Chapter 19

On Sunday morning, I knocked out a few things around the house and picked Kim up. We stopped at a sandwich place on the way to Folly Beach. Just the two of us planned on doing nothing. I had three books with me. We dragged our stuff out to the beach and spread out a pair of towels. The nearest other people were at least fifty yards away. Perfect. Then, Kim pulled off her little coverup. Perfect.

“Oh, man, baby. I was hoping to read.”

“What’s stopping you?” she said, stretching in the morning sun. She was wearing a high-cut white bikini that really showed off, well, Kim. It showed off Kim.

“Um, is that a trick question?”

“No. Why?”

“You’re distracting. Look at you. Oh, my gosh, Baby. Argh.”

“Ha-ha. Read your book,” she said, laying down and settling in to work on her tan.

“I can’t possibly read when all the blood from my brain went elsewhere.”

“You’re sweet. Relax. Enjoy the view.”

“That’s the problem. I’m enjoying the view too much.”

“Not me, dufus. Lay down and relax. Watch the surfers pretending there might be waves one day.”

I lay down and tried to get comfortable. I picked up Trinity by Leon Uris. I’m not sure why I brought two other books. Nine hundred pages would keep me busy for a couple of days. Now, if I could just concentrate. I did concentrate. Just not on the Irish in Trinity.

“I like you a lot,” I said.

“Shh. Read your book, you horndog.”

“I can’t help it. You look the way you look. You’re perfect.”

“Thank you. I have freckles.”

“As if those somehow detracted. Take your top off so I can finish drawing them.”

“Shh. Read your book. You like Uris? I’ve never read him. How does he write?”

“Like Michener, only good.” I liked James Clavell’s historical fiction and Uris was great. Michener didn’t write historical fiction. He wrote fiction and pretended it was historical, with his not-so-subtle biases interjected throughout. How did he ever get so popular, and why did Mom like him?

Blood slowly returned to my brain and I read. We ate our chips and sandwiches and I debated getting wet. Then Kim flipped over on her stomach. I stared at her ass. To call it firm would be doing it an injustice. I tried to find the right word. Sculpted came to mind. I wasn’t done admiring it when she reached behind her and pulled the string on her bikini top. Either that was so she wouldn’t have a tan line, or to drive me completely crazy.

“Kim?”

“Uh, huh?” she said, turning toward me.

“I’m feeling particularly lustful.”

“Of course you are. Read your book.”

“You’re very distracting. I just thought you should know.”

“No one else is looking at me.”

“No one else is within fifty yards of us. The guy with binoculars has been staring at you for an hour.”

“Uh-huh.” She wasn’t buying it.

I read my book. I went for a swim and realized I hadn’t brought goggles with me to the beach. Marty needed an open-water swim so I could teach him the difference. I hadn’t done a lot of open-water swimming but I had done five miles straight when we were in Puerto Rico. That’s a lot of opportunity to learn.

Walking back up the beach, I stopped to look. How in the world did I get that lucky? I kept walking and before I got there, she sat up and looked at me, resting on her elbows. “Baby, you are smoking hot.” She smiled.

“Thank you. I’m about ready to go if you are. I’m trying to think how we might finish the day. Any ideas?”

I had one. We threw our stuff in the trunk; I put the top down and drove back to my house. Kim put her hand on my knee and I couldn’t get home fast enough. Traffic was terrible. She squeezed my thigh and started humming. I was miserable with anticipation. We passed over the Intracoastal Waterway and I tried to focus on our surroundings rather than Kim’s hand. I made the mistake of glancing over at her.

“I might have got a little sun,” she said, pushing her bikini top to the side, just enough to see white skin. Argh. “I don’t think I got too much, though.”

We passed Bowen Island Road, then that long stretch of marsh before Battery Island Drive. We passed Grimball Road, with the little bump at the intersection. When we hit the bump, her hand bounced off my thigh and onto my dick for just a second. “Whoopsie.” That was totally planned. She was torturing me on purpose.

I pulled into my driveway and parked near the front door, then helped her out. She was being pokey on purpose. I’d show her pokey in a minute. We held hands and walked back to my room. She had been really slowing things down and then she changed it up. She dropped to her knees in front of me, pulled the drawstring on my shorts and pulled them down, freeing Mr. Happy. I was already hard as a rock. I’d been hard as a rock for hours, I thought. It seemed like it.

She took the head of my dick in her mouth and gently sucked, then swirled her tongue around it. It was wonderful agony. “Sit,” she said and pushed me back toward a chair. I sat. After that, anyone would have done anything she asked. She sat, straddling my legs, scooting close to me so my dick was practically touching her bikini. She put her hands on my shoulders and leaned forward to give me a gentle kiss. She bit my lower lip and sat up, running her hands over my chest.

I looked into her big brown eyes as she said, “I could ask for anything right now, couldn’t I?”

“Name it,” I said, and she laughed. She was having fun.

She reached behind her and pulled the string on her bikini top. I saw the strings drop down, but the material hung there, clinging to her tits. Then she reached behind her neck, and pulled that string and her top fell free.

“I’m afraid most of my freckles are gone. Do you still like them.”

“You have the most perfect tits in the world. They’re even better when they’re pointing at me like they are. Like little chocolate kisses.” I cupped them, one in each hand, gently feeling their weight. I leaned forward and kissed all around a nipple, enjoying her moans as I did so. I ran my tongue over the little bumps of her areola.

She leaned back, resting her hands behind her, on my knees. “You seem to be leaking.”

“Yes. You should fix that for me.” She laughed, then stepped off long enough to drop her bikini bottom. She had trimmed close for the summer, leaving a one-inch strip of curly brown hair. Damn, she looked good. “I want.”

She sat back down and scooched forward so she was touching my dick with her pussy. “Want inside?”

“Desperately.”

“I like the sound of that. I kind of like you.”

I reached up to cup her perfect tits again, her nipples stiff with desire. I watched her raise up, then hold me in position. I started to arch up, but she put a hand on my stomach to hold me down. She eased down until the head of my dick was inside her hot pussy. She was dripping with steamy desire and I was about ready to shoot into her.

“Baby, I’m ready to cum right now,” I said, pleading for her to drop down onto me.

She slid down and before she reached bottom, I started to cum. I watched her smile as I erupted into her uncontrollably. I’d rocketed into her and it was over just like that. Such a relief. “I’m sorry,” I said, apologizing for not lasting longer.

“Oh, Baby, you don’t need to apologize. That felt very nice. Honestly.” She squeezed me and lifted up, but just a little. “You’re still hard. I’ll wait a minute. You need that, right?”

“This is good,” I squeaked.

“This is very good. I like it when you bring me to orgasm first. I really do. It feels like love. But when you explode like that, it feels like lust. Those are both good, Baby. I love you. But I lust you, too,” she said, holding her tits up for me.

I leaned forward and sucked a nipple into my mouth. When I let it pop out to switch to the other one, she hissed with pleasure. I pinched the first one as I sucked on the other, and she squeezed my dick again. It wasn’t going to take long before I’d be ready to go again.

I reached down between us and massaged the top of her slit, sliding a little lower until my thumb came to rest on her magic button. “Ooh. You found it.” I ran my thumb back and forth across her slippery clit, as she licked her lips, smiling at me the whole time. “Are you ready?” she asked and I nodded.

She leaned back, then arched forward, lifting herself up, just an inch and then back down, testing to see if I really was good to go. She lifted up again, this time a little higher. “Nothing is better than this,” I said. “Nothing is better than you. I’m the luckiest man in the world. You feel so good.”

“You feel pretty good, too, Aquaman,” she said and started to work. She picked up the pace and when she did, she squeezed me on the way down, rather than when she lifted. It made her feel very, very tight, and I started to quickly build toward another orgasm. I kept my thumb wet and moving, thrusting up against her.

“I want to hold off until you cum, Baby, but I’m not going to last.” She nodded and pushed down hard and I worked my fingers against her hot spot until her orgasm began. I arched up, meeting hers with my own. I pulled her to me and held her tight as we shook together. We wrapped our arms around each other, squeezing close together as wave after wave passed over us.

We stopped, then she spasmed again. A minute later, she spasmed yet again. “That was pretty spectacular, Jack.”

We settled down, but continued to hold each other. “My life expectancy is seventy-six years. I have sixty years left. If we did that every day until the day I died, it would be over twenty-one thousand times. I don’t think any of them would be better than that.”

“That was pretty nice. I do like a challenge,” she said, leaning back. “I’m spent. You really love me, don’t you.”

“I really, really do. You’re my bargain,” I said, and I could tell she remembered me serenading her with that song by The Who when we were in Puerto Rico.

I woke up, naked, with a note on my chest. “You’re cute when you’re sleeping. I took your car. Will pick you up tomorrow,” and then a bunch of hearts and stuff. I must have really been out for her to get dressed and leave without me noticing. I must have been really out for it to already be nine.

I pulled some shorts on and heated up some of the sheepshead casserole for a late dinner. I turned on the weather channel only to discover there were thunderstorms forecast for Monday afternoon. It was that time of year. Our baseball game would undoubtedly be postponed. I called Marty and Kim to figure out my plan for the next day.

Kim picked me up early the next morning so she could run and I could coach Marty again. She planned on running eight miles at a seven-minute mile pace and didn’t need my help. I thought that would be a new longest distance for her and she said it would be. Her goal was to build her stamina so she could start her kick for the entire last lap. She wanted to kick up the pace to something Joy couldn’t match for that distance. I thought it was a sound strategy.

I worked with Marty for a bit, coaching him on breathing and recovery. Once I’d done that, I decided to swim three miles in an hour. The pace wasn’t too fast and I’d done farther in open water. I watched Marty as I swam and he seemed to be doing okay. I hadn’t done that kind of distance in a while and I pushed myself a little harder than I might have, otherwise. Fifty-seven minutes for three miles wasn’t bad, I thought as I climbed out.

“How far?”

“Three miles.”

“Fuck. Dude, you need to do a triathlon. What kind of bike do you have.”

“Schwinn Continental, why?”

“Pierce, that’s from the fifties or something. I bet you have rat traps on it.”

“I don’t even know what that is.”

“People call them cages. They’re to hold your feet in place.”

“Nah. It’s just a bike. Why, what do you have?”

“I’ve got a De Rosa Professional with a Campy groupo.”

“Marty, I don’t even know what that means.”

“It means you’ve been pedaling around a VW while I’ve got a Porsche, that’s what it means. I’m certain the frame is stiffer and the geometry is totally different. You’ve got a fun bike. I’ve got a bike designed to win races.”

“Ah. Does it make that much of a difference?”

“You told me Kim had been running in her cheerleader shoes. Do you think it made a difference for her when she changed?”

“Ah. Big difference. How much does a bike like that cost, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“You won’t find one used. People buy them and keep them. Pinarello is pretty good, too, and the Bianchi Superlegarra has almost the same geometry. Any of them will set you back just over a grand.”

“For a bike? Holy crap, Marty.”

“When I finish a race, I can’t blame the bike. I’m riding the best. Not a lot of equipment to blame when you’re swimming, though.”

“I saw a guy lose a race because his goggles broke.”

“I don’t know what to make of that.”

“I don’t think equipment can win a race for you. I think it can lose a race. I’m probably wrong. I’ve got the best bat in the world. It works for me. But I bet Dale Murphy would do just fine with any bat in the dugout.”

“Probably some truth to that. Still, I want to do the best that I can and I think having the right bike, running shoes, and all that can do two things for me. I think it can help me go my fastest and take away any excuses I have.”

“I can’t argue with that. It’s a heck of a price for a bike, though.”

“I’d let you ride mine but you’re too tall. You’d probably need a twenty-four-inch frame. I’m going to The Spokeworks this afternoon. I’ll see what they have.”

“I think I’m going to stick with my Schwinn. I’ve been advised that my plate is full and that I shouldn’t put anything else on it. It’s probably good advice.”

We talked some more and Marty encouraged me to give a good road bike a test ride. I listened but I certainly didn’t commit. I have to admit, he was pretty convincing and I was really tempted. We came out of the locker room and Kim was waiting for me in the hall. She looked amazing.

Marty looked at her, shook his head, then turned to me and said, “Your plate is pretty full. I don’t think I’d even be thinking about a road bike,” and walked ahead. I had to laugh.

“What was that about?” Kim asked and I had to explain the whole conversation.

“You know what’s funny is that some guys are jealous of me and they don’t even know you.”

“And there are plenty of girls who are jealous of me and they don’t know you,” she answered, giving me her bright white, deep-dimple smile.

“They’ll never know,” I answered, figuring that was pretty safe. She gave one hard nod and it was settled. They’d never know.

We sat with Bobby and Mel during lunch that day and got caught up on what they had been doing. They asked about Mom’s wedding, and Bobby wanted to know about Marty’s swim lessons. When the crash of thunder came without warning, we all practically jumped out of our skin. It’s pretty routine during the spring. We can get a monster thunderstorm one minute and clear skies the next. You’d think we’d be used to it, but the first crash is always a bit of a shock.

With both track and baseball rained out, we decided to pay Mrs. Augustine a visit and it wasn’t just Kim and me. Mel and Bobby came, too. All four of us had been considering College of Charleston. Mel and Bobby both thought they might go there for all four years and Kim and I planned to transfer after one or two. Mrs. Augustine knew all about colleges throughout the southeast and could find out about any other college in the country. But College of Charleston was her specialty for obvious reasons.

Mel was interested in getting a degree in hospitality and tourism and that was a CofC specialty. Tourism is the number two industry in the Lowcountry, right behind shrimping. Mrs. Augustine said there probably weren’t five colleges in the country that didn’t have an accounting degree and CofC’s accounting department was as good as anyone else’s. Bobby would have to take the CPA exam once he finished college and having that CPA title was the standard and it wouldn’t matter much which college he had attended. I wasn’t sure if that was true but Bobby seemed satisfied.

Kim and I were a little different. She said both Emory and Georgia Tech had general education requirements that we could take care of at CofC. She was certain we could both complete one year and probably two, locally, then transfer. She gave us the name of someone in the CofC admissions office that could help us ensure we didn’t take classes that wouldn’t transfer. CofC had a higher acceptance rate than either of the colleges we’d be transferring to and that might be our challenge.

We were good with that. We thanked her and walked through the building toward the exit. Since we were the last four people at school, it should have been easy to spot our cars in the parking lot. The problem was that rain was coming down so hard, we couldn’t really see the parking lot. We stood under the awning looking out into a torrential downpour.

“How long until this passes through?” Mel asked.

“Sometime after midnight,” I answered. “That’s what the weather channel said last night. It got here sooner than I thought. I’m going to Mr. Pringle’s supply closet and get a trash bag. I’ll cut a hole in it to make a rain poncho, then get my car. I’ll meet you around in the front of the building. Bobby, you can leave your car here and I’ll pick everyone up in the morning.”

Nobody had a better idea so that’s what we did. I’d had both good and bad experiences with this kind of thing. The solution wasn’t difficult. It simply wasn’t pleasant but somebody had to do it. I went to the supply closet, grabbed a big black trash bag, and cut a hole in it for my head and two little ones for my hands to stick through. He had gym towels too, so I borrowed four of them. On the way back to the exit, I passed Mrs. Augustine’s office. I offered her a ride but she said her husband was coming to pick her up.

I took off my shoes and slogged through standing water to my car. As soon as I sat down, I realized I’d screwed up. I should have got extra bags for the rest of them because they’d each have to get out once I dropped them off. I pulled around to the front and under the big awning and was surprised to see them already wearing bags.

“I thought we might need them when we got home,” Bobby said. We thought about our houses and where everyone should sit to shorten the walk when we got there. I drove to Mel’s house first. It was only two miles but it took almost fifteen minutes. My poor little wiper blades couldn’t keep up. When I pulled into the driveway, I saw the garage door roll up.

“Nice. You can pull in, Jack. Mom must have seen us.”

“Probably waiting for us,” Bobby said. “Hey, Baby, would you do me a favor and call my house. If someone’s home, maybe they can do the same for me.”

When I got to Bobby’s house the garage door was open but it was too crowded for me to pull in. I maneuvered as close as I could and Bobby walked in, shoes in hand. At Kim’s house, she was happy to see her parent’s car already there. She left her shoes in the car and walked to the front door barefoot. I could barely see her wave to me through the rain.

Back home, I pulled into the garage and relaxed. It was the first time I’d driven in such heavy rain and didn’t realize how stressful it was until I killed the engine. Trash bag or not, I was going to get wet. I followed Kim’s example and left my shoes in my car. I grabbed a towel and walked up to the house. I sloshed through standing water in the driveway. Going up the steps I held the railing for the first time in years. Inside, I laid the towel on the floor and stripped. I was the only one home so who cared?

I was halfway through a hot shower when the power went out. Perfect. I rinsed off, dried off, and dressed in the dark. I knew where all the flashlights were, so I grabbed one from my bookshelf and went to the kitchen. Power outage or not, I was hungry. I opened the freezer and grabbed a couple of ice packs, then stuck them in the fridge and pulled out eggs and cheese. I’d have to cook dinner on the gas stove rather than microwave it. Trying to cook with just a flashlight wasn’t going to be easy. I found the battery lantern in the hall closet and stuck it on a shelf in the kitchen so I could see.

I heated up a can of chili and fried a couple of eggs. Chili and cheese with a couple of eggs on top wasn’t too bad. I took my bowl into the rec room and turned on the TV to see what the weather forecast was, then stood there looking at a blank screen like an idiot. Knowing the forecast wasn’t going to change anything, anyway. I walked around the house, making sure all the switches that were supposed to be in the off position actually were. I could start the generator but the only thing I really needed electricity for was the fridge but I thought it would be fine, at least until morning.

I was about to hit the sack, for an early night when I heard a horn honk in the driveway. I went to the front door to see Franklin, standing in the garage, next to his dripping car.

I opened the door and stepped out, staying under the overhang. “Hey,” I hollered.

“Hey, yourself. You okay?”

“Yeah,” I hollered back over the sound of the rain. Thunder boomed in the distance. “I was just going to watch Magnum P.I. by candlelight.”

“Funny guy. Seriously, do you need anything?”

“I can’t think of a thing. We really do need to get a remote starter on the generator. I’m not going to bother starting it tonight, though. If power’s still out in the morning, I’ll crank it up.”

“Sounds good. Don’t open the fridge more than you have to. If you ever wanted to see what your land looked like after a rain, tomorrow would be the day.”

“Thanks for checking, but I’m fine.” He backed out of the driveway and took off for home.

I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of voices coming from somewhere in the house. I was wide awake in a heartbeat. My mind raced. I pulled on some shorts and grabbed my big knife. It wasn’t much but it was better than nothing. I followed the voices into the rec room, where Humphrey Bogart was threatening some guy I thought might have been Jimmy Cagney. I turned the TV off and listened again. Nothing. At least the power was back on.

Our big house seemed a lot bigger, in the middle of the night with no one else home. I turned on the backyard floodlights to see what kind of damage had been done and surprisingly didn’t see any. The water level in the pool was high but that was about it. There had been lots of rain but not much wind. After resetting my alarm clock, I went back to sleep.

Remembering that I was picking up four people the next morning, I got an early start. I started with Bobby, then Mel, and finally, Kim. We saw a couple of floodwater management trucks driving around, making sure all the drains were working, and that retention ponds were returning to normal. Water was flowing fast. I dropped the three of them off, telling Kim I was going to skip first period. I went by Ace Hardware and picked up a pair of nearly knee-high rubber boots and drove to the Fort Johnson Road property.

It didn’t take long to see that it was soaked. Leaving my car at the street, I slogged over to the creek to see it wider, deeper, and faster moving than I’d ever seen it. I thought I’d go back at the end of the day and see how much difference eight hours would make. I got back to school in time for second period. At lunch, I told Kim, Mel, and Bobby what I’d seen at the property. I wished I’d taken a camera with me.

It wasn’t going to be dry enough for baseball for at least another day. We finally got the chance to host Southeast Prep on Wednesday. I wasn’t sure I wanted to face the weirdo pitcher they had the first time we played them and, as it turns out, I didn’t have to worry about it. Rusty started for us and his sinking curveball was working like magic. Gizmo and Zip took turns catching ground balls to the left side of the infield.

Legs hit a little blooper over the second baseman’s head for a single. Gizmo fouled off four or five pitches before walking and I was up with two on and no outs. Their pitcher reminded me of the deputy on Andy of Mayberry and he wasn’t off to a very good start. Cherry said his fastball was in the low to mid-eighties, his changeup was about seventy-five, which isn’t much of a difference, and his curveball didn’t seem to have a lot of movement. That’s not a good combination for a pitcher but it’s great for a batter.

I got the signal to try to push the ball to right field. Other guys can place the ball pretty well. I was getting better at it, but it wasn’t my strength. The first pitch was outside for a ball. Legs had a great lead off from second base. If I could send it into right, he should score. Another pitch on the outside would probably be good for that, I thought. The second pitch looked like a fastball, low and outside and I swung, driving it over the first baseman’s head. A single at least. Legs was moving and it looking like Gizmo was trying to catch up with him. I’d try for second.

Thumper was our third base coach, standing there with his shin guards on. As I approached second, he waved me on. I’d seen that before when I’d hit a home run but I didn’t think I had hit the ball hard enough to be a triple. Legs and Gizmo had both scored and it seemed like the throw was going to third. Thumper motioned for me to slide. Man, I hated that. I looked to see where the third baseman was lined up, then aimed to the far side of the bag, and hit the dirt. I felt the bag with my left hand, then felt the glove on my back. I’d beaten the throw by a fraction of a second. I stood up and dusted myself off, then saw the third base umpire motion me out.

What? I beat the throw. I knew I had. I heard Coach holler, “Stay put” as he came out of the dugout. Coach Hamilton told the umpire I’d beat the throw and that the tag was so far down my back that I couldn’t have been out. He wasn’t happy. They argued and I thought it would be smart to keep my mouth shut.

I couldn’t help it. The third baseman was standing right next to me. “I was safe. You know I was, right?” I asked quietly.

“If I was the umpire, I would have called you safe. But if he called you out, you’re out. Nice hit, though.”

“So, what happens now?”

“They’ll argue and then you’ll be out. If you think that’s bad, we had this guy behind the plate last week. Pray you don’t have to play a game with him behind the plate.”

“Bad?”

“Yeah. Huge strike zone for one batter and a little one for the next and he couldn’t make up his mind. It kind of evens out but it sucks and pisses everyone off.”

Coach Hamilton appealed to the home plate umpire. The home plate umpire met the other one between third and home and they talked. It seemed like they talked way too long to decide the obvious. When they finished talking, the home plate umpire held up a fist. I was out.

I jogged to the dugout feeling as confused as I’d ever felt playing baseball. I was used to balls and strikes being close sometimes but this seemed pretty obvious. A couple of guys said I got robbed and I couldn’t argue with them. It’s bad enough to make an out. It’s worse when the ump makes it for you.

I took a seat to wait for the end of the inning but I didn’t get the chance. “Pierce! Go take Thumper’s place.”

I jogged out to take over for Thumper. “Hey, Thumper. I’ve got it,” I said. “Not sure why he’s switching us out.”

“You got a shitty call. He stuck you out here so you can’t talk about it with the other guys. He wants them thinking about the next play, not the last one.”

“Gotcha.”

We were up four, nothing when I came up again in the third with Gizmo on first. Thumper gave me the ‘swing away’ sign and that’s exactly what I wanted to see. The first pitch was perfect and I swung, nailing it solidly. Gizmo took off at a sprint, as though I was trying to pass him. I wasn’t but he made it seem that way, looking over his shoulder all the time. I didn’t look at the pitcher. I looked at the infield umpire who had called me out on my last at bat. ‘Can’t call me out now, can you’, I thought.

I realized he was watching me closely so I made sure to tag the bases in a way that no one could miss it. I didn’t want him to say I’d missed a bag. Gizmo waited for me at home. When I stepped on home plate, Gizmo said, “A triple and a home run. Not bad, Aquaman.” The umpire got the dig. For a second, I thought he was going to say something but he didn’t.

I got high fives in the dugout and I ended up next to Coach Hamilton again. “Feel better, Aquaman?”

“Yes, sir. Still pretty pissed about the bad call, though. Just being honest.”

“The only way you couldn’t be pissed about it is if you didn’t care.” I could live with that.

In the sixth inning, Rusty’s sinking curve didn’t sink the way it was supposed to and one of the batters nailed one to center field. I could see that it was going to come down in play but it sure was high. “Right behind you, Aquaman,” Legs said.

“I’ve lost it in the sun,” I said, trying to see where it had gone. Legs moved around under it more than usual and snagged it at the last minute. He threw hard to second base, even though no one was on base. Two-hop caught it and swiped the base as though he’d tagged someone out. To me, that was a fun part of baseball.