Chapter 7

Paul’s turn:

I fancy myself a writer, okay. A science fiction writer, on top of that. I just thought I had an imagination.

This evening with Barb showed me that I come up short when it comes to imagining ecstasy.

My first experiences with a real girl nor the frantic imaginings to which I jerked off over the years, none of it compared nor prepared me for a single evening with this startling teen redhead who has invaded my psyche.

I had harbored the idea that one day I’d be at a book signing or one of the cons – conventions – for sci-fi and fantasy, and I’d meet some nerd girl who would be my complement in life. We’d have a normal courtship followed by maybe a bit of cohabitation, then marriage.

Nothing prepared me for a young teen redhead walking up and saying ‘hi’, then fitting herself into my days, then into my dreams.

And tonight things went from a couple of friendly people who hung out together, separated by ten years of age difference, to wild, orgasmic intimacy, stopping short of penetration.

Orgaasmic, because it started with kissing and hugging and led to dry humping that took us both over the edge, then a subsequent shower and nudity and explorations of each other’s bodies and reactions and pleasures.

I’ve had exactly three blowjobs in my life. Barb has done two of them. We could have gone all the way. I know it. but I knew better. She’s a healthy, normal female and as far as I know of, I’m an equally normal male and our mating carried a very high chance of conception.

So we didn’t. Neither of us tried. I love Barb and she loves me and I know that we will take our relationship to its ultimate limits.

I went to sleep and slept unusually well. Got up the next morning, ate breakfast, went straight to writing. Words seemed to well up and pour out. I got up from my desk at near noon having knocked out two chapters of my active work.

I thought I might see Barb at lunch. She often comes over and shares sandwiches or leftovers with me, staying if we’re doing a culinary experiment or hitting some science or math on her home study curriculum.

One o’clock. No Barb.

Now I’m worried. She’s got a cellphone, so I text her.

Almost immediately I get a call back from her.

Not knowing who might hear what, I don’t sound like boyfriend. “Hey, punkin. Something going on?”

“I had to go to the doctor.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m okay.” I heard her ask something of her grandmother, then, “Female problems. Period cramps, if you must know. They’re REALLY bad this time.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll be home in a bit. We have to go to the pharmacy. I may see you tomorrow.”

“Okay. Take care of yourself. Keep me posted.”

And I’m thinking that she had mentioned her period being a few days off.

Optimistically I made the drive to town to pick up a few groceries and since I was already there I stopped into the pharmacy and bought a ‘personal groomer’, hair dryer, and a box of condoms. Driving home I started letting my imagination run free. The condoms would be just the thing to find when they were searching my place when I was arrested for sex crimes.

Halfway home my phone went off with Barb’s ringtone.

“Hi, Barb.” Neutral voice. Non-committal. Heart skipping beats.

“Babyyyy,” she said. “Gramma and Grampa are downstairs. I can finally talk. I know you’re worried.”

“Yes, I am. You’re my heart.”

“And you’re mine. Uh, period cramps. Irregular periods cause ‘em. Told the doctor that I’ve been trying to make do with over-the-counter stuff but it’s getting worse. She says I need a little help regulating my cycle, so I am now on birth control pills, which is kinda strange since she did a pelvic exam and I’m NOT sexually active, apparently.” All in one breath.

“But you’re feeling better.”

“I might’ve exaggerated my symptoms. For effect, you know. And they’re almost exactly what I found using Google.”

“Barbakitty!”

“Just thinking ahead. And FYI, I do not EVER want to use a condom with us.”

“Uh, don’t you take pills for a whole cycle before they’re effective?”

“Uh, nooo. These are effective after two days.”

“Seriously?”

“Mmm-hmmm. Did the research already.”

“I just bought twenty dollars’ worth of condoms.”

She giggled. “Ambitious, are we?”

“After last night I wanted to be prepared. That might be a week’s worth if...”

“Last night is just the beginning.”

“When you didn’t come over this morning ... Baby, you have no idea of the thoughts that went through my mind...”

“I should’ve texted you. But, you know, I was so wracked with cramps...”

“Sometimes you’re a devious little beast.”

“Not devious. Goal-oriented. Tomorrow, okay? I’m recovering. Got some pain-killers ‘n’ stuff, too.”

“Bought you a hair dryer. Hope it’s the right kind. And some personal clippers.”

Squeal! “We can do each other.”

“You almost don’t have any as it is.”

“And you won’t have any and I won’t have any. We’ll match!” She paused. “Didn’t you say you never done this before?”

“No. Nobody’s ever given that part much attention.”

“Well, welcome to the brave new world, Paul. I’m Barb and I will pay attention to you. All of you.” Pause. “Gotta go. Somebody’s coming up the stairs.”

“Okay, princess. I love you!”

“I love you, too. Bye.” Click.

No Barb this evening. Empty, silent house is a stark reminder of what she’s brought to my life. Other side of the coin is that I’m still in one of those fertile writing periods. My agent will be pleased.

Speaking of pleased agents, I’m no Sir Terry Pratchett or J.K. Rowling. Those are (were) big fish in a big pond. Me? Small fish. Small pond. Local libraries, though, know of my existence and a few times a year I find myself invited when they want to do something interesting with a Real Writer™. I will move my insignificant portion of heaven and earth to comply.

I’ve done several, all in range of a single day’s drive, maybe an overnight stay in a mid-range hotel, two or three hours doing a little presentation on writing from the perspective of me, a mildly successful author. Answer questions. Sign autographs, hopefully of books somebody’s actually bought, smile a lot. Leave, hoping that you might’ve kicked the blocks out of some budding storyteller.

Got one of those coming up. Several, actually, but the next one on the calendar is the local parish library. If we get a dozen participants I’ll consider it a success. Double digits is nice, but this parish, devastated by a couple of hurricanes in the past two decades, isn’t repopulating, not with the help of the federal government’s new rules on rebuilding.

Before I get to the top of my soapbox, I’ll stop. The event I’m discussing is coming up Saturday and of course there was the opening, “I wanna go with you.”

“You sure?”

“Of course.” We’re sitting in the downstairs screened patio. She looked around to see who might be within earshot, then, “First, MY favorite person in the whole world is there, second, if by some warp in the fabric of the universe, I was to tire of listening to you, I’d still be in a library. So yes, I wanna go.”

Obligatory conversation with the grandparents, ailing Barb hovering on the edge of the conversation.

“You don’t mind taking her?” Hank questioned.

“Nossir. Somebody to talk with on the way there and back. Running buddy. All that.”

“I suppose it’s not the same as if you played music in a nightclub. I don’t see why not, Hank,” Beck returned. “What does she need to wear?”

“Tea-length formal wear. Nice necklace, not gaudy. Tiara is optional.”

Hank guffawed.

Beck and Barb simultaneously blurted, “Paul!”

“Okay,” I corrected. “How about that overalls and T-shirt thing you did the other day?”

Barb smiled, arched an eyebrow to let me know she understood the significance of that choice. “I can do that!”

But that’s all near-term future. Right now I’m bumping around the house tidying (not that I’m a slob) the place, letting the robot vacuum do its thing, changing the bed, hitting on a thermal mug of coffee as I do so.

Phone dings. Text from Barb. “On the way.”

I don’t need to reply. By the time I did, she’d be thumping up the steps anyway. Door opened and closed. Lock clicked.

I turned just in time for a delightful collision. Would’ve said something but my lips were suddenly occupied.

“Did you miss me?”

“Barbakitty, you didn’t show up. No text. No call. No email. I thought you were full of regret, starting to hate me for taking advantage of you, waiting to give your story to the sheriff ... a million deaths, baby...”

“I should’ve done at least a text, but I was doing an award-winning performance of ‘wracked in menstrual pain’. I feel bad about lying to Gramma. But I HAD to...”

More kisses. Her body flows to meet mine. Never got hugged like this before.

“So no regret?”

“Nope. ‘Regret’ is not on the list. Want. Need. Anticipation. I use those words.”

“I love you, little darlin’.”

“I love you, love you, love you, Paul.”

We stepped apart. She fixed me with a look, something she’s done since the day I let her into my life. “We will look normal. Same patterns. Like I’m here with a book and you’re writing. Like it’s pleasant enough for those activities to take place downstairs so we can be seen by people who might pay attention.”

“Very mature. So much for my expectation that we’d be naked on the bed right now.”

Giggle. “Good to know you were thinking that, too!” She punctuated that comment with fingers tracing the lump in my shorts. “And maybe a reprise of night before last. But I’ve got a couple of days before I wanna trust a pill and you will NOT violate me with a stupid condom. You and I, we’re a thing. I’m not some random beach bimbo you need to protect yourself from, a lifetime of child support or a fine selection of spirochetes and other genital fauna.”