Credit to whom credit is due (I was reminded by another writer). I owe credit to my editing team. PapaKilo14, Hal, Pixel the Cat, GeorgeAnderson and Olddave1951. My team is untouchable. I should be paying them, but they seem happy with our arrangement. I love you guys and I’m in your debt. You all bring your special gifts to the team and I’ll always be grateful. Harddaysknight and Saxon_Hart give me peer review. I do listen to you. Thanks guys, and I love you, too. You aren’t afraid to tell me if you think a story sucks. You also encourage me and recognize excellence, if I achieve that. That’s what every writer needs. You know how many of those sucky stories I send you.
Sometimes a guy needs a two-by-four alongside the head to wake him up. I may not have enjoyed the experience, but I love the result. Life surprises you.
It had been a weird week. I had a very strange conversation with Sylvia earlier in the week. I thought it had gone into some pretty odd territory. We were watching a movie. It was called “Vicky Christina Barcelona.” It was about these two girls that go to Spain and one of them gets involved with a man and his estranged wife. It was very romantic and very erotic and we had some hot sex afterward.
“God, Callison, what got your motor revved up?” Sylvia was trying to catch her breath.
“That was a hot movie,” I told her. “Did you see those two women going at it with that guy?”
“I guess you have to be a man,” she said. “What if it had been two men, going at it with a girl?”
“I guess it depends,” I said. “It wouldn’t be nearly as hot, especially if they had to put their junk close to each other. It would just seem ... sort of gay, I guess.”
“So, two women putting their ‘junk’ together is hot, but not two men?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” I said. “I think most men like the idea of a threesome with two smoking hot women. I mean, Scarlet Johansson and Penelope Cruz.”
She smacked me playfully. “What about Addie and me?” she asked.
My cock gave a lurch. “God, what wouldn’t I pay to see that,” I said.
“I’m sure there would be a price,” she said. “Does that really make you hot, Cal?”
“Jesus Christ, Syl, of course it does,” I said. “There isn’t a man on the planet that wouldn’t give his left nut to see that.”
“She is smoking hot, isn’t she?” She had an odd look on her face, like she knew something I didn’t.
I felt like I was straying into dangerous territory here, so I attempted to extricate myself. “Yeah, but you’re all any man could ever dream of,” I told her.
She reached down and I was caught. “Why is your cock as hard as a rock, then?” she grinned at me. “Are you going to use this deadly weapon on this poor defenseless girl? Are you going to fantasize about Addie and me?”
“Sounds good,” I said. I deployed the weapon and that was the end of the conversation, but not of the weird week.
It had been a pretty bad day on Friday. Sylvia was not happy with me before I left to go to the job site. We were out of coffee because I had forgotten to get it the night before, and she’s cranky without her morning cup of coffee. I ran down to the convenience store and got us each a cup. One of the cups collapsed when I was putting the lid on and coffee spilled on my pants. It was hot as hell and I skipped around for a minute, cursing like a sailor. The hot chick getting a cappuccino thought it was pretty funny. I was considerably less amused. I got another cup and managed to get the lid on this one.
She was still cranky. After being married to her for 11 years, I knew enough to just stay out of her way. I ran upstairs and changed my pants. Peyton, our daughter, yelled at me that she was going to be late. I came out and nearly ran her over in the hall.
“Daddy, watch where you’re going,” she complained. I grabbed her up and kissed her while she squealed in protest. Seven-year-old girls only like being kissed when they want to be kissed. She really liked it, though; she just pretended not to like it. I liked it a lot and I felt better.
We went downstairs and I packed her lunch. Sylvia came rushing through and gave me a peck, squeezed Peyton and swirled out the door. “Remember, we’re going out with Addie tonight,” she said as she went out. I dropped Peyton at school and went to work. I own a waterproofing company. If you want to build a building and don’t want water coming in the basement or the parts that touch the earth, you should give me a call. Do it before you build it; I don’t clean up other people’s mistakes.
The day refused to get better. Someone else had ordered the supplies and we were short. I would have to borrow from another job and try to get some ordered. I left the crew there and went to another job. My foreman there was having some personal problems. I was trying to help him, but if he didn’t get his act together, he was going to find himself back on hourly as just another worker. It’s hard to kick a man while he’s down, but I needed better performance from him. I had a talk with him and went to the last job. They were supposed to have been ready for us two days earlier, but there had been complications. Now I was paying my crew to sit around and watch plumbers and electricians. I told the general contractor I was going to start charging him for my crew sitting around. He wasn’t happy, but neither was I.
When I got to the office, Addie had called in and said she was going to be late. Addie is my partner. She’s never late, but the one morning she was, I needed to talk to her. I got my second cup of coffee and sat in my office to fume a bit. She came breezing in about thirty minutes later. She came in, sat across the desk and smiled at me. I glanced at my watch and she threw back her head and laughed. That always sends a thrill through me.
I’ve been friends with Addie since we were in the fifth grade. I’d just moved to Baton Rouge in the middle of the school year because my father had been transferred there. I was walking across the playground toward my second day of school. The utility workers had left an open ditch about two feet deep, filled with muddy water. I saw two sixth grade boys crowding a girl toward it. She’d sat behind me the day before, a little redhead, stick thin, all freckles and big green eyes. She wore braces and glasses and seemed really shy. She was trying to walk away, but the two boys were moving to get in front of her. She was teetering on the edge, a book in one hand and her bag in the other.
She gave one of the guys a hell of a pop in the face with her book, but the other one pushed her into the ditch. She fell in the mud and he started laughing. She was crying and it made my blood boil. I hate bullies. I charged into them, knocking one of them into the ditch with the girl and the other one down on the ground. I kicked him in the belly and he went flat, his mouth open, sucking wind. I got on top of him and I was beating the hell out of him when two teachers came running up. The girl was crying and trying to get the mud off her legs. We all went to the office.
By the time the story got straight, I got three days of detention, the two boys got suspended for three days and Addison Taylor was my friend for life. She was a late bloomer: by the time we started college at LSU, she was no longer a stick. The braces had gone away leaving her with a spectacular smile. She was tall; contacts had replaced the glasses, no longer hiding those gorgeous eyes, and she was smoking hot. That flaming hair hung in ropes of fire down to the tightest ass you’ve ever seen, her breasts got big and firm and she was just a vision.
We’d dated briefly our sophomore year of college and it had been pretty steamy for a while. Then we had an argument and didn’t speak to each other for a week. She showed up at the house one day after class and we worked it out. We decided that we worked better as best friends and that neither one of us wanted to risk our friendship by becoming something else. We hugged it out and that was it.
We were still best friends. She did our estimating, sold our services and handled the accounting end of things. I handled the crews and all the production side. There was always something between us. I don’t know how to describe it. It was like something waiting, just beyond what you could put a finger on or capture. There was a tension that wasn’t uncomfortable, but you could feel it. We flirted outrageously, and it was fun and funny, but it was as if there was another part being played behind the scenes that was never on screen. I knew it and she knew it; we just didn’t know what to do about it. We just dismissed it and moved on. It was a part of who we had been for years, and it hadn’t affected us. It had become more and more noticeable over the last couple of years, at least, in my mind.
I had noticed how hot she was, more so than at any time since I’d known her. She was in her prime and other men noticed, too. She went out with strings of good looking guys and it made me insanely jealous, for some reason. I didn’t like other guys taking up her time, I guess. The nights she had dates, she couldn’t spend them with Sylvia and me. When she didn’t have a date, she would usually be hanging out with us and there was nothing that made me happier than to have my wife and my best friend, laughing, cutting up, getting smashed together occasionally. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I knew that Addie and Sylvia probably spent as much time together as any of the three of us did with the others. I was a little jealous of that, too.
.... There is more of this story ...