Chapter 6: Interpret Data

Stacy and I simply held each other, kissing, fondling, and slowly exploring one another's bodies well into the night. She fell asleep in my arms only moments before I succumbed to sleep as well.

In the morning, I woke up and found my blonde angel spooned against me, my cock warm and hard, trapped between the cheeks of her ass and pressed up against my stomach. But it wasn't a horny hard-on, I had to use the bathroom. Even so, it felt absolutely wonderful. One of my hands was wrapped around her waist, the other was curled under my head.

She was shorter than me, and perfectly so, her head was against my chest, and I could smell her hair all night long—the scent of vanilla and cinnamon. Her hair actually smelled like fresh baked goods. It made me quite hungry as well. I decided to get up and use the bathroom and see if any of the boxed foods had been packed up by the movers as well.

After draining my bladder, I began searching the cupboards in the kitchen. I actually found several muffins I'd forgotten I had at my old apartment in LA—these movers really did pack up everything. So far, the only thing I'd noticed that they'd left behind was the contents of my old refrigerator. I started eating a muffin, standing in my kitchen naked when there was a frantic knocking at the front door.

I remembered my pants were still in the bathroom, so I ran and retrieved them, jumping down the hallway, trying to get into them. I zipped up right before opening the door.

"Oh thank goodness you're home! I tried knocking on the back door, but no one answered. I found these on the side of your pool, but I couldn't find Stacy. No one has seen her since yesterday afternoon," Donna McNeil said desperately. And my mouth dropped open in shock. There was no way I was going to be able to explain why her daughter's bikini top was lying discarded by the pool, but Stacy was nowhere to be found.

My silence only seemed to spur her on, "Sorry. You're probably just waking up. Did you see Stacy at all last night?"

Behind me, I heard a weak groggy voice saying, "Did you hear something? It sounds like my—MOM!"

"STACY! Why are you nak—OH MY GOD!"

Donna McNeil's eyes fastened on me like she's spotted the devil, "Why you dirty, no-good, evil, prick!! She's only nineteen for God sakes!"

I opened my mouth, but no defense came forth.

Stacy, still absolutely buck-naked, yelled, "So what Mom!? I'm nineteen, I'm an adult. It's not like he raped me or anything, Jesus! And he's not that much older than me! He's ... he's..."

"I'm ... uh ... twenty-eight," I managed.

"Right. Fuck, Mom. Dad was twelve years older than you!" Stacy yelled.

"And that worked out so well!" Donna spat back.

Before the two of them could wake the whole neighborhood, I finally got my wits, "Why don't you come inside Miss McNeil and we can talk."

She visibly shuddered and realized she was making a scene in front of the whole cul-de-sac. Luckily, it was still pretty early in the morning on a Saturday, so most people would still be asleep. She nodded though, and came inside.

I said, "Why don't I take Stacy back to my room and we'll get some clothes on. If you like, there's instant coffee in that cupboard and the coffee maker is right there. I'm sure we'd all appreciate something to clear our heads a bit."

Donna McNeil wasn't too happy with my suggestions, but she seemed to comply anyway. I led Stacy back to my room and tried to find something she could wear. I eventually settled on a pair of my boxers with a synch-tie waistband and a wife-beater t-shirt. All my other shirts would be much too large and—admittedly—look too much like we'd just had sex. When a woman get's dressed in a man's shirt, it always looks like she's just had sex.

But in a white undershirt that always seemed tight on me, and a pair of boxer shorts, she looked fairly presentable. Not something you'd want her wearing in public, but better than naked or just wearing one of my dress shirts.

I chose to slip on a pair of sweat pants and a Stanford University t-shirt. I started to move toward the bedroom door, but Stacy grabbed my arm, "Wait! What are you going to say?"

I shrugged, "I don't know."

Stacy hissed, "Well, don't you think we should at least have an idea before we go out there?!"

I shrugged, "I guess so."

She shook her head, "Ahhrrrg! Men! Well ... do you feel anything for me?!"

Now I was confused again, "Of course I do ... I ... we ... last night was ... amazing. It may have started out just about ... about sex, but it turned into something else. I've never been happier than when I woke up with you in my arms this morning."

Stacy gushed, "Oh thank you! Thank God! I feel the same way. Last night was un-fucking-believable. I mean, the sex was freakin' awesome, and afterwards ... that was like ... magical or something."

"Or something," I teased with a grin.

Stacy smiled back, "Well ... so ... what do we tell her?"

"I ... I guess we're ... together ... dating ... I don't know. What do you think? She's your mother!"

Stacy tapped her finger against her chin, thinking for a moment, then said, "If she asks, we'll say last night was amazing and that we both really enjoyed it. We'll say that since neither of us is seeing anyone else—we aren't are we?"

"Hell no! I haven't had a steady girlfriend since college. You're the first woman I've even kissed in the last three years, let alone had sex with."

"Three years!?" she hissed. "Jesus Christ! How the hell did you manage to go so long without any kind of sex or kissing or anything!?"

I shrugged, "I guess it just wasn't all that important to me."

"And now?" she asked.

"I can't remember why I ever gave it up. Last night incredible. I've never had sex like that, and by far that was easily one of the top ten blowjobs of all time. Seriously, Satan's succubae were taking notes last night."

Stacy giggled happily, and then calmed, "Alright. So we're ... dating?"

"Whatever. We're together. That's for sure, or at least, I really want it to be for sure."

"Me too," she smiled hopefully.

So, we left the bedroom and headed back to the kitchen where her mother was waiting for us. I was happily surprised to see that Donna had actually prepared a pot of coffee and had three cups out on the table. She'd also found my sugar and instant creamer packets as well. Usually, I prefer frozen premium coffee grounds and some of that expensive flavored creamer, but I always have the instant stuff just in case I run out, and luckily the movers seem to have packed and gotten all my dry foods.

I pulled a chair out for Stacy and then sat down next to her. She took my hand and gripped it reassuringly—though I'm not sure which one of us the reassurance was for. Donna actually was nice enough to pour our coffee before she sat down as well. Her own cup was already full and I could see creamer in it, so I gestured to Stacy to help herself to the packets. She grabbed four packs of sugar and two creamers—no wonder she was so hyper sometimes.

I took two sugars and a creamer for my own cup. Like most people in their twenties or younger, I was one of the new generation of 'yuppie-coffee' drinkers. I always felt like such a hypocrite for it though. I hated Starbucks and all those large coffee-shop chains who overcharged on coffee and pastries while underpaying their employees, but at the same time, I loved flavored gourmet coffee.

We sat uncomfortably for a few minutes in silence, mixing our coffee and taking a few drinks before both women suddenly spoke at the same moment.

"Mom, I—"

"Stacy, I—"

After several rounds, of apologizing and stumbling through, 'No, you firsts', Donna finally said, "Stacy, I'm sorry I yelled at you, but you're barely an adult, and I'm your mother."

"But I am an adult," Stacy argued.

Donna nodded, "Yes, technically ... legally, but you're still also a teenager, and you're not completely self-sufficient or fully mature. You may legally be an adult, but mentally and emotionally, you're still ... just not ready."

Stacy looked like she was about to explode into a temper-tantrum for a second before her face calmed and she took a deep breath—I have to admit, I was pretty proud of her for that. It felt a bit weird though, being proud of her for showing maturity. But somehow, that also made her look even sexier and more attractive as well.

Stacy calmly said, "Mother, I know I'm not a fully independent woman yet, but you've got to stop thinking of me like a little girl. The last five years, you've been providing for us monetarily, but I've been the one making sure Bree and Nicole do their homework, fixing their lunches and most dinners, talking to them about boys, and making sure they're healthy. I get them to and from school, I managed to keep good grades in high school and earn a scholarship, and I made it through a year of college still doing all of that.