Chapter 5

When I woke up I noticed Beth was already up but I didn't find her in our place. I stuck my nose outside long enough to grab the Saturday paper; stepping back into the entrance I heard whispering and a few sniffles from upstairs. I'd learned in the last two years that girls cried for a lot of different reasons, not all of them sad. What I heard from the top of the stairs sounded like the "I'm sorry" sort.

I was sitting at the kitchen table just finishing the editorial and comic pages of the paper—is that redundant?—when Beth walked up behind me.

"Tommy, do you have anything planned for today?" she asked, nuzzling my neck.

"Nope. The whole day's free for a change."

"Oh, good! Cindy and I decided that a drive out to the farm for a picnic and swimming sounded good."

"You bet! Let me grab my suit," I said as I got up from the table.

"Why?" was my lady's giggled response.

Oh-ho, I thought to myself. One of those swimming trips!

We all piled into my Jeep and, after a quick stop at our neighborhood deli, were on our way.

When we got to the farm Greg pulled this huge blanket out of the pile of stuff he'd brought. The thing must have been ten feet wide!

By the time we had the blanket spread out, the girls had stripped and were bouncing prettily down the hill to the pond. Greg looked at me, shrugged, and we soon joined our ladies.

I thought back to our first skinny-dipping session with Cindy and Greg and remembered how uncomfortable we'd all been. At least Greg and I had been. The girls didn't seem to have any problem being naked in front of us. Now there didn't seem to be any problem as we goofed off, splashing and ducking each other. If a grab or two snuck in, what the hell, nobody here but us chickens!

Eventually we all started back up the hill, the girls leading the way with Greg and I leering at our ladies as they bounced along. I'm sure they added a few wiggles here and there just to keep us interested. I'm just glad I didn't fall during the trip.

Our ladies dropped down in the center of the blanket leaving the outside edges to us male-types.

I nuzzled with Beth for a few minutes when she looked over at Cindy. "Switch!" she giggled, the two of them rolled over and suddenly there was Cindy snuggling up to me.

What the hell?

"What's the matter, Tommy, you've seen me like this."

"Yeah, but not like this."

"Don't you like me like this?" She pouted. There's something about a pouting girl that's just ... just irresistible.

As Cindy pulled me closer she wrapped one of her legs over me and I was even more aware of just how sexy our upstairs neighbor was and how, er, pointed my reaction was.

Our neighbor? Oh, shit, what was I doing? Beth!

I looked over Cindy's shoulder and saw Greg kissing his way down my lady's body. What the hell was going on here? I mean yesterday Beth was in a panic because I'd seen Cindy in a towel and now...

"Tommy, don't worry about it. Beth and I know what we're doing."

I'm glad somebody did because I sure as hell didn't! A thought floated between my ears—something about women and cats.

That's about the time I realized my fingers had taken off unsupervised and were exploring a very smooth, soft, and deliciously curved body while I was being explored in return.

Cindy giggled as I started moaning. "Beth said you liked this." Beth? Beth who?

It didn't take long before I was over the edge.

Cindy held up her dripping hand and licked a finger. "Hmm. You and Greg taste different." Greg? Greg who?

Greg? BETH! I sat up and looked across the blanket only to see my friend moving rhythmically between my lady's thighs. I looked at Beth as she glanced my direction, winked and reached out for my hand.

"See, I told you we know what we're doing," Cindy whispered as she pushed me back and climbed over my thighs. "Beth said sometimes you're a little quick on the trigger the first time and I wanted to really enjoy this."

Is there anything girls won't tell their friends? I always thought guys were rude, crude and unrefined, but, I mean...

Then Cindy was slipping down over me and all I could think of was how different she and Beth felt.

As Cindy started to move I reached over to take Beth's hand.

Cindy saw my move and just chuckled as she added a little squeeze to her bouncing.

Speaking of movements, Greg was getting close: his eyes were shut tight and he'd started moving faster. From the way Beth was squeezing my hand in time to his thrusts she was close, too. Then Cindy started to make some you-better-hurry-up sounds that brought me back to what I was supposed to be doing.

A short time later I bounced my hips off the blanket just as Cindy began a down-thrust and that's all it took. With a howl of delight Cindy clamped down on me, which was all it took for me to let go, too. Our cute neighbor had a look of beautiful agony on her face as she bounced a few more times before collapsing on me.

A minute and a lifetime later Cindy looked up. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I need a swim," she chuckled. As she rolled off me and stood up I again marveled at how damn sexy our upstairs neighbor was.

My lady was the next to move.

"Don't get lost," I kidded her.

"Oh, I'm not worried about that. I'll just follow the slippery drips."

Slippery drips? That broke both Greg and me up.

"Did this really happen?" he asked me once our chuckles died.

"If it didn't, it was the most realistic wet dream I've ever had!"

"Did you know anything about this?" he asked.

"Not a thing. Last night Beth was all panicked about Cindy trying to seduce me away with her towel show and now this. Whatever the hell this was."

"I know," Greg said as he surveyed the rumpled blanket. "This morning I heard Beth come upstairs and the two of them alternately crying and laughing, with a lot of whispering thrown in. After Beth left, Cindy said we were coming out here for a picnic and a swim. But when I grabbed my Speedo she said not to bother.

"That made me think of the possibility of a little side trip into the woods, but then she told me to grab this monster blanket."

We sat there trying to figure out what this had all been about. Not that we came up with any answers.

Eventually we gave up and decided joining our ladies sounded like a good idea.

"Well, it's about time you two got down here!" Cindy shouted as she floated on her back, her breasts sticking out of the water like two cherry-topped sundaes.

Beth popped out of the water next to me. "Hey, sailor, need a wash?" she said as she reached out for the most obvious target. Who was I to argue?

We swam around for a few minutes then walked back up the hill.

"Eww," Cindy said when she plopped down on the rumpled blanket, "Maybe we should turn this over."

I was in bed trying to figure out the why of today while Beth finished in the bathroom. She climbed into bed and snuggled up, spooning her way into our usual sleeping position.

I waited for her to say something. When she didn't I simply asked, "Why?"

"Why not? And don't tell me you haven't thought about it. I remember the expression on your face when I mentioned a threesome. You remember—the day you took those pictures of Cindy and me?"

Ouch! I thought back to the day Beth and Cindy ran naked through the tall grass at the farm, stopping to pose every few seconds. And I thought of my missed opportunity. Or what might have been an opportunity if I'd thought of it.

"Tommy, I had to know. Cindy has always told me Greg is the only guy for her. In spite of that, she's always been a little curious about you, but too in awe to try anything."

"In awe of me? Cindy was the second smartest kid in school, how could I impress her?"

"Tommy, it's not about intelligence. I don't know if you've noticed, but Cindy doesn't have a creative bone in her body. She sees what you can do with a camera and she gets a little jealous. I guess unconsciously she wondered if there was a connection between ability with a camera and ... ah ... other abilities."

"How about you? Have you wondered what it would be like with Greg?" Did I really want to know?

"Well, some little part of me did, yeah. Tommy, you were my first guy and I guess a little bit of me ... well..."

"You were wondering how I'd compare?"

"Yeah," she said quietly. "Oh, Tommy, I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't feel that way, but..."

Time for a confession of my own. "Beth, don't worry about it! I'll bet everyone feels that way." I hesitated. Did I really want to admit it? "I know I did." There, it was out there.

"You did?" I heard a lot of the insecure girl I met that first night.

"Beth, we were both virgins. I think there would always be a little part of us that was curious."

"And what did you find out?"

"I found out that spending time with Cindy was ... fun. But I discovered something more important—at the end of the day, you're the one I want to fall asleep with.

"How about you?"

"I kind of felt the same way. There was a little part of me that just needed to know."

"And now?"

"Tommy, I love you. I have since that first weekend. This didn't change anything. At least not for me." I could hear a little tremor of the old Beth in her voice.

"Beth, you're my princess and you always will be. I won't try to tell you I didn't enjoy being with Cindy today, but it wasn't special. It just didn't mean the same as being with you. But how come Greg and I didn't get a choice? I mean this affected us, too."

"We decided you guys would try to go all noble on us and refuse, but once the seed was planted you'd start thinking about it and that would just make it worse, and Cindy and I still wouldn't know! It was just easier to not bother you guy-types with having to think too much and try to make a decision."

I should probably have objected to the assumptions she and Cindy had made about guys, but with Beth's snuggling turning more insistent it just didn't seem all that important.

"So did she wear you out?" my lady purred in my ear.

Now THAT didn't need a "Why?"

"Mr. Randahl, what sort of artist do you consider yourself?"

It was my first day of school and already I was being asked an impossible question. Mr. Grossfeldt, my Survey of Western Art instructor had a little sneer that made me think he didn't like me. I didn't know why, after all, I'd never met the man before today. The only thing I could think of was a question I'd asked when class started. I'd wised off and asked Mr. Grossfeldt if by Western Art he meant artists like Fredrick Remington and Ansel Adams. I quickly discovered he had no sense of humor.

"Mr. Randahl," his voice dripped with disdain, "Western Art covers the great art of western civilization, which does not include dabblers such as Remington."

Remington a "dabbler" and no mention of Ansel Adams? That should have told me something.

I thought about his original question. "Ah, well, I've never thought about it before." Me an artist? The thought had never crossed my mind.

"Oh, come now, Mr. Randahl, your kind always consider themselves artists."

My kind? What kind was that? "Excuse me, sir, but I've never considered myself an artist. I'm just ... I don't know ... I guess if I thought about it at all I'd call myself a craftsman, not an artist."

"Do not be disingenuous, Mr. Randahl, you are a photographer, are you not? And it is well known that all photographers consider themselves artists. Arrogating to themselves a position to which they are not entitled. Why should we consider you to be any different?"

Disingenuous? Arrogating? Who talked like that? What had I gotten myself into? And more importantly, how do I talk myself out of it?

"Sir, I honestly have never thought of myself as an artist."

"Then why are you here? Why would you attend an art school if you did not think of yourself as an artist?"

"To improve my skills. To learn how to use classic lighting and posing techniques."

"So you can take better snapshots?"

What's with this guy? His badgering went on for most of the hour and I was THIS close to storming out of the room, but something made me stay. I guess I'm just stubborn enough to stick it out and prove him wrong.

The rest of my classes had been fine. "R. Adams," my Drawing I instructor, turned out to be Rebecca Adams and nothing at all like my high school nemesis. 2D Design and Color Theory seemed like they'd be interesting and English Comp was just another writing class as far as I could see.

A group of us were sitting in the cafeteria eating lunch after escaping Western Art, getting to know each other and exchanging thoughts on our first day.

"Tommy, what did you do to get Grossfeldt on your case?" asked Kurt Clark, one of the other guys in my SOWA class.

"I don't know. He obviously doesn't think much of photography and photographers. How'd he even know my major?"

"He got it from the class roster. After all, our majors are listed next to our names. I looked," Kurt grinned

"Doh! Nothing like missing the obvious. That doesn't explain his dislike for the profession, though."

"I wonder? Maybe he just doesn't like to have his picture taken?" Kurt kidded.

I was getting stuff together for a salad when Beth walked in and threw her book bag on the table. "Tommy, I think I may have gotten myself in trouble."

"Trouble? What happened?"

"I think I might have bitten off too big a chunk. Calculus and Physics I don't have a problem with, but Biology and Writing and Critical Reading? Ugh!"

I knew Beth had no interest in bug-ology and hated anything she considered a fuzzy subject.

"Are you going to be able to handle it?" I asked.

"Yeah, I suppose, but don't be surprised if a flaming bitch moves in here," she replied.

"Hey, you put up with me while I was doing that last job for George Stankovich. I guess it's your turn."

Beth grabbed me around the neck. "Oh, Tommy! What would I do without you?

"Can I make a down-payment on my apology?" she purred.

Hell, the salad could wait.

I was taking the garbage out when I saw George, our neighbor, with a bag in his hand also. "Great minds think alike, eh, Tommy?" he chuckled as he took the lid off his garbage can.

"Yeah, something about stinking up the house otherwise," I replied as I matched his action.

"Hey, George, there's a Jeffers that lives over in my old neighborhood. Is he any relation to you?"

"Could be. Is he a cantankerous old fart? Always snooping and griping about every little thing?"

"Um, yeah, that sounds like him."

"That's my cousin, Irv. Nasty old bastard isn't he?"

"Not the friendliest guy on the block, that's for sure."

"Ya know, I haven't thought about him in years. Had a fight when we were younger and just sort of went our own ways. Haven't seen him in better than twenty years. Sounds like time hasn't softened him up a bit."

The next couple of days were about what I expected—go to class and do homework. The guys that had graduated a year ahead of me had warned me about college. Everything was up to the student. The instructors didn't follow you around, bugging you to do the work like they did in high school. They'd present the information and leave it up to you to do something with it. Oh, they'd help, but it was up to you to ask for that help. I guess that's part of what becoming an adult means.

My biggest headache was trying to figure out what to do about Grossfeldt. I guess he figured he'd put a scare into me, because he left me alone after that first day. I tried to think of a way to approach him after class to find out just what it was that set him off, but couldn't think of a way to approach the subject.

The other part of my time was spent trying to keep my lady from imploding.

Beth was doing her best to remain her usual sane self, but her English class was really driving her up the wall. As bright as she was, her mind just didn't track well when it came to something without a fixed, computable answer. I almost kidded her about being able to read and write but decided I was a bit too attached to certain body parts to risk it.

She was breezing through Calc and Physics, grumbling through Biology, but her reaction to her Writing and Critical Reading class reminded me again of our "fuzzy subject" conversation that first Friday night.

Time to try to calm her down before she went ballistic.

"Beth, you're driving yourself nuts trying to apply logic to language, especially literature. You remember learning about verbs and nouns and all that and how they fit together in a proper sentence? That's great for technical writing, but when it comes to literature, a lot of times that's all out the window. Great writers don't worry about the things that would have gotten you an 'F' in English class. I guess you could say they throw the rules out. That doesn't mean you can just write what you want, but I think good writers break the rules when it suits their purpose."

"But how do you KNOW?!" she moaned. She was looking at her first writing assignment. A dry-as-dust version of "How I Spent My Summer."

"You've got to use your gut. When you read something that really gets to you, analyze it, try to figure out what it was that grabbed you. What did the author do to get to you? Was it the words, the way they're put together, or just the subject matter itself?"