe.”

“Better,” she said.

“And I’ll try to do better about emptying my pockets.”

“My father has a nice bowl,” Christy suggested. “My mother bought it for him. It’s more like a dish, but you know what I mean.”

“We’ll look for one in town,” Wren agreed. Then she asked Trip, “Anything you want from the liquor store?”

“Jack Daniel’s. Belle of Lincoln if you can get it. Tribute or anything special if you can’t.” He glanced at Christy. “What’s a good Irish whiskey? Doesn’t Jameson have an 18-year-old?”

“They do,” she said in surprise. “It’s really good.”

“A bottle of that too,” he said to Wren, who nodded. “Anything special for you, Paul?”

“Dude, I’m not exactly a connoisseur. That’s Christy’s department.”

“Well, you picked her,” he said, “so you clearly have good taste.”

“Oh, boy, it’s getting deep in here,” I said.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he laughed. “But I’m trying to avoid past mistakes. I may not be a New Age guy, but I can change.”

“See why I love him?” Wren said. “You’re on your own for lunch,” she added. “But I’ll make something special for dinner. To celebrate.”

“Sounds good, babe,” he said. “Grab some cash from my wallet. I… um… might’ve left it in my shorts.”

She rolled her eyes but gave him a kiss. Christy did the same to me, and with less eye-rolling.

“All right,” Trip said after they’d gone, “let’s talk about the rest of the summer…”

* * *

Our days fell into a routine pretty quickly. Trip and Wren worked on the bungalows. I felt guilty that I couldn’t help, especially since it was my own fault, but they didn’t say anything. In fact, Wren seemed to enjoy herself. She was still in a state of post-engagement bliss, and she went out of her way to spend time with Trip.

Christy and I spent most of our time in the main camp. She was a little self-conscious at first, especially when people noticed that she was shaved, but no one made a big deal about it. Besides, every woman in camp shaved some part of her body. Most of them just legs and underarms, but a small number trimmed their pubic hair as well. And Susan had been waging a subtle but highly effective “love it or leave” campaign for the better part of a year.

People’s reactions to me were more extreme. No one said anything, but the vibe from some was clear—“real men” only shaved their faces. I scoffed at the idea, and I wasn’t afraid to return the stares of anyone who questioned my manhood.

The other reactions were more interesting. Several women and even a couple of men were intrigued more than shocked. None of them said anything either, but I made a mental note of the ones who were interested, especially an attractive couple with a small son.

The stares and silent exchanges mostly happened in the background. I had a job to do, after all, and it wasn’t to scope out prospective swingers. So I sketched the current buildings and played with ideas for new ones, while Christy did the same with the landscaping. She knew far more about trees, shrubs, and flowers than I realized.

“My nana has a beautiful English garden,” she said. “The same things won’t grow here, but I can see what does. Azaleas and laurels, of course, but hydrangeas, viburnum, and ferns too. Oh, and clematis and phlox by the clubhouse.”

“Don’t forget the pine trees,” I said flippantly.

“Paul, dear, there are a lot more than just pine trees. There are dogwoods, redbuds, magnolias, lindens, and even live oak. I don’t know what some of the others are, but I’m sure I can find a book.”

“Sounds like Trip picked the right person for the job.”

“And don’t you forget it, Mr. Doubting Thomas.”

“Not me,” I said. “I never doubted for a minute.”

“What? That Trip would pick me? Or that I’d know what I’m doing.”

“Either? Both. He’s really good at finding talent.”

“I still think you’re teasing me. I’m not sure how, but I know you.”

“Yeah,” I chuckled, “I’m teasing you, but only a little. You’re really cute. I like watching you work.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, unconvinced.

“I do. Here, I’ll prove it.” I flipped to a new page in my sketchbook. I studied her for a moment and started drawing. She was sitting on a rock with her own sketchbook on her knees. She wore her hair up, held in place with a blue ribbon. She looked like the Sunbeam bread girl, so I drew her as a nude, grown-up version.

I still couldn’t draw faces very well, so her eyes were too large and her mouth too small, but she was at least recognizable. I added a bit of shading to give her some depth before I turned the book and showed her.

“Wow! That’s really good,” she said. “You’ve improved. Like, a lot.”

“I’ve been practicing. But… I think about you so much that I can draw you with my eyes closed.”

“Thank you.”

“Hold on, something’s missing.” I set the book on my knees again. I drew an outline of a man’s legs and butt. Mine, obviously. Then I sketched an exaggerated hard-on, aimed right at Christy’s face. “I can’t draw these as well as you do, but you’ll get the gist.”

“Oh my gosh,” she laughed when I showed her. “Paul, it’s huge!”

“Mmm, I know.”

She rolled her eyes.

“But wait, there’s more.” I added a massive jet of semen, complete with a huge splash as it hit her face. She squawked when I showed her.

“Are you trying to drown me?” Her mock outrage softened to amusement and then affection. “Do you need some attention? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

“Well, now that you mention it…”

“I think you missed your calling,” she said as she gathered her pens and pencils.

“Stud architect?”

“No,” she laughed, “naughty manga artist.”

“I don’t know what that is, but it sounds fun.”

She rolled her eyes. “Come on. We need to find someplace private if you want to indulge your fantasies.”

“Our fantasies,” I corrected.

“I suppose. Only, yours are pretty vanilla. Mine are much more perverted.”

“Ha! You might be right.”

“I know I am. Coming, dear?”

* * *

Our evenings fell into a routine as well. Since Trip and Wren were working on the bungalows, Christy and I fixed dinner. We didn’t make anything special, but Wren still found something to compliment. Afterward, we took our party outside.

We didn’t have proper patio furniture yet, so we arranged the folding lounge chairs in a circle. Trip and I made a fire in the middle, while the girls refreshed our drinks. The fire was more for ambiance than warmth, but it also kept the bugs away. We drank and talked and relaxed for several hours, until about ten o’clock, when Trip and Wren called it a night.

Christy and I went for a swim and made love in the darkened pool. Something about water made her even hornier than usual. I wasn’t about to complain, but I still thought it was amusing. Afterward, we took a shower to rinse off the chlorine and went to bed ourselves.

On the second evening, Trip brought out his guitar. Christy only hummed along at first, but then she began singing as well. He humored her and asked if she wanted to sing anything in particular.

“Do you know ‘Landslide’?”

“Fleetwood Mac? Are you sure? That’s Stevie Nicks.”

She shrugged with feigned indifference. “If you can’t play it…”

Poor Wren nearly burst a blood vessel trying not to laugh.

Trip shot her a glare but then focused on his guitar. He played the opening melody, and Christy closed her eyes to enjoy the familiar song. Her normal speaking voice was higher than Stevie Nicks’s, but she sounded exactly like her when she started singing. Trip was so surprised that he lost the tune.

“Sorry. Bug flew in my eye,” he claimed. He even blinked and rubbed it. “Start over?”

He did better the second time, and they finished the song to raucous applause. Well, as raucous as Wren and I could manage.

“Do you know ‘Rhiannon’?” he asked immediately.

“Of course.”

He started playing. And when he finished, he launched into another song, “Crazy on You,” by Heart. Christy didn’t miss a beat. The next few songs became a game. Could he suggest something she couldn’t sing?

He tried Blondie first, “Call Me.” I’d never heard an acoustic version, but Christy sang it perfectly. Then he tried Abba, “Super Trouper.” Same result. He finally suggested Simon & Garfunkel, “Scarborough Fair,” and he harmonized with her as she sang the melody.

“That was fun!” he said at last.

“It was,” she said. “Thanks.”

“I had no idea you were such a good singer.”

“You never asked.”

“She’s right,” Wren said. “She sings all the time around the house.”

“I guess I never noticed.”

“Mmm,” Christy agreed politely.

“You wanna keep going?” he asked.

“Sure. But your guitar’s out of tune.”

He frowned. “I tuned it last week.”

“Well, it’s out of tune now,” she insisted.

He strummed and then picked a few notes. “Sounds fine to me.”

“Whatever.”

“Get your thing,” Wren told him. She added to us, “He bought this fancy new contraption that tells him exactly what the note is.”

“It’s just a tuner, babe. But yeah… I’ll be right back.” He returned with a small gray box, which he set on the chair between his legs. He turned it on, and a little VU meter lit up. He strummed a note on the guitar, although he frowned at the reading from the little device.

“She’s right, isn’t she?” Wren said.

“Yeah, but it’s only five cents off. I can’t even hear it.”

“Ahh.”

“Can you?” he asked Christy.

“Of course.”

He tried to hide his disbelief, but he adjusted the tuning peg. He played another note, looked at the VU meter, and then glanced at Christy.

“Now it’s sharp,” she said.

He loosened the string a fraction and looked chagrined that she’d caught him. He began tuning the other strings. Christy decided to make a point, so she told him which ones were out of tune. She even told him flat or sharp. He tried to ignore her and focus on the tuner instead, but his expression told the tale.

“How’d she do?” Wren asked when he finished. “Right every time?

“Yeah,” he admitted. Then he thought of something and said to Christy, “Sing a middle C.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“I just wanna check something.”

“Okay.” She sang a single, clear note.

Trip glanced at the VU meter, and his eyes widened. “Now a G.”

She sang.

“How about a D? Now an A. F-sharp. E-flat.”

His eyebrows rose with each note. “Close your eyes,” he said at last. “Sorry. Please.”

She sighed.

“Humor me,” he asked politely. She closed her eyes, and he plucked a string. “What note was that?”

“Low E.”

“You aren’t peeking?”

She exhaled in growing annoyance and faced away from him.

He held a fret and played another note.

“B-flat,” she said without hesitation.

He played several more, and she named them all. Then he plucked three strings together.

She thought for a moment and said, “A, C-sharp, E.”

“How ’bout this one?”

“D, F-sharp, A.”

He strummed a full chord, and she named all six notes. He played several more, with increasingly complicated fingering, and she knew them all.

“You have perfect pitch,” he said.

She faced him again. “You could’ve just asked.”

“He’s stubborn sometimes,” Wren said.

“Not this time,” he insisted. “I’ve met thousands of musicians, but not one with perfect pitch.” He looked at Christy. “That’s… incredible. You’re incredible.”

“You finally noticed?” Wren said.

“Babe,” he said to her with exaggerated patience, “this is so rare that I’ve never seen it. And I’ve been around musicians all my life. Literally. Brenda Lee sang me a lullaby the day I was born. Have you always been able to do it?” he asked Christy.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. I just do it. I’m not a freak or anything.”

“No, that isn’t what I meant,” he said quickly. “I just wanna know if there’s a trick or something.”

“Not that I know,” she lied. She saw my surprise and silently begged me not to say anything.

Fortunately, Wren and Trip couldn’t read her like I could. He turned off his little tuner device.

“Anything you wanna sing next?” he asked Christy.

“Do you know ‘Both Sides Now’?”

“Joni Mitchell? Seriously? You can sing that? Sorry, forget I asked. Of course you can.” He strummed a few notes and then looked to her for approval. “How’s the tune? Better?”

“Much better,” she agreed.

He started playing, and Christy joined in.

About halfway through the song, Wren leaned toward me and whispered, “I’m glad she finally did it.”

“Did what?”

“Knocked him off his high horse.”

* * *

“Okay, what was that about?” I asked Christy later, in the privacy of our bedroom.

“What was what?”

“You know.”

She stared at her hands.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“It isn’t that,” she said. “Only, I don’t want you to think I’m a freak or something. I’m not!”

“No, of course not.”

She thought about it for a long time, and I let her work through her feelings.

“I… have this thing,” she said at last, “sort of a brain defect.”

My eyebrows went up, but I didn’t say anything.

“It’s called chromesthesia. They discovered it when I was little. I see sounds.”

“For real?”

She nodded.

“Hold on, you see sounds instead of hearing them?”

“No, I hear them too.”

“So… that’s how you know the notes?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s so cool!”

“Maybe to you. It’s just normal to me. But it makes me different, so I don’t like to talk about it. It isn’t like my metabolism. People understand that. This is my brain, so they think I’m a freak or something.”

“I don’t.”

“Thank you.”

“Will you tell me about it?”

She looked up hopefully. “Do you really wanna know?”

“Absolutely! Do the notes have colors? Shapes? Patterns?”

“They’re colors. Middle C is sort of blue-violet. High C is lavender. The C above that is mauve, only brighter. Other notes are other colors, but always brighter as they go up.” She glanced at me to make sure I was following. “That’s how I could tell when Trip’s guitar was out of tune. The color was too dark. Then he tried to fool me, and it was too light.”

“Is it just with music?” I asked.

“No. Any sound. Like, your voice is a blend of red and orange—two of my favorite colors, by the way.”

“Does the reverse happen? I mean, do you hear sounds when you see colors?”

“No. But I can remember the colors of things I’ve heard.”

“Hold on… is that how you remember things I say?”

She nodded. “Other people too, but I pay more attention to you.”

“I kind of wondered,” I admitted. “I mean, your memory’s better than mine, but it’s uncanny how you can repeat my exact words sometimes.”

“Anything I’ve ever heard. As long as I’m paying attention.”

“Wow. That’s really cool.”

“I suppose,” she said. “But… it means I’m a freak after all.”

I sat up quickly and pulled her into my arms. “No! You’re special. Very, very special.”

She sniffled. “Sometimes I don’t think so. Yeah, I’m good at music and art, but you’re right, I can’t even do simple math.”

“Who cares? I don’t. Matter o’ fact, I think it’s cute.” I chuckled. “I used to think you weren’t paying attention.”

“I don’t. Not really. I never had to worry about time or money or anything else. My mom or brothers always did it for me. But… I can’t seem to focus when it’s numbers.” She shrugged. “I learned eventually, but I think I was in fifth grade before I could do my times tables. They wanted to hold me back, but my mother—” She laughed at a memory. “I think she threatened them. Their jobs, I mean. Like, for real.”

“I can totally see her doing that,” I chuckled. “What about your brothers? Do they know about… uh… what’s it called again?”

“Chromesthesia. It’s a form of synesthesia. The signals in my brain are cross-wired or something. And they know. My brothers, I mean. That’s why Rich has always been super-protective. He thinks I might break or something. Me? I just live with it. But I don’t talk about it, ’cause I know I’m different.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Sooner, I mean.”

“I didn’t want you to think I’m weird.”

“Of course you’re weird! So am I. But the only thing I care about is, ‘Can we be weird together?’”

“You really mean it?”

“Absolutely. I… don’t think I’d be happy with someone normal. I mean, like Gina or Leah or… any of the other women I’ve dated.”

“That’s a lot of women.”

“No kidding,” I laughed. “Although… I wasn’t really ‘dating’ most of them. Still, it took me this long to find the right one!” I kissed the top of Christy’s head and simply held her for a moment. “And I like that you’re different. Chromesthesia. Did I say it right?”

She nodded.

“That’s really cool. So… what’s my voice look like now?”

“The same red-orange, but with a hint of saffron.”

“Ha! A ‘normal’ person would’ve said yellow. Or orange-yellow.”

“Like Buddhist monk robes,” she agreed.

“But we aren’t ‘normal,’ are we?”

“No.”

“And, for the record, I think of colors like that too. Like, mauve isn’t the same as pink. It has more blue in it.”

“Exactly,” she agreed. “So… um… you don’t think I’m weird? For real, I mean?”

“I do think you’re weird, but I also think you’re perfect. Perfect for me, that is.”

* * *

Trip and Wren spent the next evening with Susan. They updated her on our progress, but then they must have stayed to hang out. Christy and I enjoyed a quiet evening by the pool, and we didn’t smirk too much when Trip and Wren returned and looked like they’d had an orgy.

Christy and Trip entertained us again on Friday evening. He was a pretty good singer himself, but he chose to harmonize or let her sing solo.

“I can’t believe I never noticed,” he said. “I knew you were an art prodigy, but I had no idea about the music.”

“I sing all the time,” she said. “Mostly to myself, but still.”

“I never listened.”

“Maybe ’cause I’m a woman?”

“No, that isn’t it,” he said firmly. “My dad’s produced some of the biggest women in country music.” He paused for a moment of serious introspection. “I guess I took you for granted.”

Christy’s eyebrows flew up, at least ten meters.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Trip continued. “I guess I always thought of you as Wren’s friend or Paul’s girlfriend, but never as a person yourself. I mean, yeah, I think of you as a person,” he added hastily, “but I never paid attention to what you do. That makes me sound like a real jerk, but…” He shrugged. “Anyway, since I’m apologizing, I’m sorry if you thought I was acting like God’s gift to women or something.” He glanced at Wren. “Isn’t that what you said?”

“Close enough.”

“I guess I’m used to being the best at everything,” he continued. “You can’t really blame me, though. In high school I was always the captain of the team, King of the Prom, you name it. It wasn’t until I met Paul that I finally had to face the truth, that I might not be the best.” He paused to let his words sink in.

“Wren blew me away too,” he added with a smile. “She’s the best at so many things. Not just cooking and— other stuff.” He’d almost said “women’s work.” He’d had a few drinks, and Wren decided not to make a big deal about it.

“Right,” he continued. “Anyway, she’s really good at a bunch of stuff I admire. Business stuff, like PR and marketing and advertising. I think we have a real future together, and not just in bed.”

“Oh, brother,” she said fondly.

“I never noticed how awesome you are too,” he said to Christy. “That was really dumb on my part. I can’t imagine Paul and Wren being interested in someone average.”

“I’m interested in plenty of people who’re average,” I said, “but not for anything serious. Like Lily. She was fun and cute, but not someone I want to hang out with. Not long-term.”

“Sorry,” Christy said.

“Don’t be. We didn’t know.”

“What ever happened with her?” Trip asked. “Never mind, tell me later. I’m trying to apologize.”

“Don’t let us stop you,” Wren laughed.

“I won’t! Anyway, I’m sorry, Christy. I didn’t mean to take you for granted. I’ll try to pay more attention from now on.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

“And I’ll try to remember that I can’t be the best at everything.”

“Including being a swinger,” Wren said with a significant look.

“Right you are, babe!”

“Although,” she added, “you’re still pretty good at it.”

“But don’t expect me to swoon over you,” Christy said. “You have to put some effort into it.”

His eyebrows rose at the challenge. “Too bad you’re… um…” He gestured at her bikini bottoms and finished lamely, “You know, indisposed.”

“She isn’t sick,” Wren laughed. “She’s on her period. Women have them. Get used to it.”

“Yeah, of course,” he said. “But it’s too bad.”

“We can do other things,” I suggested into the silence.

“That’s really up to Christy, isn’t it?” Trip said.

“Whoa, that sounds pretty New Age,” I teased. “I mean, letting a woman decide for herself?”

“Dude,” he shot back, “I’m not that bad. I’m not as touchy-feely as you, but I’m not a total chauvinist.”

“You aren’t,” Christy agreed.

“But a little more touchy-feely would be nice,” Wren said. “You can practice on me.” She yawned and added, “In the morning. Sorry. It’s been a long day.”

I blinked at how quickly things had gone from innuendo to exhaustion.

“Hey,” Trip said, “some of us have been working all day.”

“We’ve all been working,” I said through a fake smile.

“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry. I saw the sketches on my desk before dinner. Thanks, by the way. But you gotta admit, sketches aren’t the same as sinks and light fixtures.” He thought of something and laughed at himself. “I’d better be careful, or you’re gonna remind me of that in the fall, when I’m pushing paper and you’re doing site visits.”

“Count on it.”

“But I’m still worn out. We’re goin’ to bed. Y’all wanna hike to the quarry tomorrow? Remind ourselves why we’re doin’ this?”

“We’d love to,” Christy said.

* * *

“Hey,” Trip said the next morning, “I owe you an apology. Seems I’m doing it a lot lately, but…” He shrugged. “Anyway, I didn’t mean to make it sound like we’d been working and you hadn’t.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said. “But thanks.”

“And Christy told Wren that you’re feeling guilty. About your hand. ’Cause you weren’t able to help with the bungalows.”

“That’s part of it,” I admitted.

“Don’t,” he said flatly. “We’re a team. The girls too. The others step up when one of us is injured. Even when we aren’t,” he added, “like Wren and her thesis. You and Christy really made her life easier. Now it’s our turn to do the same for you. So forget about me and my dumb comments. I’d had a couple of drinks, but that’s no excuse.”

I nodded.

“Besides, I don’t want you to throw my words back at me. I meant what I said about this fall. You’re gonna be working your butt off, juggling school and site visits, while I’ll be a glorified secretary, moving papers from one stack to another.”

“Fair enough.”

“Anyway, how’s your hand?”

I had finally taken off the splint for good, and my hand felt odd without it. I flexed my fingers experimentally.

“Still a little weak?” Trip ventured. “Yeah, it’ll be like that for a while.”

“You seem to know a lot about it.”

“Yeah, I broke mine once.”

“Punch someone?”

“Ha! No. Caught a ball I shouldn’t’ve.”

My eyebrows rose with an invitation to explain.

“State tournament when I was a junior,” he said. “Bottom of the ninth, two outs. We were up by one, but they had a man on base. Full count, so it was my last chance to end it. I threw a beautiful slider. I knew the guy was gonna swing, and I thought I had him.”

“What happened?”

“He caught it with the end of his bat. Line drive, straight at my face. A real ‘catch it or eat it’ moment.”

“And you caught it?”

“Yeah. Threw up my pitching hand and caught it for the last out.” He laughed ruefully. “We won, but I broke three fingers. Had to wear a cast for six weeks. Took me another six before I could pitch again. My slider was never the same.” He flexed his right hand. “It still aches sometimes, when the weather turns.”

He gestured at mine. “Go easy on it for a week or two. Longer if you need to. Yeah, it’s ‘only’ your pinky finger, but you’d be surprised how much you use it.”

“Will do,” I agreed.

He clapped me on the back and turned us toward the clubhouse. “You wanna go over those sketches while the girls pack for the quarry?”

* * *

“God, this was exactly what I needed,” Wren said. She rolled to her back and stared at the sky. Wispy white mares’ tails floated high in the summer haze. The sun had started its long slide toward the western horizon, but we still had plenty of daylight left. “It’s hard work,” she added. “What you all do.”

“Which part?” Trip asked. “Hauling this stuff up the hill? Or the construction?”

“Both,” she laughed. “But I meant the construction.”

“Yeah. Thanks for your help this week. I couldn’t’ve done it without you.”

“Anything for my man.” She raised her left hand and gazed at her engagement ring. “I like the sound of that. My man,” she repeated.

“Feels good in your mouth,” Christy teased.

“You wouldn’t know,” Wren shot back.

“Whose fault is that?”

“Not mine,” Wren said. She waved her hand vaguely in Trip’s direction. “Talk to him.”

“I’m working on it,” he said. “I apologized, didn’t I? And I’ve been good all week.”

“You have,” Christy agreed. “Thank you.”

“But I shouldn’t have to remind you,” Wren said to him.

“Yes, dear,” he replied with genuine contrition.

“Better.” She arched her neck and stared at me upside down. “Now, what do I have to do to get you to stop saying that thing I hate?”

“Don’t be so demanding?”

“I told you,” Christy said in a singsong.

“Yeah, you did, my love,” Wren agreed. “I’ll work on it. How’s this? Paul, will you please come over here and give me your dick?”

“Oh, Wren,” Christy laughed. “You should see his face. I think you scared him.”

“Not scared,” I said. “Surprised. Did she just… ask nicely?”

“I think she did. What’re you gonna do about it?”

“What d’you think? Should I give her what she wants? Or tease her a little?”

“She’s been really good,” Christy said. “Besides, she doesn’t like teasing.”

Wren shook her head with comical intensity. We’d all had a couple of glasses of wine with lunch, but none of us were tipsy. Instead, Wren was relaxed and enjoying herself.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I said. “But what about Trip?”

He spoke up, “I’m fine. Y’all have fun. I’ll watch.”

“Uh-uh,” Wren said. “You come here too. That’s an order.”

“Now she’s givin’ me orders?” he joked. “Shouldn’t this be the other way around? I’m still the man, right?”

“I dunno, are you?” she taunted.

He glanced at me. “Should we do what she wants?”

“Yeah, probably. She sort of asked nicely.”

“She asked you!” he laughed. “She gave me an order.”

“But… are you really going to complain? I mean, she ‘ordered’ you to give her your dick.”

“That’s true.”

Christy rolled her eyes and crawled toward Wren. She lay beside her and propped her chin on her hand.

“Now d’you see?” Wren said to her. “I don’t get anything unless I’m demanding.”

“You got me? Does that count?”

“It does, my love. Who needs men anyway?”

“Unh, I do!”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Wren said. She arched her neck and looked at us. “Last chance, guys.”

“You heard the lady,” Trip said to me.

“She-who-must-be-obeyed?”

He frowned, nonplussed.

“The fearsome white queen? Ayesha? She? Okay, maybe that’s a bit obscure. But still, you don’t read much, do you?”

“No,” he laughed. “Not like you. I’m too busy working or getting laid.”

“Fair enough.”

We moved toward the girls and knelt to either side of Wren’s head. She reached for us and began stroking our dicks.

“My two favorite men,” she said. Christy pinched her nipple, and she gasped. “All my favorites.”

“Why would you want to read when you could be doing this?” Trip asked me.

“Seriously,” Wren agreed.

“And I thought Paul talked too much,” Christy said under her breath.

“It’s called banter,” Wren laughed. “It’s foreplay. But you’re ready to play for real, aren’t you, my love?”

Christy looked at me.

Go for it, I told her silently.

She grinned and rose to her hands and knees. Wren offered her Trip’s semi-hard cock, and she kissed the tip. Then she began sucking. After a moment she closed her eyes to enjoy the feeling of a new man in her mouth. I had to hold back a laugh when I thought she might swoon for real. She felt me watching and flushed slightly, from excitement more than embarrassment.

Wren laughed when my dick twitched in her hand. “Someone likes watching. What about you, babe?” she asked Trip. “Was it worth the wait?”

“Totally.”

Christy moved forward, and Trip rested on his heels. After a moment he unfolded his legs and sat on his butt instead. She settled on her stomach.

“Much better.”

Trip leaned back and braced himself on his hands. Christy swallowed his hard-on again, and he shot me a goofy look.

“No kidding,” I agreed.

Wren and I returned our attention to each other. I touched her thigh, and she parted her legs for me. I ran my fingers through the little triangle of pubic hair and teased her for a moment. The hood of her clit protruded at the top of her shaved labia. I touched it and made her squirm. Then I slid my fingers into her lubricated channel.

“Mmm, that’s nice,” she said languidly.

I thrust a finger inside and felt the heat and moisture of her arousal. She arched her back and moaned deep in her throat.

“You want me to fuck you?” I teased.

“You know I do. But I’m trying not to be demanding, remember?” Her eyes crinkled with a smile. “You should reward good behavior.”

“Oh, I should, should I?”

“Mmm.”

I chuckled and moved between her legs, and she guided my hard-on to her opening. I slid into her without a lot of teasing, and she met my eyes as I steadied myself above her.

“Be careful with your hand,” Trip said.

I rolled my eyes. “Thank you, Dr. Whitman.”

“Hey, I’m just sayin’, don’t do too much, too s— Oh, sweet Jesus!”

Christy hummed to herself as she pulled back and adjusted her angle on his cock. She deep throated him again. His dick wasn’t as thick as mine, so she had an easier time getting him into her throat. She bobbed slowly, and he groaned at the sensations.

“You were saying?” I prompted.

“Me? Nothing. God, that’s good.”

Wren touched my hip as a polite reminder of what I should’ve been doing. I began fucking her with slow thrusts. She gazed up at me for several moments before she drew me down for a kiss. We lingered over it, and she smiled when I pulled back.

I started fucking her seriously, and she closed her eyes. Her nostrils flared as a wave of pleasure washed over her. Part of me wanted to split my attention between her and Christy, but I knew better. Besides, I’d have plenty of opportunities to watch Christy give a blowjob. None of them would be the first, but a blowjob was a blowjob. Still, I couldn’t resist.

She was in her own little world. She lay on her stomach with her arms underneath her for support. She bobbed on Trip’s cock, while he relaxed and simply enjoyed the show. Then he groaned as she sucked him deep again.

I glanced back at Wren and realized she’d been watching me.

“She’s fine,” she said quietly. “Trip too. He’s totally cool about it.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now… if you don’t mind?”

I grinned.

“Hey, I’m trying to be less demanding.”

“How’s that working for you?”

She glanced between us. I’d stopped thrusting when we’d started talking. “Not so good,” she said wryly.

“Maybe we’d better go back to the old way?”

“More talking, less fucking?” she teased.

I rolled my eyes, and she laughed brightly.

“Oh,” she said, “you mean my old way?”

“Y’all okay over there?” Trip asked.

“We’re fine,” she told him with a lingering grin. “Paul just realized I was right after all.”

“You tell him, babe. Oh, Jesus,” he gasped as Christy tried to swallow him whole. “Never mind. Y’all’re on your own.”

Wren glanced at me. “Where were we?”

“I was about to say—”

“Uh-uh. Don’t. My wish is for you to fuck me.”

I grinned and said in a monotone Cylon voice, “By your command.”

She sighed. “I am so glad you and I were never serious.”

“Serious about what?” I teased.

“Dating.”

“Well, it’s a moot point now.” I shot a glance at her left hand. She raised it and admired the ring. I gave her a moment before I rocked my hips and settled into a more comfortable position.

“At least you’re serious about fucking me,” she said.

“Oh, absolutely.”