Chapter 3

Trip was quiet during the flight from Louisiana. He was quiet once we reached the apartment, too. I wanted to draw him out, but I didn’t know what to say. Besides, I was the one who was supposed to be silent and brooding.

Eventually I decided to be direct. “Okay,” I said, “what’s the matter?”

He looked up, as though I’d spoken Chinese.

“You’ve been in a funk since I picked you up. Problems with Abby?”

He nodded.

“Which are...?”

“I just don’t know, man.”

“You don’t know what the problems are? Or you don’t know what to do about them?”

“Neither. Both.”

In spite of myself, I laughed.

He smiled, but it was bleak and humorless.

“Well, you always make me talk about my problems,” I said, “so I guess the shoe’s on the other foot. Now spill.” I pulled two beers from the fridge, opened them, and handed one to him.

“Abby’s a great girl,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong, I think she’s really nice.”

“But...?”

“But I just don’t feel it.”

I let the words hang in the air.

He slumped to the couch and stared into the past. “When I first started dating Lori,” he said at last, “I couldn’t stop thinking about her.” He took a swig of beer. “It was the same with her. She used to pass me notes at my locker. Or she’d hang out after practice and wait for me. She was a cheerleader. Did I ever tell you that?”

“Uh-uh.”

He took another swig of beer. “That’s how we started talking to each other.” He laughed. “It was kind of a joke when we were seniors—I was captain of the basketball team and she was the head cheerleader. Believe it or not, we were Mr. and Miss Franklin High School.” He laughed, the sound full of irony. “Perfect, right?” He laughed again, darker still. “Little did I know.”

Another swig of beer. “Before things fell apart, we were together all the time. And even when I wasn’t with her, I was thinking about her. I used to write songs to her.” He gestured at the guitar in his bedroom.

“When’s the last time I picked up my guitar? I haven’t written a single song for Abby.” He shrugged and drained his beer. “I’m no Eric Clapton, but I can write a decent love song. I haven’t felt like writing anything lately.”

He contemplated his empty beer bottle. “Yeah, sure, I like her. I like her a lot. But I just don’t feel it. I don’t feel it like I did with Lori.” He snorted. “Some good it did me with her.”

“That’s the past, man,” I said softly. “Don’t dwell on it.”

He nodded and then rose to fetch another beer. “I know,” he said as he slumped to the couch again. “Still ... I can’t help but think that maybe I don’t know girls so well after all.”

“Trust me,” I said, “I don’t know girls so well either, and I have a lot more experience than you.”

He nodded, still morose.

I hesitated, but eventually decided to ask the big question. “Is it just the sex?”

He immediately shook his head.

I lifted a skeptical eyebrow.

“Yeah, okay,” he said. “The sex is a big part of it.” He lifted the bottle and took a long pull. “Lori was my first ... you know ... and I was hers. After that, we couldn’t get enough of each other.”

I nodded. Gina and I had been the same way.

“We used to do all sorts of crazy things. She’d try anything, and I mean anything.” He laughed at a memory. “We were shopping once and she decided she wanted to have sex in the Ladies’ Department. Not in the dressing room, either,” he continued, “but out in the department itself. The clerk was busy helping someone, so we did it right there between the racks of clothes.”

I took a long drink of my beer and shook my head in wonder.

“Another time, she wanted to have sex while her parents were in the next room. She just lifted her skirt and straddled me on the couch. Her mother even came into the room, but with her skirt hiding things, it looked like Lori was just sitting on my lap. She even talked to her mom while I was inside her. I was sweating bullets, but Lori was cool as a cucumber.”

“Wow,” I said softly, picturing the scene in my head.

Trip nodded. “And it wasn’t just the places. She’d try anything. She liked it from any angle, in any ... um ... opening.”

I grinned at his modesty.

“She liked me to shoot on her stomach, her back, her chest...” He blushed. “Well, you get the picture.”

I stifled a chuckle and nodded.

“Once,” he said, “she even wanted me to wrap her hair around my dick and jerk off.”

“Jeez,” I said, teasing him, “you haven’t had as many girlfriends as me, but that sure didn’t stop you.”

He grinned bashfully. Then he sobered. “So you see what I mean about Abby not being adventurous? Yeah, we have sex, but it’s the missionary position. Maybe doggie-style if I ask. She’ll get on top sometimes, but she gets self-conscious. She doesn’t like me to shoot anywhere but inside her, and even then, it’s only two ... um ... openings.”

“Pussy and mouth,” I said bluntly. “I know what they are. You can call them by name.”

“Yeah, okay. Pussy and mouth,” he said. “But even then, she doesn’t swallow.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said. He looked up, and I shrugged. “Kendall told me. You know how it is.”

He nodded. After all, he’d learned that I was a nudist from Abby.

“Do you think it’s just a matter of her being shy?” I asked.

“That’s some of it,” he said, “but she’s more conservative than me.” He snorted. “She’s a lot more conservative than Lori.”

I chuckled and raised my beer in agreement. He finished his and went to the fridge for another. I was barely halfway through my first, and he was on his third. Fortunately, we only had one six-pack, so he couldn’t get too drunk.

“Yeah,” he said, to my original question, “the sex is a big part of it.”

I nodded.

“It’s other things too, but they’re all little things.” He shrugged. “I’d live with them if it weren’t for the sex. You know?”

“Sex is pretty important. It may be a small part of your relationship, time-wise, but it’s a big part in other ways.”

“I don’t want to force Abby to do something that makes her uncomfortable, but...”

“But...?”

“I’m getting ... bored. Is that a mean thing to say?”

I shook my head. “I had a girlfriend once,” I said, thinking of Amy Lassiter, “who was a little like that. I mean, she wasn’t as shy as Abby, but she wasn’t nearly as adventurous as Gina. Or Kendall.”

“I envy you sometimes.”

“Why?”

“Kendall. From what Abby says, she’s pretty ... um ... wild.”

I grinned. “Yeah, she is. She’s a lot like Lori in that regard. And she has these fantasies...” I shook my head in wonder. “They’re pretty wild.”

“I’ve asked Abby about hers, but she just makes things up. I can tell. Even then, they’re pretty tame. Lori used to fantasize about having sex in front of the whole school, or going someplace like”—he grinned hesitantly—”a nudist camp.”

I laughed, low and genuine. “You’re kidding.”

He shook his head. “She found a bunch of nudist magazines in her grandfather’s attic. They were all in Swedish, but we used to look at them and talk about what we’d do if we ever went to one. She even wanted to have sex with another girl. Did I ever tell you that?”

“Uh-uh.”

“She did.” He finished his beer and rose to get another. “You want one?”

I decided to save him from drinking more, so I nodded.

He returned with the bottles and sank to the couch. “We used to talk about finding a nudist camp with cheerleaders or something.” He laughed and shot me a guilty look. “Hey, it was a fantasy.”

I grinned.

“She used to fantasize about how she and another cheerleader would make out and let me watch. And she wanted me to do it with both of them. Man,” he said, shaking his head at the memory, “that one really got her worked up, too. The first time she told me, we had sex all night. And I mean all night. I was sore for two days.”

“I know the feeling,” I said with a laugh.

He grew sober. “But Abby’s not like that. Her fantasies are all about flowers and making love and gentle shit.” He waved his beer expansively. “Sure, I can be as romantic as the next guy, but romance isn’t the same as a wild fantasy. You know?”

“Yeah.”

“I just want a girl who’s fun and smart and sexy ... who happens to have a fantasy about an orgy with cheerleaders.”

“Don’t we all?” I said, half joking, half not. We shared a laugh. “Is that why you want to know about camp?” I asked.

He nodded. Then he emptied his beer in one long pull. “I can’t imagine Abby at a nudist camp. And I definitely can’t imagine her with another girl. I mean, she won’t even have sex in public, even where no one could possibly see us.” He shook his head and stared into space. “I just don’t feel it, man.”

“What are you going to do?” I asked softly.

“For now,” he said, “I’m going to find more beer.” I started to object, but he waved me off. “I know ... I’ve already had four. I just decided to get drunk.”

I couldn’t stop him, so I decided to keep him out of trouble. “You want some company?”

He gestured at my half-full bottle. “You got some catching up to do.”

“I’m fine for now,” I said. “I think I’ll fly wingman tonight.”

“Whatever,” he said. “Let’s go see what kind of beer Dad has up at the house.”

The next morning, Trip groaned over his untouched breakfast. “Why’d you let me drink so much?”

Unlike him, I had stopped at four beers, so I was disgustingly chipper. I laughed at his miserable expression. “Hey, you’re an adult,” I said. He grimaced, so I took pity on him. “Besides,” I continued, “maybe you needed it.”

“I didn’t need anything like that.” He groaned again. “The last thing I remember was you fishing me out of the swimming pool. How much did I drink after that?”

“Half a six-pack.”

“Ugh.” He tried to count the beers, but lost track after he ran out of fingers.

“Cheer up,” I said. “You’ll sweat it out as soon as we get to work. Just drink lots of water.”

He looked at me with baleful, bloodshot eyes.

“I’m serious,” I said. “Water and exercise always do wonders when I get a hangover.”

“Ugh.”

I laughed and paid the check. “C’mon, let’s get to work. It’ll do you good.”

I had a quiet word with Blackie about Trip. At one time or another, a few of the guys had come to work with bad hangovers. Blackie didn’t put up with people who didn’t pull their weight, but he usually assigned the man to something light. So Trip spent the morning helping the crew install battens of insulation. He looked like death warmed over. The crew teased him mercilessly, but they did the same to anyone else.

“Big frat party last night?” Junior said to me as we poured footers for the deck posts.

“No.”

“Then how come Trip’s hung over and you’re not?”

“I drank less than he did.”

“No shit. So why’s he drinkin’ on a Sunday night?”

I met his eyes and studied him for a moment. I wasn’t in the mood for his attitude, and I thought about telling him to shove it. “Girl problems,” I said at last.

Junior merely harrumphed. Big Jim nodded solemnly. Mike shot me a look of understanding. They all respected Trip, college guy or not.

I looked at Junior. “It’s not so easy to hate us when we have the same problems as everyone else, is it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means we’re just like you.”

“We’re nothing alike,” he spat.

I gave him a skeptical look and heaved another bag of cement into the mixer. “Oh really? I work hard. I do a good job. And I watch out for the guys around me. How are we not alike?”

He didn’t realize it was a compliment, but his father obviously did.

“We’re nothing alike,” Junior repeated.

“I think we’re more alike than you want to admit,” I said, but left it at that.

Mike told us to quit yakking and get back to work. Big Jim gave me a thoughtful look. Junior merely shook his head and muttered.

He didn’t like me, and I didn’t particularly like him, but I wasn’t about to let him get to me.

So I quit yakking and got back to work.

Trip managed to survive his hangover. He still looked like hell, but he hadn’t thrown up or passed out from the heat. Blackie stayed after the others had left, and the three of us reviewed the plans. Trip was still a bit queasy, so Blackie and I did all the talking.

“I think we’re a little ahead of schedule,” Blackie said at last. “The crew at the other house should start blowing the attic insulation tomorrow. And when you all finish the decks here, you can do the same at the Colonial Revival. The crew over there should be doing drywall by then.”

“I’d like to get some experience with that,” I said, “if I could.”

“We’ll have enough drywall to go around,” he assured me. “By the time you get done with the decks, we’ll be ready to hang drywall here.”

I nodded.

Blackie paused and then gave me an appraising look. “I heard what you said to Junior today.”

I looked at him in surprise. He hadn’t been anywhere near our crew all day.

“Mike told me.”

My cheeks heated, but I didn’t look away.

“You did all right.” With that, he rolled up the plans and said goodnight.

When we got home, the message light was blinking on the answering machine. Trip headed for the shower, so I checked the messages. All three were from Kendall, each more worried than the last. I smacked myself in the forehead—I’d been so preoccupied with Trip that I hadn’t called her when she returned to Chattanooga.

I picked up the phone and dialed her number.

“Where have you been?” she said. “Are you okay?”

I told her about Trip’s impromptu binge. “So I didn’t see the message light last night,” I finished, “and I completely missed it this morning. I finally saw it a few minutes ago.”

“Is Trip okay?”

“Just a bad hangover.”

“I was so worried about you, Paul. I thought something had happened. I thought you might’ve gone flying or something.”

I gritted my teeth. Why couldn’t she just trust me? I took a deep breath and tried to relax. “Trip was just feeling sorry for himself,” I said, which was a half-truth.

“Problems with Abby? He’s not happy?”

I gave her a cleaned-up version of our conversation.

“I thought it might be something like that,” she said. “That’s too bad. She’s been really happy lately. What’s he going to do?”

“I don’t know.” I suspected that he was going to break up with her, sooner or later. But I didn’t want to tell Kendall that, since it would get back to Abby. I owed it to Trip to let him do things his way.

Kendall and I talked a while longer, but she had to get back to studying, so we eventually said goodbye and hung up.

I found Trip lying on his bed with only a towel around his waist.

“C’mon,” I said, extending a hand to haul him up. “Let’s go do something.”

He shook his head.

“How about that club you were telling me about?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Why not? I’m not gonna let you mope around here all night.”

“Just leave me alone.”

“Not gonna happen. Now get dressed. We’re going out.”

By Friday we were another half-day ahead of schedule. Trip wasn’t back to his cheerful self, but the prospect of finishing early had him in a reasonably good mood. Besides, we’d had a realtor show one of the bungalows to a young couple.

Blackie and Trip had shown them my renderings of the finished house. Trip even offered them a choice of paint and countertops if they signed a contract within a week. The realtor told them about the quality of our work, and really played up the custom paint and counter angle.

Trip and I were still talking about the potential deal when we got home. A strange car was in the driveway by the main house, but we didn’t give it a second glance as we kicked the dirt from our boots and then trudged up the stairs.

Trip took a shower first, a quick one to save hot water. When he finished, I slipped past him into the bathroom. We’d been living together long enough that we had a routine. I had just finished rinsing my hair when I heard the bathroom door creak open. The shower curtain rustled, and I decided that Trip was joking around.

“Um ... Trip,” I said, “did you nee—” I blinked and wiped water from my eyes. Then I blinked again, dumbfounded.

Kendall stepped into the shower. “Hi yourself.”

Trip shouted from the living room, “I’m gonna go up to the house. See you later, buddy.” Then he laughed, and I heard the door slam a moment later.

I turned back to Kendall and gazed at her, still speechless.

“Aren’t you happy to see me?”

I snapped out of it. “Yeah! Of course! But ... how did you get here? When? Why didn’t you call?”

Instead of answering, she stepped into my arms and kissed me. Her bare breasts felt good against my chest, but her lips felt even better. My dick stiffened in an instant. She moaned into my mouth and pulled me harder against her. Unfortunately, the hot water chose that moment to run out.

Kendall gasped, even though my body shielded her from the brunt of the cold. I quickly turned it off and pulled her into my arms again. My dick bent between us, but I didn’t care.

We kissed for a moment before I pushed her to her knees. She teased me, her lips trailing over my shaft, so I jerked my hips insistently. She closed her lips around me and I groaned at the sensation. Then I gripped her head and started thrusting. I came sooner than I wanted to, but she merely held my hips as semen gushed down her throat.

We dried off, and I led her to the living room. I sank to the couch and pulled her after me. She straddled my hips and then reached between her legs to stroke my semi-hard shaft. She groaned as I cupped her breasts and teased her nipples. Her lips crushed mine and she ground her hips, slowly working her pussy against my resurgent erection.

When I was hard enough, she reached between her legs and steadied my cock at her opening. I closed my eyes and savored her tightness as she worked herself onto me. She settled completely and began moving her hips, rubbing the base of her clit against my shaft. Soon enough, she was panting with desire.

I took turns with her nipples—licking, sucking, nibbling. She moaned and rocked in my lap, working herself toward release. When it came, she tensed and held my head against her breast. She was utterly silent as the climax wracked her body.

I held her until I felt her relax. Then I rolled her to the couch and threw her legs into the air. I hooked my arms behind her knees and aimed my dick at her smooth labia. They were pink and puffy, slick from her juices. I entered her slowly, but she was still tight, so I took my time fucking her.

Finally, I buried myself inside her as light exploded behind my eyelids. Molten pleasure surged through my belly, and my balls tingled as I emptied them into her. When I came to my senses at last, I looked down at her.

“Welcome to Franklin, home of Paul’s Full-Service Cock Shop.”

She smiled. “I’ll say.”

We slowly disentangled ourselves and sat up. I put my arm around her and she leaned against my side.

When we’d caught our breath, I said, “How’d you get here?”

“My dad bought me a car. Can you believe it?”

The strange car in the driveway! Trip and I hadn’t even commented on it. I guess we’d both thought Darlene had a friend over.

“It’s an early graduation present,” Kendall explained.

“That was nice of him.”

She nodded. “I decided to make my first road trip to see you.”

“Tired of studying?”

“Tired of being celibate.” She smiled and hugged herself to me again. “I hope you don’t mind that I just showed up. I wanted it to be a surprise. I didn’t know what time you got home from work, so I came early.”

“You came just a minute ago,” I teased.

“Mmm hmm.”

I turned serious. “How long can you stay?”

“Just the weekend.”

“Why? I mean, you can study here just as well as your house. I’m sure Trip wouldn’t mind.”

She shook her head. “I can’t, Paul. You know how important this is.”

I started to object, but she shook her head again, firmly.

“The test is less than three weeks away, and I want to do as much studying as I can. Besides, you have work.”

“You can study while I’m at work, but we could spend our evenings together.”

“I can’t, Paul. I’m sorry. I need to study, day and night.”

“Yeah, all right.”

“We have this weekend,” she said. “And I was thinking...”

Trip gave me directions to a secluded place where he and Lori used to go on picnics. It was out in the country, about forty minutes from town. He didn’t know who owned the land, but no one had ever bothered him about using it. So Kendall and I packed a basket and headed out.

Unfortunately, I missed the road the first time we passed it. When we passed the barn that Trip had said was too far, I turned around. The turn-off was easier to see from the other direction, but the overgrown “road” was barely wider than the Cruiser.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Kendall asked.

I nodded with more confidence than I felt. About a mile up the track, the woods finally opened onto a field of tall grass. An old oak tree stood in the center of the field on a small rise.

I parked the car and got out. Kendall grabbed the little cooler and her duffel bag from the back, while I took the picnic basket and blanket. I slung my camera bag over my shoulder and we set out for the tree.

Kendall had a fantasy about posing for a photographer, and the field was the perfect spot. It was surrounded by trees and completely private, without a house in sight. We spread our blanket and arranged our things in the shade of the tree.

“Are you ready for me to change into my first outfit, Mr. Hughes?” Kendall asked, already playing the naïve model.

“Please, Miss Payton.”

She looked at me nervously.

She wanted me to be demanding, so I scowled. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

“Would you turn your back so I can change clothes?”

I did my best frustrated huff, but turned anyway.

“Okay,” she said a minute later, “you can turn around now.”

I expected her to be wearing a skimpy bikini, but she had donned a modest sun dress instead. It showed off her figure, but it wasn’t very revealing. She looked ... wholesome.

“That’s nice, Miss Payton,” I said, still a bit puzzled. She’d only told me the basics of her fantasy: I was a lecherous photographer and she was a new model. I was supposed to convince her to pose nude, and then take advantage of her. Of course.

I hadn’t expected the conservative dress, but it fit with most of her other fantasies. She wanted to play an innocent girl who was forced to perform “unspeakable acts of debauchery.” (She read too many trashy romance novels.) Her fantasies usually ended with incredibly hot sex, so I was more than willing to go along.

She snapped me from my reverie. “You can call me Kendall, if you like.”

“Okay, Kendall. Let’s take some shots by the tree.” I wasn’t a professional photographer, but I knew how to compose a scene. All those Art classes weren’t a complete waste.

She posed and tried to look seductive. I’d seen her when she really wanted to seduce me, and I could tell that she was play-acting. She reminded me of the teenage girls from camp—inexperienced but eager—and I almost chuckled as she struck a pose.

“Just act natural,” I said, and started snapping pictures. She really did look good. The dress clung to her figure and showed the contrast between her breasts and waist. My dick twitched at the sight of her profile as she twirled and posed.

“That’s nice,” I said after shooting half the roll. “Now, open your dress. Show me your cleavage.”

She pretended to be shocked. “Do I have to?”

“You want to be a model, right?”

She nodded.

“Then you have to do what I say.”

“Can’t you take pictures of me like this?”

“Sure,” I said indifferently, “if you want to be in a Sears catalog.”

Her face fell.

“I don’t have all day,” I said. “Do you want to be a model or not?”

“I do, Mr. Hughes. I swear, I do.”

“Then unbutton your dress.”

“J-just the top buttons?”

I hid a smile at her acting. “For now.”

When she did, I snapped a few more pictures. “Okay,” I said, “open the rest.”

She pleaded with her eyes, but I didn’t relent. Instead, I glanced at her chest. Pointedly. She actually managed to tremble as she unfastened the remaining buttons. She was wearing a bra, but I could finally see some skin.

“Good,” I said. “Now lie on the blanket.”

She did, and I snapped a couple of pictures.

“Pull up your dress,” I said. “Show me your legs.”

She reluctantly tugged the dress to her knees. “Are you sure you can get me into a magazine?”

“Maybe.” I shrugged. “A catalog, for sure.”

“A catalog?”

“That dress is too modest for anything else.”

“I ... I have another outfit, if you’d like to see it.”

“What is it?”

“Just shorts and a shirt.” She managed a hint of excitement.

I secretly marveled at her acting skills—she was better than some movie stars. With a hidden smile, I quickly finished the roll.

“Okay,” I said as I rewound the film, “change into the shorts.”

She hesitated until I realized that she wanted me to turn around. I knelt by the camera bag, but didn’t turn completely away. I watched her out of the corner of my eye. When I stood again, she was wearing khaki shorts and a button-down shirt.

“Is this okay?” she asked.

“Are you still wearing your bra?”

She lowered her eyes and nodded.

“Take it off.”

She waited for me to turn around, which I eventually did. “Okay,” she said at last.

“Good,” I said. “Now unbutton the shirt and tie it under your breasts.”

Her eyes flew wide.

I shrugged indifferently. “You have a nice chest. You should show it off.”

“Mr. Hughes ... I couldn’t.”

“All right, whatever you want,” I said, and started to put the camera away.

“Okay! I’ll do it. But promise you won’t make me show more.”

“No problem. Maybe I can get you a Sunday ad with the local department store.”

“Sunday ad? But I thought you said...”

“What kind of magazine do you want to be in? Redbook? McCall’s? Ladies’ Home Journal?”

“Maybe ... something different.”

“Like...?”

“Maybe... Esquire.”

Instead of answering, I gestured at her. “If you want to be in Esquire, you’d better show a little more skin.”

She looked around to make sure we were really alone. I fought not to chuckle at her pretend anxiety.

As if anyone could sneak up on us out here, I thought. Ha! We hadn’t seen a sign of civilization since we left the main road.

Kendall fidgeted for a moment, and then slowly unbuttoned her shirt. I didn’t see anything more than the swell of her breasts as she tied the shirttails under them, but I enjoyed what I did see.

Her feigned shyness was starting to turn me on—she had a way of seeming eager and reluctant at the same time. Besides, she also darted a glance at my trapped erection. My shorts didn’t show more than a slight bulge, but she could tell by the way I moved that I was stiff as a board.

I stepped close and reached to open her shirt. She flinched, but didn’t object. “Relax,” I told her. “I’ve done this hundreds of times.”

She nodded hesitantly.

“Loosen the knot,” I said. “Show your cleavage.”

She nervously tugged the shirt open.

“That’s good,” I said, and started taking pictures. She never revealed her nipples, but she managed to show just about everything else. Finally, I lowered the camera. “Nice,” I said, eager myself. “Now lie down and unbutton your shorts.”

She pulled the shirt together.

“Do it,” I said.

Her brow furrowed, but she sank to the blanket.

“Unbutton your shorts,” I said firmly. Then I decided to use a softer touch. “Just relax. You’re doing fine,” I said. I finished shooting the roll and went to my bag to change film.

She sat up and gathered the shirt between her breasts. “Do you really think you can get me into Esquire?”

“Absolutely. They like beautiful women.” I stopped playing my part and simply admired her for a moment. “You really are beautiful,” I said, my voice tight with genuine emotion.

Her eyes widened in surprise, but then she saw my expression. She blushed for real, the flush creeping up her cheeks and turning them rosy. “Thank you,” she said at last, her voice soft.

After a moment I cleared my throat and tried to get back into character. “Maybe I could even get you into Playboy.”

Surprised, she tried to decide if I was acting or not.

I was and I wasn’t. I might not be a professional photographer, but I thought she was sexy enough to be in Playboy.