Chapter 9

Beth:

Frieda was all over me as soon as I walked in the door. "So? What happened?"

I shrugged. "We went to Antoine's."

"Come on -- there was more to it than that!"

"Well, yeah," I admitted. "There were eight or ten other people there. We had a private dining room at the back and I sat with Jack while the muckedy-mucks talked about this and that for like three solid hours, then Jack took me home."

"Eww! That's it?" Frieda looked disgusted, and I knew I had her.

"Okay, well, that's not everything," I admitted, "but not out here, you know? Not on the floor..."

"Oh. Okay." Frieda got it. "On break?"

"Sure."

So we worked through to the two o'clock break, then went out to my car for some privacy. Once we were settled, Frieda said, "Okay, I've been good -- gimme!"

"Well, as far as it went, I told you the whole front end," I told her, "more or less as it happened. Jack DID take me home afterward, but I brought him in with me."

"No way!" Frieda's eyes bugged.

"Way!" I insisted. "Momma had waited up, too!"

"Omigod!" Frieda gasped, "How did THAT go?"

"Really strange," I told her. "Momma was ... subdued. She asked Jack a couple of questions and then she announced that she was going to bed!"

"NO FUCKIN' WAY!" Frieda erupted. She nearly broke my eardrums -- which is why we were NOT having this conversation in the store!

"Way!" I insisted again. "That's how it happened!"

Frieda considered this. "Well, I DID let your momma have it for crawling all over the first guy ever to pay any attention to you. That was fucked up..."

"Well, it worked, I guess," I grinned. "Thanks! We were expecting World War Three!"

"So then what happened? Did you make out on the couch?"

"No," I replied, preening, "I took him upstairs to my room and we had sex!"

Frieda stopped and looked surprised -- and saddened. "Wow! You had me going there for a minute."

"Huh?"

"Sweetie, I love you and I would love to believe that, but there's NO WAY you took Jack upstairs to your room and fucked him! No fuckin' way!"

"But I DID!" I insisted. "We started out banging the headboard on the wall and Momma came in to stop us -- but we'd changed around already -- and Momma stood there watching us and MASTURBATED!"

Frieda looked miffed. "THAT's supposed to convince me? That's even more outlandish than your first tale! Come on, Sweetie, tell me the truth -- I can take it! He just dropped you at the door, then?"

"Frieda, it's TRUE!" I insisted, "Swear to God! Think about it! It's too wild NOT to be true!"

"It's too wild, all right!" Frieda groused.

"No, look!" I reached in the back seat and grabbed a bag. "Would I buy THIS if we weren't doing anything?" I tipped the bag out in her lap and a black baby-doll nightie and matching panties fell out of it.

"HOLY SHIT!" Frieda's eyes bugged out. "Does your momma know you bought that?"

"She was WITH ME!" I retorted. "She bought one, too!"

Frieda looked lost. "Something about this doesn't add up..."

I nodded. Fighting a sour stomach, I admitted, "There IS more to it -- but this isn't the place, either. I want you to meet Jack -- REALLY meet him. Then, maybe, I can make you understand everything..." The nausea let up as I got a little more vague about the whole thing.

Frieda's face twisted as she considered this. "When?"

"Tonight?"

"Well..."

"PLEEEZE! It'll be worth it -- I promise!" I begged.

"Well, okay." She held up the nightie. "How does it look?"

I sighed. "I look like a hippo in a tutu -- but at least there IS a tutu!"

Frieda snorted a giggle.

Jack called just after seven; he sounded ... aggravated. I was pretty diffident when I asked, "About Frieda..." but he said, "Let's go out to eat -- somewhere that we can get food, instead of a crowd." I agreed and collected Frieda and we decided to go to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant/bar that Frieda and I went to when we just wanted to do girl talk and maybe scope guys. He looked pretty fresh, though, when he showed up in his car...

Jack:

I figured that I sounded like I had a mild case of rabies when I called Beth, so I deliberately pulled her in for a big kiss on arrival. Beth smiled big for me -- and for the benefit of Checkout Chickie -- Frieda, that is. I kept things neutral while I looked her over...

She really wasn't big in any department -- probably 'A' cups, or maybe 'B' -- firm, though, I guessed. She didn't slim any at the waist -- she was more straight, vertically, rather than having any curves. The hair was blonde -- probably bleached, but at least streaked or something, curly, and shoulder-length. The nose kept her from looking like a pixie, it was one of those longish jobs with a kind of diamond-shaped ridge and a slight bulb at the end -- not Karl Malden, but a distant female relative. Buck teeth. Despite a fairly narrow frame, she had a bit of a pot-belly and looked a little pudgy. It's an odd kind of build that you see nowadays on a lot of stick-legged boys -- probably because instead of playing outside while they were young, they were inside building up their thumb muscles with a game console. At first glance, I wondered why on Earth I should bother. She looked a lot like an eleven-year-old baby-fat kid who had been advanced a few years.

"This is Frieda," Beth said, and Frieda came forward, smiling hesitantly, to take my hand. I nodded and muttered, "Jack," as I gently squeezed her clammy hand. Kid had a nice smile, anyway...

"We're going to Ray's tonight," Beth announced, "It's quieter."

It was. The place was small, and dark, and out of the way; there were tables and a bar and a small dance floor. The music wasn't ungodly loud, and came from a jukebox. Oh, yeah, I forgot the pool tables. We sat at a table in the bar area; there was a restaurant area to the right as you came through the door, but it was a separate room. I got the idea that the girls used the table we settled in regularly. The menu had a lot of barbeque on it, but the girls swore by it -- and the ribs WERE good. I noticed right away that Frieda tended to be highly animated -- and that Beth got loose and comfortable and just as loud. They made comments about the couple of young toughs playing pool and some of the older guys at the bar, Frieda's somewhat risqué guesses at their sexual prowess provoking Beth's snorting giggle on multiple occasions. Our own conversation was a bit more cautious...

"So, what do you do, Jack?" Frieda asked.

I considered this one, berating myself for being unprepared to answer it. "I'm, uh, in the military." It was a stupid answer -- there were no bases nearby. Frieda knew this as well as I did -- and so did Beth. Instant discomfort.

Beth found an answer. "He's a recruiter!"

Frieda nodded, "Oh, yeah -- they're everywhere..." I could see in her eyes the corollary, 'and they're all silver-tongued liars!' Of course, I was doing a TERRIBLE job...

"I, uh, don't recruit, myself," I stammered. "I'm, you know, with the administration people..."

"Um hum," Frieda nodded, measuring me with her eyes -- and I KNEW I wasn't measuring up. The thing was, her protective instincts regarding Beth were actually improving her scores with me! She flicked a glance at Beth and said, "Beth told me this wild story about what you guys did last night. What's YOUR side of things?"

Helpless, I turned a startled gaze on Beth. After a moment's thought, I said, "Well, a gentleman doesn't tell."

Frieda wasn't satisfied, I could tell. "Well, this is kinda above and beyond, you know? The tale she gave me requires corroboration..."

I frowned. What the Hell had Beth told her? With the blocks in place, it shouldn't have been much... "We had dinner at Antoine's..."

"And?" Frieda prompted.

"I took her home..."

Frieda flicked a glance at Beth, who coughed and said, "What happened after that is what Frieda wants to know about."

I pursed my lips. "Several things happened after that." Had Beth gotten around the inhibitions? "How far did you go?"

"Where did you sleep last night, Jack?" Frieda asked.

I eyed Beth who was popping her eyes and waving her hands for me to go ahead. "With Beth."

Frieda blinked. "Where was that?"

"Her bedroom?" It was a question. Maybe it shouldn't have been.

Frieda flicked a glance at Beth. "Could you describe her bedroom, please?"

I turned to Beth. "Are we wide open here?"

Beth looked embarrassed. "Well, for the basics, anyway."

"Okay." I turned to Frieda. "I'd never slept in a canopy bed before. She has a lot of stuffed animals -- bears mostly. And a mirror chest that faces the bedroom door."

Frieda got a little feral. "Why did that make an impression?"

I turned to Beth. "You went THAT far?"

"Um, yeth. That wath part of it." Embarrassment REALLY steps up that lisp...

"Because we caught her mother peeping in it while we were having sex," I told Frieda, surrendering. "Anything else?"

Frieda's eyes were saucers. "REALLY? HOLY SHIT! You WEREN'T lying!" she howled at Beth. Whirling back to me, she asked, "Was Mrs. H really jilling off?"

I turned to Beth. "Your mother will be horrified!" To Frieda, I said, "I didn't witness that, but her nightgown was suspiciously bunched at the waist when we discovered her."

"Oh ... My ... GOD!" Frieda took a slug of beer. "I'm sorry Sweetie -- it was just SOOO out there..." Frieda turned back to me. "But there's more to it, isn't there?"

I put on my best poker face. "Why would you say that?"

"Because wild stuff like that doesn't just happen," Frieda replied. "There have to be extenuating circumstances. I mean, I talked to Mrs. H. last night and tried to put some sense in her head, but I don't see her just telling you to make yourself at home." She flicked a glance at Beth. "Besides, Beth hinted that there was more."

"I see." I turned to Beth. "Did you hurt yourself?"

"I got a little queasy," she admitted. "Daddy was worse."

Okay, that meant that Beth had to have been VERY vague ... She was giving me big, puppydog eyes, too -- begging. Problem was, I wasn't convinced. Frieda had a good twenty points of IQ on Tina -- I could tell without even seeing a CAP card -- but that might just mean trouble with Dottie over who was in charge. Frieda's looks were okay, but not spectacular -- and I didn't have the visceral sexual heat for her that Beth produced. Basically, the only thing Frieda had going for her was Beth -- was that enough? I needed more data... "I'm going to hit the Men's Room," I told them. "Maybe we'll discuss this when I come back." 'And maybe not, ' I added to myself, as I rose. Beth looked nervous and apprehensive; I gave her a little wave, but it was premature for her to draw comfort from it.

In the Men's Room, bellied up to the urinal, I subvocalized, "Okay, Frieda Hunt. CAP score?"

<Five point five, > the AI returned. <Her IQ is masked by a certain boisterous childishness that her psych profile suggests is the result of some early sexual trauma.>

'What does that mean?'

<Subconsciously, she wishes to remain pre-adolescent. She is, however, worldly -- much less innocent than Elizabeth Hopkins.>

'She LOOKS like an overgrown twelve year old... ' I mused.

<That may be partially because her mental state is exerting influence on her physical maturity, > the AI reported.

'It sounds like she has ... needs... ' I mused.

<Concur. She is ruined for sponsorship, but would approach it in an environment providing sufficient emotional support.>

'She's been abused?'

<Yes.>

'I don't see how I could approach her without appearing to be an abuser.'

<Paradoxically, perhaps, a bona-fide offer of protection and support in return for sex would work better than an attempt to befriend her. She mistrusts males who would approach her with an attempt to engage her emotions, as she has been betrayed by men in a position of trust. Her trust must be earned, preferably by someone setting forth reasonable goals for her protection and support, then meeting or exceeding them.>

'So... '

<Present the situation baldly. Make an offer of sponsorship in return for sex and procreation, based solely upon performance and an inclination to accede to the wishes of Elizabeth Hopkins in the matter. Make no promise of future emotional commitment, although you may hold it out as a possibility. Ask for a 'test drive' -- undoubtedly, she is adept at oral and anal sex -- even if still technically a virgin.>

'How likely is that?'

<That the subject has never participated in vaginal intercourse is only probable on the order of thirty two percent. There is no hymen present, but it may not have been destroyed by penile penetration. Frieda Hunt is highly sexed and has used various devices to obtain orgasm on numerous occasions; this is clear from her psychometric analysis.>