Chapter 1

[ Never underestimate the power of a well chosen compliment. ]

I had no idea that the song “Barbie Girl” was about to change my life. Completely. Utterly.

That song was going to change my life by hurling it in strange, unexpected trajectories, like a defective bottle rocket spiraling off bass ackwards and scattering people in every direction.

“Barbie Girl” was going to bring me highs and lows that I had never experienced or expected.

It was the summer of 2012, and it marked the end of life as I knew it, and the beginning of life as I could never have imagined or dreamed or hallucinated.

Early June, 2012 was a lot like the six years before, a life that was both vacant and busy, filled with the everyday bustle of tech work but devoid of much appeal. It was a life with job demands requiring weeks of travel with little down time. A life missing the touch and feel of someone cozy and snug, chummy and familiar, or even aloof and distant. A life just missing.

I unlocked the front door of my house and stepped inside, dead tired from almost ten days of travel. My concentration was not at its best. I took off my jacket and was preparing to hang it in the hallway closet when I noticed loud music playing in the house.

“What the hell?” I muttered softly to myself.

I could only imagine a couple of tweakers carting the high-end audio speakers off for a cheap fence. Not to mention the computers, the television, and hell knows what else. This is not the way I wanted to end a long day of flying and driving.

I didn’t have to ponder long to know the best course of action. I’m not an action hero. It’s time to call the professionals.

I pressed 9 and 1 on my smartphone and started to step back outside.

But something about the music made me stop and reconsider.

The song playing was “Barbie Girl.”

By a group named Aqua.

Bubble gum pop and social commentary at it’s best, or worst, depending on your taste. It wasn’t what I would pick for relaxing, but a fun sendup of Mattel’s Barbie and Ken scene.

Definitely not what I envisioned as music for burgling. I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to keep their “criminal street cred” playing that music while in the midst of a job.

I stepped quietly down the hall and peered into the living room of the house.

What I saw made my jaw drop and my eyes open as wide as Guy Fieri’s jaw chomping on some delectable dish on Triple D.

My thumb twitched. The phone started dialing.

“What is the nature of the emergency?” asked the 911 dispatcher.

“Uhhh... ,” rasped out of my mouth.

“Sir, what is the nature of your emergency?”, this time sounding a little more urgent. The loud music probably didn’t help, either.

“Uhhh, sorry, no emergency.” Unless my heart gave out, which seemed like a real possibility since it was beating as fast as a Dennis Miller monologue.

I quickly disconnected, not wanting to offer more explanation. I was not sure I could offer any more explanation, at least not right away.

I was looking at a wet dream. The most wondrous, fantastical-fucking wet dream in my life. And I wasn’t even sleeping.

Two girls were dancing, one I knew, one I didn’t, and both were completely naked. Although to describe it as completely naked is slightly misleading -- they both had what looked like whipped cream smeared all over their bodies. And when I say bodies, I mean their willowy slim, fourteen-year-old bodies. Fourteen-year-old bodies with small breasts not much past the budding stage, slim but curvy asses, and nothing else artificial except a generous coating of Cool Whip, makeup, and one set of braces.

At least I assumed it was Cool Whip. It could have been shaving cream, but I hoped not.

I wondered what it would be like to lick it off.

My mouth watered.

I watched the two dance some more and realized they were prancing in front of the webcam on my office computer, part of a study area in the living room.

I considered my next step for a few seconds.

I considered some more.

I stepped closer and loudly said, “Hey Emmy, I’m home!”

“Huh? Oh my God!! Fuck! Shit!!”

Emmy and her friend ran out the room, down the hall and into the bathroom, slammed the door, and started making sounds of extreme teen girl mortification. I followed at a slower pace and heard muffled sounds coming through the door.

“Shit, shit, shit! We are in such trouble! Fuck, oh fuck, fuck!”

I hadn’t realized Emmy could curse like a sailor. A sailor after three days of shore leave in too many seedy bars, drinking cheap swill. Or maybe more like two girls considering months of parental grounding in their near future.

“Please, we’re sorry, we didn’t mean for you to see us here.” Emmy was talking through the bathroom door, and I could hear her friend hyperventilating and making strange squeaking sounds. I realized she was probably trying to keep from crying.

“Look, you can stop being so scared. You’re not going to get in trouble. I’m not going to tell on you.”

The hyperventilating slowed down a little.

“Ummm, ok.” Emmy sounded tentative, not sure whether to believe me yet or not.

There was a pregnant pause. I hoped like hell the upcoming birth was going to be smooth.

“Um, can you bring our clothes? They’re out there by the computer.”

Emmy opened the bathroom door and peered out. She and her friend had grabbed towels to cover their naughty parts, but being hand towels not every inch was covered. I could see some lettering on Emmy’s side, and some lettering on her friend’s belly, although I couldn’t quite make out the words.

“Will do. So who’s your friend, Emmy?”

“This is Lin. She’s a friend from school.”

Lin stood an inch or two above five feet, straight black hair in a medium-length style, and a body a bit more boyish than Emmy’s. She looked like she was of Asian ancestry, but not 100% -- maybe half-Asian, half-Caucasian. Whatever her ancestry, her looks were considerable. On a cuteness versus classic beauty scale, she tilted towards the classic beauty, with high cheekbones, an oval face, and hair that accentuated the natural structure of her face.

Emmy also had what I would call classic looks -- but defined as classic California teen cute. She had a face rounder than Lin’s, blonde, highlighted hair longer than Lin’s, lips a bit puffier than the average teen, and braces. The effect tilted the scale way towards the cuteness side, but she would have rated pretty high on classic beauty as well. She was a couple of inches taller than Lin with a bit more curviness to her hips and ass.

Neither had an extra ounce of fat that I could see, and both had smooth, clear “flush of youth” complexions. I couldn’t tell from my earlier glimpses if the girls had hardwood floors, or were just lightly carpeted with natural young growth. The towels were covering their pubic areas, and even though I wanted nothing more than to snatch the towels away and chase them through the house snapping at their cute, firm butts, I took a deep breath and restrained myself. Damn, it was hard. And getting harder.

“Hold on, I’ll go round up your clothes.”

“K, we’re going to take a shower and wash off the Cool Whip.” I had the answer to one question, although not quite the method of removal I was hoping for.

I walked back in to the living room and stepped up to the computer. Five webcam windows were open, two showing boys appearing to be in their mid to late teens, one showing a guy looking to be at least in his twenties, and one with a girl somewhere in her mid-teens. A startled “Eep!” came through the speakers and the webcam windows started popping out of existence like a stream of soap bubbles on a hot day.

One cam window was still open with nobody in sight, but as I watched a teen boy walked back into view and sat down in a chair, wearing only boxer shorts and carrying a small tube in his hand. Chuckling inside, I put a stern glare on my face and stared directly into the webcam. He looked up and blanched, his eyes going wide, mouth opening, and a small “uhh” leaking from his throat. I made a light “grrr” in my throat and he fumbled around the keyboard, finally closing his cam window. I looked at the chat window and saw a couple of “Lin, Emmy, where are you?” lines scrolling off the top, along with the signoffs. Laughing to myself, I closed the webcam session and shut down the computer.

Lin and Emmy’s clothes were scattered in the general vicinity of the computer and I took a moment to admire the lacy, narrow, “boy short” panties and the matching bras. The outer clothing was nondescript, two pairs of plain shorts and t-shirts. It seemed that some planning had gone into this house visit by the two.

The sun was close to setting, and I stepped over and stood in front of the large picture window, soaking in the warm, golden yellow rays and watching waves break on the shore about half a mile away. It was warm and sunny, unusual for early June on the Oregon coast, but welcome.

I realized I was in a “now” moment of consciousness, precious to me in their rareness. Like most people, almost all of my waking moments are spent thinking about the future or the past, or interacting with someone, or solving a problem, or being transported elsewhere while reading or watching something. When that pauses and all I have is the immediate “now”, the real-time tick of every thought focused on the senses enveloping my awareness, I treasure the experience, specially since it usually happens at times of deep insight or change.

I thought about my “now” moment and realized it had been a long time since I had one.

Too long.

I had been in a fog, was still in a fog, a mental fog, a fuzzy, dead-eye, do-everything-by-the-numbers fog. And now a distant lighthouse beam was weakly washing over me. A headache should accompany this, I thought, the kind of ache when you wake up after not enough sleep or maybe too much drinking, but my head didn’t hurt. Nothing hurt at the moment, which was odd.

I hadn’t “not hurt” in years. Many years.

I was at a decision point, a critical vertex between possibilities, large risks versus large rewards. And when I say large, I do mean large. Social and workplace ostracism, even significant felonies on the risk side. But the rewards, oh, the potential rewards. I glanced down at the clothes in my hand and then in the general direction of the bathroom.

Maybe.

Adrenalin and endorphins waking up from a long slumber.

Maybe.

This was not something I was used to.

“Emmy, Lin, here are your clothes. Nice underwear, by the way.” I grinned as I handed the clothes through the door to Emmy. She still had a wary look on her face, despite my friendly demeanor.

“When you get dressed, come out and let’s go talk in the living room.”

I needed a drink. Scotch would be good.

On the way to the kitchen, I paused and looked at myself in the foyer mirror, trying to imagine how two young teen girls would see me, not that it made that much difference. I might be considered “ancient” to many teens, but was only five years past thirty. I kept myself relatively slim and in shape with regular exercise classes, a bit of volleyball, and lots of competitive tennis. I still had most of my hair, and the few lines in my face made it seem more angular and defined rather than old. I might have been mistaken for a very distant younger cousin of John Cusack.

Or not. Sometimes my wishful thinking doesn’t match reality.

Which was odd. Wishful thinking was not something I did much recently.

Regardless, the worst response to what I was contemplating would be “Ewww, you creep!” Which would be ok. My ego was strong enough to shrug it off.

In years past I had read some erotic stories. The usual storyline would already have played differently, something like:

As the girls notice me standing there, they slow down their dancing and say “Oh, Mr. Lee! We’ve been waiting for you. We want you to lick this whipped cream off every inch of our adorable young bodies and fuck our cute little tight pussies until we scream out in orgasm. We’ve just been waiting for an older guy like you with a big cock that we can suck and fuck all night long!”. I take them into the bedroom and fuck each of them at least three times, bringing them to screaming orgasms and pounding their pussies until they can’t take it any more.

Yeah, right.

Emmy spoke first, still sounding hesitant.

“Mr. Lee, God, this is embarrassing. I didn’t think you’d be home today. I’ve been over to check up on your house a couple of times like you asked my mom.” Both girls were sitting on the couch, arms tucked in tight to their bodies, neither looking me in the eyes, but instead looking out the window at what was now full dusk. I was sprawled on the loveseat with drink in hand and a slight smile on my face, watching their faces closely, enjoying the expressions and absolute allure of their youth.

Emmy’s cheeks were still bright pink.

“Look, there’s no need to be embarrassed. The two of you dancing is the hottest, sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. That’s not an exaggeration, not a single damned bit.” I didn’t have to pretend to be serious, because it was abso-fucking-lutely completely true.