Chapter 9: BBQ, Side Of Lust

In school, a couple of days later, Karen came up to me in the hall. “Tom, there you are. Listen, the weather’s warm enough now that we can have cookouts again. We’re doing one this weekend, on Saturday, that is. I’m having some of my friends over along with some of our neighbors and my parents’ friends. Would you come?”

A cookout? Well, why not. I like hot dogs and hamburgers. “Tell me, Sunderland, are your parents healthy food mavens as well, or is it just you?

“I will personally buy you a bag of corn chips if you come. And no, they’re omnivores, so there’ll be the usual steak and hamburg and the like. I’ll make a big salad and my dad will broil a tuna steak for me.”

“You have my attention, Karen. It sounds good, and nice to get back outside for a change, too. I’m in.”

She smiled brilliantly and wrote out her address for me, along with her phone number. “Four o’clock’s good, we’ll probably eat by five. See you then.”

On Saturday, I told my mother that I’d be going to a cookout and wouldn’t be there for dinner. She did the usual interrogation to make sure I wasn’t hanging with the ‘wrong crowd’, but apparently Math Club was the password and I received dispensation to go.

She insisted that I had to bring something if I was going to a party, so she made potato salad in a Tupperware container as an offering for the cookout gods.

Karen’s address wasn’t that far, but a long walk so I rode my bike. I could not wait to get my driver’s license, but I had some time to go yet for that. It is difficult to appear suave to girls when you’re riding a bike.

At her house I chained my bike to a tree on the sidewalk, and turned around to look at the dwelling. This was a much nicer part of town, and the house reflected it. It was bigger than mine (most were), and had the look of money. It was very nice.

I walked up to the front door and rang the bell. She had either been waiting for me, or had been assigned the task of greeting guests. “Tom, you made it! Come in.”

She closed the door and led me through the house to the kitchen. “Mom, this is Tom Carter. Tom, my mother, Irene Sunderland.” I linkcast a strong “really nice kid, mature, smart, trustworthy” at her, emphasizing the last one; you can never be too careful about mothers and their daughters. They get protective.

“Tom,” she said, “very nice to meet you. Karen’s told us about your interest in science and math. It’s nice for her to meet someone with similar passions.”

As I looked at her, I decided that the big boob gene was passed through the mother’s DNA.

I said, “Thank you. We’re a lonely group, so we tend to stick together.” That got a smile. “Oh, I almost forgot,” I said, “I brought some potato salad.”

“Terrific,” she said. “Put it over there on the counter and we’ll bring it out when it’s time to eat. Karen, why don’t you show him the den and the back yard?” That was our dismissal.

I had been a little nervous about meeting her parents, so I hadn’t really paid any attention to Karen in the last few minutes since I arrived, but as we left the kitchen I got a good look at her as she chattered about school, the house, the party. In school, she often wore dresses, a little loose for obvious reasons. But here, at home, she was dressed more informally.

She had on a tight pullover top that was cut low in the arms and whose structural integrity was challenged by her tits. I don’t know if the tight top was her intent, but that certainly was the effect. As she turned and raised her arm to point at something, I got a glimpse of bra-covered side-boob. Riveting.

It being spring, she wore shorts. Either she had filled out since she last wore them, or she deliberately bought them tight. For the first time, I got a close look at her butt. It was impressive. Melissa’s was small, round and very firm. Karen’s was just as round, but larger and softer, a fact emphasized by her narrow waist, making the transition even more dramatic.

My hands wanted to reach out and squeeze it, but no. Cold shower. Listen to Mr. Grimes drone on. Sermon in church, think of anything other than that butt right now.

But I did channel a soft caress of her ass, maybe useful for later. And sent a linkcast of “super sweet guy.”

The den was almost stereotypical, leather chairs, TV, fireplace, CDs and sound system, carpet. There were a few doors leading, I assumed, to bathroom, utility closet, storage and so on. Nice, comfortable. I imagined lying on that rug in front of the fireplace licking her body. For heaven’s sake, stop, Tom!

“C’mon out back, Tom.” she said, and led me out a hidden door to the back yard.

Really nice yard, with a patio behind the house, trees and lots of lawn and flowers. Her father was supervising the gas grill, where apparently there was chicken roasting ‘cause I could smell it. There were a few tables set up for serving, and some coolers.

“Dad,” she said, “you remember Tom Carter, don’t you, from last week?”

“Of course. Nice to see you again, Tom.”

I said, “Thank you, sir. Can I help with anything?”

“Not yet, thanks. In a while we’ll need to bring food outside, you can help with that. I’ll let you know.”

Karen and I did a brief tour of the back yard, and I admired the plantings. They must have had a gardening crew in, because it seemed like a lot of work to take care of. We went back in, and upstairs where her mother was still at work in the kitchen. The doorbell rang, and Karen ran off to answer it. I linkcast another “nice kid, trustworthy” to her mother and got a smile.

“Tom, we’re about ready to bring things out. Would you mind carrying some of these down?”

“Of course. All this food, you must be expecting an army,” as I gathered up a few serving dishes.

“You’d be amazed at the appetites people bring with them,” she said.

I made several trips up and down, the last to bring plastic utensils, serving spoons and paper napkins. Karen had led in a group of people about our age, most of whom I didn’t recognize. These were apparently her friends from the neighborhood. I got introductions and almost immediately forgot everyone’s names.

Others arrived, the neighbors I presumed, and the party got underway. Mr. Sunderland was apparently a serious grill cowboy, though he lacked the apron and chef’s toque which such a stereotype demanded. But he was determined that everything would be cooked properly and to order; he had a reputation to uphold. So, in short order, I got hamburger and chicken, a baked potato, a salad (thanks, Karen), and a soft drink.

Karen’s friends seemed to be their own group, hanging out together, with an invisible fence erected around the perimeter. Even Karen, it seemed, had trouble breaching the fence when she tried to make polite conversation.

She wandered over to where I was sitting by myself in a folding chair, balancing my meal on my lap. “Hey,” I said, “aren’t you eating?”

“Yeah, I guess I should.”

Her father had apparently been keeping the tuna steak warm on a side grill, and she got that and a big salad, and a drink in a cup, and wandered back. I found another two chairs, so she’d have a place to sit and a place for her food.

“So how do you know those folks,” I said, gesturing to the closed group of her friends laughing amongst themselves.

“Oh, we grew up together around here. We were all pretty tight all through elementary school, hung out all the time. When I finished 6th grade my father spent a year managing a plant on the West Coast, and when we came back all my friends had gone on to private school.

“My mother insisted I go to public school so I wouldn’t become ‘elitist’, whatever that means. So now I’m a lesser person in their eyes because I go to public school. It’s not like any one of them is smarter than me.”

She was pulling pretty heavily at her cup, so she must have been thirsty.

“I think I can guarantee that no two of them put together are smarter than you. Maybe they just need to mature a bit.”

“I dunno, they were all okay till they went off to their new schools, and now it’s like they’re above everyone else.”

“Wait, do you smell that? Do you?” I sniffed a couple of times. “Why, I do believe it’s the scent of elitism, which always comes into bloom at this time of year!”

That got a bark of a laugh, followed by a choke on a cherry tomato. She coughed, while I patted her back. “Thanks,” she said.

“We have to choose our friends. They’re not our friends just because they live near us. People change, I guess, and you need to make a conscious decision to keep or discard friends if they’ve developed differently. You gotta ask, do they share the same values, respect the same people, do they care for and help you when you need it. If they don’t, you let them move on in their own direction, and find new friends.”

She looked up at me for a moment, then said, “Thanks. I was thinking that, but then I thought, what kind of a person abandons their friends? But they stopped being my friends, didn’t they, so I’m not abandoning them, they abandoned me. They just came for the free food. Thanks for clarifying that for me. Now I don’t feel so bad.”

Across the yard, her friends had arisen as one, and trooped off in a unit. One or two gave a wave goodbye, but not one of them stopped to thank her or her father.

“And that’s that,” she said. She reached out and took my hand and gave it a little squeeze in thanks. I linkcast a “trust him” vibe, accompanied by a channeled nibble on her neck. She caught her breath, and took another drink. “You want some dessert,” she asked. “There’s some fruit salad, and somebody brought pie.”

“Pie, you say? There’s pie? Why was I not informed?”

She smiled. “I’m sorry, sir, it won’t happen again. I’ll be right back.”

She brought me pie, blueberry, and a bowl of fruit salad for herself, along with another drink.

The pie was good, and she seemed to be enjoying her fruit salad. Around us, the noise level was rising as the beers and mixed drinks began to have their effect on the adults. There was a lot of raucous laughter and shouting back and forth. Someone had put out a thermos of coffee, but no seemed to be paying it much heed.

Karen had finished her fruit salad, and part of her new drink. “Do you want some of this,” she asked, handing me her plastic cup. It was almost clear, so water? Apple juice? I sniffed. Some sort of juice, and ... whiskey? What the hell?

“Sunderland, are you... imbibing?

“Just a little. It’s not like I do this all the time, but I was nervous about my friends ... my ex-friends coming over. And you, too. Sometimes a little whiskey smooths things out a bit.”

“You don’t need it. You don’t have to worry about your former crew anymore. And you don’t need to be nervous about me.”

Famous last words, I thought. If you’re at all nervous about your virginity, you have every right to worry. And I channeled the barest stroke of a feather on her nipples.

She looked up at me and smiled. “Thanks for that. You want to play a video game or something. These folks are going to be yakking for awhile until someone carries them home.”

“Okay, whaddya got?” She led me into the den and closed the door to reduce some of the noise from out back. She squatted down and rummaged in a drawer and found a game we both agreed on.

I really couldn’t help myself. I was admiring her ass, and channeled gentle caresses and a little squeeze to her ass and her boobs. I pulled myself together just before she got up.

She handed me a Nintendo controller, and we sat down in front of the television and began to play. She was actually a lot better at it than I was, and thrashed me soundly a couple of times.

“Take that,” she said as she killed the last of my knights, and punched me on the shoulder.

“Mistress, I accept defeat, and tremble in fear, prostrate at your feet. Do with me what you will.”

“Vassal, we are magnanimous in victory and accept your surrender. Your penalty shall be...”

She smiled maliciously and leaned over and kissed me, not just a little buss on the cheek, either, a full-on, lips pressed together, saliva-transferring kiss. I put my right hand on her face and pulled her toward me slightly.

“Whoa,” I said, “if I had known the consequences of capitulation were going to be like that, I would have thrown in the towel much earlier!” Now I was channeling licks to her boobs and the inside of her thighs.

She smiled, and licked her lips. “I hadn’t made up my mind about the penalty till just now, but it seemed to have worked out okay.”

“You are far too modest. That was way better than okay. I think I’m going to need a moment here.”

“What? You want to stop,” she asked?

Dear God, what have I done here, or is this the alcohol talking?

“Karen, you are so hot, it is all I can do to keep my hands off you. I would happily kiss you until our lips were black and blue. But I wouldn’t want to do anything that will make you think poorly of me. I guess what I’m asking is, did you initiate this because you’re a little tipsy or because you like me?”

And even as I was making that noble speech, I was channeling two hands squeezing that magnificent ass. I really had no shame.

But she paused and looked at me. She said, “I really haven’t had that much to drink. It was only a small amount of whiskey diluted by a lot of fruit juice, so it hasn’t affected my decision making. I like you, and I liked that you were concerned about me and that you respect my intelligence and ideas. So alcohol or not, I was going to suck on your tongue.”

I had to laugh, because it was funny, but I was also seriously turned on and there were people wandering all over, including her parents, who must be wondering where she is. And, more to the point, where I am.