Chapter 6: You Sure About This?

"You know, my divorce was final on my birthday." I paused, gulped, and asked, "Exactly what do you mean by dusting?"

She looked at me and grinned. "I mean, let's see how this might work. You like me. I know that. You said so. I like you and the age difference doesn't mean all that much to me. Besides, I always lusted after Daddy. You might make a great daddy."

"S ... S ... S ... Simone," I stammered. "My daughter and I live in the same dorm. She's a 16 year old sophomore. I have a feeling she's about 2 years younger than you. How do you think she'd take us?"

"We haven't got that far ... yet. And we might not." Then she explained, "But this is what people were made for. The propagation of the species ... just because the practice is fun, too, is the icing on the cake. 16? and a sophomore? What's her grade point?"

"4.0, National Honor Society, Mensa, Mu Alpha Theta, The Presidents Society. She tested out of her freshman year. 202 IQ. Top 1%. Speaks four foreign languages like a native. Smart cookie. A lot like you."

"What kind of a genius are you? Kids like me don't grow on trees. In Germany, kids like me were genetically altered and specifically selected. My dad was one."

"I'm just a lowly 142 IQ and her mom is 168. We're simple people."

"Yeah. Right. You've always been smarter than your neighbors haven't you," she didn't make that a question.

"I grew up in a neighborhood of high school teachers, and, yeah, I astounded them all the time."

She stood on tiptoe. Simone leaned forward until her nipples brushed my hairy chest. She swayed side to side just a tiny bit. They dragged across my chest like a hot branding iron. I popped a woody.

"I chose John, my boyfriend, for his intelligence. I am genetically driven to produce smart babies." She paused, "The fact he's an arrogant, domineering, selfish asshole didn't matter as long as he gives me smart babies. He's piss poor in bed and never cares about my satisfaction ... I wonder how he'll take the news?"

"What news?"

"That he's my EX boyfriend." She laughed. "I'll bet he's going to be pissed."

"Not to change the subject," which was exactly what I was trying to do, "We should get these blanks back to the camp." I held them up, still wrapped in her shirt.

"Yes, we should," she tossed her red hair like a horse tail and commenced to trot back to camp.

Watching that magnificent ass tighten up and start rolling like a bag full of cats was pretty distracting. I'm in fair shape but I never could run far. I could sprint but a 220 was too much. Plus, it was uphill. Still, I tried.

She was waiting at the top of the hill. "One thing for sure ... you have to get in shape. You'll never be able to keep up. How long since you quit smoking?"

"February 18th 1972, 10:30 at night. You figure it out."

"You know the exact date? Why?"

"I remember monumental dates. Quiting smoking is pretty monumental. I can recall the end of the war in Germany. I was three years old, but I remember it like it was yesterday. Monumental dates I'm good at."

"You're kidding!" She was amazed.

"Nope, May 8th, 1945. My third birthday. My dad was washing the car. I was playing in the space between the backyard and the Victory garden. My mother came screaming out the door, "The war is over! The war is over! Harry can come home. She started sobbing and babbling, "Harry can come home." She said it over and over. Harry was a B-17 Pilot, shot down over Germany during the last weeks of the war. We had just received word he was a POW/

"My dad picked me up and tossed me in the air and caught me, sat me on his shoulders, and we went down town. I must have shook half the hands in town and got kissed by the women and girls in the stores and on the street. (Daddy was the county prosecutor) Everybody knew us." I paused, "I don't remember anything else about my baby years until I started school."

"Amazing. My dad told me about the end of his war. It wasn't anywhere as grand, but I'll bet it was a lot more exciting."

"Oh? How so?"

"Got your breath back? I'll tell you about it when we get to the camp!"

Off we went. Running when all your blood is in your dick is hard ... that too. Oxygen starvation!!