Chapter 65: Caught in a Trap

Sunday, December 15, 1985

I certainly couldn’t fault Darla for honesty. Somewhere around three, I went from a very pleasant dream to realizing Darla was giving me perhaps the softest and sweetest blowjob imaginable. It was as if she wasn’t trying to get anywhere — for either of us. She was just enjoying having her mouth on me.

I pretended to sleep for a bit, because it really was something special, but eventually stroked her hair. She put a condom on me, and then her head popped out from under the covers.

“I would like to try something. If I can?” she said.

“Please! Show me what you’re thinking.”

She quickly moved over me, wriggled around a bit trying to figure out how to get us lined up, then slowly sank down onto my cock.

“Oooooh!” she said. “This is different!”

“It is,” I said.

“Let me ... can I just...?”

“You do what you want. Unless I say I don’t like it, assume I’m having a great time.”

“Thanks, Big Bad!” she said, then started moving. Like last time, there were lots of experimental moves. A shimmy here, a squeeze there. Sometimes she rose too high and had to get things reseated, and there was the occasional slightly painful ‘oops’ where my cock got a little stressed, but that’s how things work. It was fantastic, and she was obviously enjoying herself, both just for how it felt and also with some pretty obvious climaxes.

I just said, “Soon!” after a while, then (paradoxically, perhaps) relaxed and let go. She moaned a lot, adding her orgasm to mine, then collapsed on me.

“Can we ... um...?” she said. She bit her lip, then added, “Snuggle longer, this way? Since ... gravity?”

“Pretty sure that’s a yes,” I said. “We still have a thin little balloon inside of you and, at some point, I’ll have to hold it or it’s going to want to stay inside of you, since the fit will become tighter on the outside than on the inside...”

She giggled at that, nodding.

“But that’s fine. No stuff is likely to head the wrong way,” I said.

“And I’m armored against it anyway.”

“True! Much better safe than sorry, though.”

“That’s ... really true. I know you would do the right thing there, but ... yeah. Mom ... no. She would not approve,” she said.

“Jas knows the risks, but she also wants first dibs.”

She giggled and said, “Totally fair!”

We kissed a few times. Then she said, “That was ... also really good. It’s ... I’m getting good at these sorta ... I don’t know ... two sides of the coin feelings.”

“Oh?”

She smiled widely and said, “So ... on the one hand, I mean... totally in control, right? Setting the timing and pace and all the movements, and I can stop anytime I want because no one’s holding me down or anything.”

“That makes complete sense.”

“But, also, part of me thinking of it as ... here’s another chance to show my Wolf how much I love him and how much I want to make him happy, by doing my best to make all those movements serve him and by being a good girl and not getting away even when I could.”

“That also makes complete sense,” I said, reaching up to stroke her hair.

“I love both,” she said. “I think ... and, okay, so, this is kinda dumb, but ... Mister Right will need to get that, I think. Meaning both here...”

She tapped my head.

“And also here...”

My chest, over my heart.

“A conscious thing and an emotional thing. I mean... duh, it’s totally to his advantage, but...”

“But you’re thinking some guys only want the pet tomboy, or only want the tough, independent partner.”

“Yeah,” she said, sighing. “Either is easier, honestly, I think. The traditional, submissive wife or the modern independent woman. You know what you’re getting. Both? What does that mean? Try telling her what to do when she’s feeling independent and you might get a fight. Try being all respectful when she just wants you tossing her around, spanking her, and fucking her brains out and she’s a little resentful. And you just missed out on a lot of fun, too. Plus, some guys probably would freak out at the idea of tossing a girl around.”

“I would have at one time,” I said, nodding. “Somewhat, anyway. Because ... yeah. That can get you kicked. In sensitive places, and to the curb.”

She giggled and nodded, then sighed again.

“But it can happen. You’re proof of that. And it really is a ‘duh’ thing. Someone is going to want that deal.”

“A lot of guys would. Some of them would be good at it. You’ll have to both find them and offer it, because I can nearly guarantee they won’t ask. Not most of them. And some of the ones who would ask are probably not the ones you want to say yes to.”

“Or I can make Angie do it,” she said, giggling.

“Not sure if her matchmaking powers extend to Wolves. Maybe,” I said. “Anyway, I’ll bet you get what you want. It just might take a little while.”

“I hope so!”

“Sleep?”

She wiggled her hips.

“It’s dead, so ... yes. Hold on!”

I did, and we got cleaned up enough to get back to sleep.

We had another, brief but highly enjoyable, encore at eight. I did not make breakfast naked this morning, which I think both pleased and disappointed her, perhaps in equal measure.

Darla surprised me (everyone, really) by deciding to go to church with us. Afterward, she said it might not be for her but it might be really for her, too, and that it would take her some time to decide.

Southern Baptist (which Clara was, at least nominally) was not for Darla. But Clara wasn’t much of a real Southern Baptist. She danced, for one thing, and let Darla go to dances, too. A real Southern Baptist would never allow such a thing.

As they say about Baylor: Why don’t Baylor students have sex standing up? It might lead to dancing.

After dropping Darla off, we got right to studying. I gave Amy a quick call just to confirm I was fine — which she clearly appreciated — then got right to work.

That lasted for less than an hour before Angie slammed her book closed and said, “Dammit!”

“What?” Mel said.

“We are, collectively, idiots. Either that, or you are all sneaky and brilliant and I am the only idiot here.”

Paige said, “Look, you outclass me without trying, so no fair hogging all the idiot points.”

Angie giggled and kissed her.

“Do not,” she said.

“Do too!” Paige said, giggling.

“Children!” Cammie said, then giggled herself. “What is this idiocy you speak of?”

“What is today?” Angie said.

“Um ... Sunday,” Mel said.

“The date.”

“December 15th,” Mel said, clearly trying to figure out what that meant.

“How many shopping days until...”

“Oh, fuck!” and other similar comments cut her off.

Yes, we had all collectively failed to realize that we had only nine (or so) shopping days before Christmas, had no idea what we were getting anyone, and might need to get on that before it turned into the sort of holiday where you turn up with some random object from the ‘gift’ section of the department store or drug store. A new mug, a pen and pencil set, tabletop ‘Executive Golf’, a stress ball, or any of those knickknacks stores sell to desperate people who can convince themselves for a few minutes that, yes, this would make a wonderful gift!

Some probably do, but I suspected the success rate was very low.

Thus, on the day before finals, we were off to the mall.

It turned out that, apparently, most of the student population of A&M had realized the same thing on the same day. That, or most of them desperately wanted an excuse to avoid studying and descended on the mall. It was loud, crowded, and there were occasional flare-ups over who got the last whatchamacallit.

We all agreed that we should split up. That way, no one would see you buy their gift.

I had little idea, so I just wandered. Amusingly or not, the two newest girls wound up with gifts first.

For Darla, I had two. Both were quite personal and might be hard to explain, but I could warn her easily. The first was a nice illustrated version of ‘Little Red Riding Hood’. The second was a ponytail holder that I had turned into something of a charm bracelet. One of the stores specializing in women’s accessories had the Wolf, Miss Hood, Grandma, and the basket all as charms. It wasn’t hard to get them attached to the ponytail holder and ... voilà. The perfect gift (I hoped) for my tomboy Little Red. The trick would be explaining why it was perfect to anyone else, but she could just say, “Oh, we were talking about the story, and this was really a cool way of acknowledging that.”

Or, of course, she could say that it had made a profound difference in her sex life.

Clara might understand that, really. William? I was a long way from ‘dads with shotguns’ territory now, but ... well. Best not to tempt that.

Amy was next. I was passing by another accessory shop when I noticed two things: purple stockings that looked perfect for Amy (and didn’t match any I knew she had), and ankle chains that looked like barbed wire but weren’t actually dangerous — neither to the wearer, to anyone nearby, or to stockings.

Sweet (or sweet-adjacent, at least) and prickly. Perfect for Amethyst Finch, still a girl of many layers and mystery, but who was slowly making a place in my heart for herself.

The instant I thought that, I realized it was true. I might not love Amethyst yet, but ... I might. I might well. She would probably take longer. ‘Love’ might not even be an Amethyst word. Yet ... I was pretty sure the concept was, even if the word wasn’t. She was anything but an iceberg. She just didn’t process emotions the same way the rest of us did. That was sweet and endearing and ... well, we would see. Every relationship has risks. My giving a bit of my heart to Amethyst while she stayed at ‘friends’ was a risk, but well worth it.

Very well worth it.

Gifts for the rest were harder. We had banned gift cards and the like years ago. No presents were needed and, indeed, we were truly each other’s best presents. But ... still. Tchotchkes and knickknacks had their places in the world, as did more practical presents.

I got very lucky with the next present, which would have to be a combined one. Book stores were just starting to get into Japanese animation (most Americans would have no clue what the word ‘anime’ meant, nor any of the many other useful Japanese words for an otaku — fan, roughly — of those media), but one had a little section of 8x10 pictures of anime characters. One of them, by pure luck, had two cute teenage girls holding hands. One had purple hair, the other an unnatural shade of red. They didn’t look much like Mel and Cammie aside from that, but it hardly mattered. That would go into a frame for them to both enjoy.

Paige’s present turned up next. Presumably in honor of ‘Cats’ continuing to dominate the theatrical world, some publisher had put out an ornate, high-quality reprint of ‘Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats’, the T. S. Eliot book that inspired the musical and from which so many of the lyrics came. We all loved Tony and Cleo, but Paige was the inspiration for their joining our family and the greatest lover of Jellicle cats in the house. By now, we all agreed: Tony and Cleo were definitely Jellicles.

Angie was hard, and I was despairing when I came across the perfect poster in a poster shop. Who knew who had made it, but it had a figure leaning over a piano, clearly playing it, with the usual sort of design of a scroll of musical notation flowing from it. Except ... this wasn’t musical notation, it was math. From what I could tell, it was probably actual math, likely not physics (though that was certainly a tossup), and seemed plausible. I was nearly certain that she would love it. Or, rather, I was certain she would, and nearly certain she would love it even if I wasn’t the one giving it to her.

It reminded me strongly of ‘Gödel, Escher, Bach’ (or at least two of them — there was little Escher to it), and I made a mental note to get a copy of it. Not today, but we didn’t have one, and it had been decades since I had read it. Angie might well never have, and...

Well, to heck with that! Two presents for Angie seemed entirely fair. If she had read it, it would still be thoughtful. If she hadn’t ... well, there might not be a better gift for Angie.

On third thought, though, I considered offering it to Paige to give. Paige might well acknowledge that I’d given her the idea (or even the book), but Angie would love it either way.

That left only Jas. Jewelry stores proved frustrating, as did clothing stores. Real, decent jewelry was an option now in a way that it really hadn’t been before, but I wasn’t feeling it yet. Maybe for her birthday.

In the end, I found a very nice glass art piece showing a swath of jasmine blossoms. It wasn’t ideal, but it would do. If I found something better, it would do as a secondary gift.

While walking out of a jewelry store, though, I suddenly realized something.

Something ... bad.

Not terrible, not at all, but bad.

We were planning on proposing in sixteen days. We had the heirloom rings, and those would be involved, for certain. The real ring Jasmine was receiving would be that one, eventually, but we might not take them on the trip.

But we had always planned on there being sparkly things for Jasmine and Paige to show off far and wide until we had the real jewelry remade. As of now, we had no sparkly things.

This wasn’t a problem for right now. It was something for Angie and me to discuss soon, though. ‘Real’ jewelry was out, certainly. What sort of ‘fake’ jewelry would we pick? And, since the rings would have a very limited run, what could we do with them that was fitting and helpful?

Some research would clearly be needed.

Quick, efficient research.

We all rendezvoused at the food court around six-thirty. Everyone had a number of bags they each carefully guarded from prying eyes. We ate, made cryptic comments about our purchases, and commiserated over our looming finals (for which we were not studying).

No one jinxed us by saying we would all make A’s anyway.

By the time we got home, it was around eight. I called Jess. Fortunately, she was home, and we got to talk for about half an hour. It sounded like her dorm friends were either thrilled with her ‘St. Elsewhere’ appearance or were pretending to be. She suspected a few of them were ‘backstabbing snakes,’ but didn’t know who and didn’t really seem very concerned about it.

It might well not matter. If she got a ‘big break’ — a real one — she might be out of the dorm, perhaps never to return. As of now, she was nearly committed to the spring semester and had signed up for her classes. The fall? Who knew? Most likely yes, but she would go on academic leave at the drop of a hat if something turned up, then complete her degree later. That was fairly common with movie people in general. Steven Spielberg took decades to complete his degree, after all.

She was committed to eventually finishing her degree. That might be wishful thinking, though. If she was working and getting role after role, the best advice I could give her would be to ride the wave and worry about the degree later. Oh, she might be wise to hire a tutor or the like, buy some books, and keep on learning, but a degree was a credential, not an education. How likely would it be that a successful actress, with even a few solid roles under her belt, would need to fall back on a degree to get a job in the short term? Getting it might be a great thing, but it would surely wait. True stardom might not.

We didn’t get into that, but I was certain I would have a chance to if something came up. If there was one person in the world Jess would get an opinion from before jumping, it was me.

Once we’d caught up on her acting situation, we moved on to travel. She was coming to Houston, but would only arrive on December 23rd. We would be there, but the timing was lousy for getting together even for a lunch.

On the other hand, she would return to Los Angeles on January 2nd. We would be there, too. Specifically, we should be at Disneyland on January 2nd and 3rd. The 2nd was clearly out, but we tentatively made a plan for her to join us (including the parents) on the third. They knew her and wouldn’t mind her turning up.

Perhaps more importantly, we would be at Goldmine Mountain from the 4th through the 10th. The 10th might be problematic. We would have checked out, with plans to stay at a hotel near LAX since we were flying home on the 11th. But we had six nights of lodging and six days of skiing, most likely. Jess didn’t ski, but she sounded interested in learning, and quite happy with the idea of maybe crashing in one of our rooms.

Neither of us said anything, but the subtext was clear: the room’s occupants would all be in one bed and more than just sleeping would occur. I could see many potential sleeping arrangements, considering the permutations that had already happened.