Chapter 1

I watched her from my big bay front window as she went down the street, the familiar slow burn of desire starting in the pit of my belly. Damn, I love that feeling so much. She was a walking wet-dream, perfectly put together, packaged real neat in tight shorts, skinny tank top, and she was gonna be second floor back for the next nine months, less she wanted to lose her security payment. Don't matter how cute they are, they pay a good deposit up front, contract is for the whole school year. I plain detest wasting my time interviewing fill-in renters because someone's dropped out or decided to go live with their significant goddam other. This one would stay though. Real serious under the sexy frosting: made a point of telling me so, even. Motivated and highly ambitious, she'd said, and getting a good degree was for sure the -most important thing in the world. I'd managed not to laugh, she'd signed the contract like a good girl, given me a check.

She turned the corner at the bottom of the street and all I was left with was the memory of her cute little ass swaying as she strode. Second floor back, I thought pleasedly. She turned out to be a possible, maybe I'd hit the gym a little more, crank up my reading schedule.

Gym? Reading schedule? Huh?

I'm not an ambitious guy. In fact, you were unkind, you'd call me a slacker. If I got a few bucks in my pocket and a little fresh pussy waiting for me somewhere, life's sweet, and I don't bother with much else. People call me lazy, selfish even, and mostly I agree with them. No point arguing with the self-righteous.

So it's a bummer my one talent requires effort. Such a bummer that I don't bother much any more. When I was younger, sure: fact is, I used it way hard to get to where I am. Now I don't want to be anywhere else, so I've stopped all that stressful shit, just try to steer, not to push. Even that's more work than I like. Still, into each life a little rain must fall. I read that somewhere.

Where am I? In the mid-west, dummy, where I've always been. But not where I grew up. Towns of less than three thousand people are plain too restrictive, but a medium-sized college town, large enough for everything, small enough for comfort, is just fine. That's where I am. Set yourself up right, life will come to you soon enough, time you used to spend running round looking for it can be filled up with a little good weed, a little good wine, a little good music, a few good books, stuff like that. Maybe Miss second floor back would want to share some down time with her landlord when we knew each other better. Most of my time is down time, and being laid-back and undemanding pushes buttons for a lot of girls.

I said I wouldn't mind if you called me a slacker. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.

And the talent? Look at this way. Suppose you were born with stupendous hand/eye coordination and the potential to bat .800 in the major leagues. You'd be a pretty happy guy, right? And then suppose you discovered that raw ability isn't enough. You want to be up there with Barry Bonds and the rest of them, you have to train and practice, and practice and train, plus eat a lot of shit with the coach screaming at you until you're sick to death of the feel of a bat in your hands. You need to be talented AND ambitious AND dedicated to make it to the Hall of Fame, right? I wonder how many potential Hall of Famers are flipping burgers for a living becausethey're missing the ambition and dedication. But that don't mean you can't have a lot of fun playing softball.

That's my situation. Shit, not playing ball: I got the hand/eye coordination of a starfish, but if I wanna use my personal talent then I have to train and practice, practice and train. It's a mental gift, but for some dam' reason it don't work unless my body's in some kinda shape, and once that's done I need to get the old coconut in good order as well. Top of that I've got to want something real bad. So it takes a lot to get me off my ass, even more to keep me off it.

Hell, I'm not being too clear ... Might as well lay it out in a row. I didn't have a clue about anything till my senior year. Right through High School everything was normal. I mean, I worried about the size of my cock, would I ever be sophisticated enough for Patty Edwards to agree to a date, was that a zit coming: typical stuff, until the day I got ambitious.

Don't ask me why I suddenly got the urge to go to college. I guess Mom and Dad expected me to join the military or herd cows or something similar, so maybe it was a defensive move. Hell, I'd never shown that much aptitude, nor application either. Slacker tendencies, even back then. Looking back, I guess Patty Edwards had a lot to do with it; whatever, I woke up one day with a feeling I ought to get in shape, work on my grades, plan to impress Patty, all at the same time. I recognize that feeling now. It's called motivation, and it's a dangerous tool in the wrong hands.

But once a kid gets the bit between his teeth there's no stopping. Mom and Dad could scarcely believe it. That whole summer before senior year I got up early, jogged down to the 'Y', worked out, jogged back, hit the books till late afternoon, jogged down to the 'Y' ... you get the picture? I didn't exactly gain or lose weight, but what I had kinda redistributed itself, firmed up pretty good too. Shit, I wasn't stopping traffic, but my social life improved a hell of a lot and I was able to stop worrying about size and concentrate on technique. That improved my rep some, and there were other fingerprints on my dick besides my own. Some lipstick as well. Not Patty Edwards' though: she spent summers with relatives at the beach, used to come back around Labor Day looking like about twenty-seven million perfectly tanned dollars.

Word got around that I was turning into your all-American scholar-athlete, and I discovered that thoughtful girls who relish intellectual conversation and deep thoughts leave lipstick traces exactly like cheerleaders do. They just want a more meaningful experience on the way. Fine by me. I can do meaningful real well when I have to.

Wasn't until the start of the school year that I noticed anything different. Hell, I didn't have time for self-analysis. The 'Y' and the books filled my days and my evenings were filled real nice too, and my nights were spent sleeping like a baby and recovering. But as fall approached I began to feel that things were going too well. I mean, there were no hitches at all. Not anywhere. And when Patty Edwards blew back into town what happened made even an eighteen year old ego suspicious.

I can remember it so dam' clearly. Even now the memory stirs me and I have to readjust myself and think cold thoughts, or else deal with the problem manually. Third day back in school and already teachers were congratulating me on the progress I'd made during the summer, Coach had suggested I go out for football, I'd found a cute little note stuffed under the door of my locker, plus my Dad had suffered a brainstorm, bought me a used Plymouth Valiant. Very, very used, but the guts were in good shape and it did the job. Then the totally unexpected happened.

I'd hit the 'Y' after school to put in an hour on the machines. Boring as hell, but I'd got into the habit, discovered that mentally solving algebra and geometry problems while I worked out made the time pass quicker. Seemed like the physical work made the mental stuff settle. Or vice versa. That day though, I was thinking about Patty. The mindless, repetitive exercise had got me into a semi-trance and I was lost inside my head, working out the details of our conversation and how to handle myself. The scene became more and more real. Imaginary Patty was fascinated, wondering why the hell she'd never noticed me before, thinking maybe she better make up for lost time, real pleasing stuff. I had a sharp mental picture of her and it grew more and more solid until there was a kinda soft explosion between my ears and her image shimmered and faded. I came back to earth with a bang and realized that I was dripping wet, my arms and shoulders were hurting like hell and there was a small crowd gathered, looking at me with their mouths hanging open.

'You OK, Doug?' asked Sammy Knopfler. He looked kinda worried.

'Sure, dude. A little winded. I been workin' out, you gotta expect some sweat.'

'Dude, you just pressed a hundred forty pounds eighty-three times without stopping. You gotta expect a little interest.'

'No shit?' I was kinda startled myself at the news. 'I guess I was thinkin' about something else. I better shower before I start to stiffen up.' I eased myself off the bench and wobbled to the locker-room, my head still ringing.

Stiffen up is way too mild a phrase. Next day I could hardly lift my arms and my entire upper body was screaming for a lawyer. I had to ask my mom to drive me to school: it was that bad.

Physics lab was a bummer. My lab partner was missing and my forearms and wrists were so sore that I couldn't handle the delicate equipment at all. But then, when I'd knocked over the micro-balance for the third time and was staring at it in disgust, a voice sounded behind me.

'Need a hand, Doug?' Patty Edwards' voice. Something clicked into place in my head and I turned and grinned ruefully.

'Two would be better. I went a little crazy in the gym yesterday, arms are kinda sore.' What the hell had made me say that? She smiled and nudged me with her hip.

'Move over. I'll do the detailed stuff and you can take notes. Tammy said she got period pains and scammed the nurse into sending her home. We can be partners for today.' My head reeled. Both our lab partners out of the picture and a project that needed two people? I raised my eyes to heaven, muttered a silent 'thank you'. Turned out we worked together pretty good. The class finished and we put the stuff away, grinned at each other. Another click in my head.

'Good team, ' I said. 'Wanna coke or something after school? I guess I oughta thank you and I for sure won't be hittin' the gym today.' She smiled again and there was a pleased look lurking behind the smile. I seemed to be saying the right things. First time ever.

'Sure, and I can copy your notes. I'll need a set if I'm gonna write the stuff up properly.' Good point, I thought. The rest of the day dragged on: I kept walking into walls while I rehearsed sophisticated banter in my head, but what the hell? Four o'clock, we were slurping coke and relaxing.

'Your writing sucks, Doug, ' she said irritably as she put her cup down. 'I can't read a word of these. Are your arms really that bad?' I showed her my wrists, still swollen and inflamed. 'Oh my word, you poor thing, ' she gasped, and went into organizing mode. 'I'll drive you home and then go change, and come by in an hour. You can dictate the notes to me and we can print them right away. You good with that?' I'm excellent with that, I thought happily.

In the car she seemed nervous. She'd had to help me with the seatbelt, and I guess I'd reacted a little obviously to the feeling of her body pressing against mine as she reached for the strap and fastened it. As she drove her eyes kept flicking to my crotch. There was no doubt that I was sporting a chubby. She pulled up outside my house and we caught each other's eye; I managed to smile. Click. I realized I didn't know what I was gonna say till I said it. Weird feeling.

'Sorry, I guess. Would you believe respectful admiration and not crazed lust?' She closed her eyes for a moment and shivered.

'Either, ' she muttered, then flushed and looked surprised at herself. 'Go take a shower, ' she said quickly, 'and then read over those notes. I'll be back in an hour.' She leaned over and her lips grazed my cheek, then she blushed again. looked kinda rattled. I didn't say nothing, just got out of the car and watched as it disappeared down the road. Go take a shower, huh?

So I took one, put myself through a lot of pain by washing all of me twice: I read in a magazine that most girls like clean. I put on a pair of old sweats, commando style, and a T-shirt and was squinting at the notes when she rang the bell.

Good job the sweats were roomy. She was wearing cutoffs and a tube top, a light sweater thrown casually over her shoulders. Her dark hair was damp, and she had her physics books clasped to her chest. I stood back to let her in and caught a whiff of perfume as she stepped past me. She's been to some trouble too, I thought.

'Upstairs, I guess, ' I said. 'Computer's in my room and so are the books.' She was looking round curiously.

'Nice house. You got brothers or sisters?' I shook my head.

'Nope. I got mostly absent parents too. Mom works late and Dad works early and late and in between as well. Farm machinery. We can call for pizza later if you're hungry.' Instinct, or something, told me that respectful admiration was the way to go. 'Business before pizza though, I guess, ' I added quickly, and she smiled.

My memory was sharper in those days, before a slacker's lifestyle blunted the edges, and I could remember the parts of the notes that were plain impossible to read, so it wasn't much more than forty minutes when she hit 'print', leaned back and stretched. The posture forced her breasts up and out against the tube top, looked as if her nipples had their own cute little chubbies too. I felt a twitch under my sweats.

'How come we never talked properly before?' she asked. 'I mean, last year I hardly noticed you, but this year ... wow ... something's different. You stand out a lot more, that's for sure. There's suddenly a lot of girl-talk about you, Doug. You know that?'

'Spent the whole summer right here in this room studyin', or else in the gym, ' I said.

'You been out and about some, ' she said, and grinned. 'Julie Anderson says you can lick your nose.' She sounded doubtful, and a little bit as if she couldn't believe her own audacity.

'Hell, I can do better than that, ' I said smugly. 'Pass me my shades.' She did as I asked and I slipped them onto my face. 'Now watch.'

I'd always thought it was a weird trick, but that summer I'd found out that it had its advantages. I curled my tongue out and up as far as I could and managed to slide the tip under the lens of the aviator-style Raybans. A quick grimace and a kinda flick and the glasses fell off my nose. I caught them as they dropped, wiped the saliva off the lens, licking the tip of my nose as I did that. When I looked up Patty was slightly flushed.

'It's a gift, ' I said. 'Are you OK? You look kinda uncomfortable.'

'Oh my word, ' she murmured, then fanned her face with her hand. 'It's kinda hot in here. You mind if I have some water?'

'Sure, or there's coke and juice in the fridge, ' I said. 'You mind foragin' for yourself? I gotta tendency to drop things at the moment.' Doug, handicapped but polite. No threat.

I watched her butt as it sashayed out of the room and tried to ease myself a little. The sweats were beginning to tent like Mount Hood so I moved off the chair and sat on the couch, aiming for relaxed. When she came back with a tray and a pitcher of juice I was leaning back, legs crossed, projecting cool as hard as I could. She poured and sat down next to me, handing me one of the glasses, and I took it gingerly.

Those arms of yours must make stuff really difficult, ' she said. 'Let me hold the glass.' She reached forward as she spoke and our hands bumped. My aching fingers slipped and a half pint of juice landed in my lap. I yelped and jumped, and the rest of the glass landed on her chest, leaving juice dripping down the slope of her breasts and darkening the material of the tube top and cutoffs. She shrieked and jumped up.

'Oh my word! Doug, I'm so sorry ... oh wow, you're soaked, I'm soaked ... oh my word... ' her voice tailed off and her gaze dropped to my groin. The cold liquid hadn't had any effect and something that was plenty more than a chubby was clearly outlined by the clinging, wet material of my sweats. As she stared, it jerked uncontrollably. The click happened again and I wondered what the hell I was gonna say this time.

'Respectful admiration, Patty, I promise. I'm sure not gonna to jump on you. I better clean up though, change my pants.' I tried to keep my voice light. Her face was crimson, but she didn't stop staring. Her nipples were pushing hard through the wet fabric of her tube top and her thighs were clenched together. She looked like a person making a decision.

'I'll help. Juice is just so sticky, and those sweats oughta go in to soak straight away.' You're quite right, I thought delightedly.

'You're kinda wet too, ' I pointed out. She looked down at herself.

'Oh my word. Where's the bathroom?'

'Behind you. Dad had it put in last year. To stop me interruptin' him and Mom, he said.' Unexpectedly, she giggled.

'Good for him. Umm, Doug, can I say something?' My heart sank.

'Sure.' She bit her lip and looked good enough to eat, then the words came tumbling out in a rush.

'I don't really understand myself, and I don't want you to think that I'm some kinda slut, and I'm kinda nervous, ' she said, 'but I really wanna know if you do crazed lust as good as you do respectful admiration, and I wanna know right now. Julie Anderson says you're excellent and I don't wanna feel all left out, so jumping on me would be fine, please.' I remembered that she'd never really liked Julie and realized this was a girl thing as well as a Doug thing. Hell, right then motives didn't matter squat to me.

'That Julie's got a big mouth, ' I muttered. She giggled again.

'Me too, you'll see.' Her hand flew to her mouth. 'Oh my word. I can't believe I said that.' I was digesting that one when she took a deep breath and pulled at the bottom of the tube top, then wriggled, and it suddenly bunched and flew up over her breasts as she hauled it over her head. Her face reappeared, flushed and expectant. 'Your turn.' She was leaning forward, still staring at the wet patch molding itself round my erect cock. I struggled to my feet, and hooked my thumbs into the waistband of the sweats, but my left hand jarred against my hip bone and I grunted involuntarily.

'Oh my word! You better let me. One thing first though.' She took a pace forward and stood very close to me, then put her arms round my neck and pulled me against her half-naked body. I could feel the tips of her nipples drilling through my T-shirt and pressing against my chest so hard that I thought they'd draw blood. She tilted her hips so that her mound pushed against my erection, then raised her face and kissed me firmly, sliding through my lips with her tongue and searching for mine. When she released me her breath was coming a little quicker.