Chapter 8

“You’d have made a good Roman,” said Mindy, leaning back in her chair and looking across the table at their house guest.

“What?” he stopped eating, which surprised her. He had made it very plain, without a single word, that he found her cooking to be quite good. Again, she had thought he was starved at first, but then she noticed the way he ate in small bites, relishing each one. He even licked his fork occasionally. It was clear he just loved to eat.

“Toh-gah!” she said, trying to make her voice low and sound like a cave man.

“Oh,” he said. He frowned. “I should have waited until my clothes were dry. I’m sorry.”

Mindy looked up at the ceiling. “Let’s see now. When was the last time I got to eat dinner with a handsome man in a toga? Hmmmm.” She looked at Jennifer, who was grinning. “Jenn? You were counting all the guys who had on togas. How many were there?”

“Zero, Mom,” grinned Jennifer.

“What a shame,” said Mindy. “We’re going to have to have a toga party one of these days. I kind of like a man in a toga.”

Bobby was blushing now, but at least he smiled. “Okay,” he said. “I get it.”

“Good. Now, I can make more.” She looked at the empty serving dishes on the table.

“No!” he blurted. “I mean I’m stuffed. I don’t get to eat like this very often.”

“We’ll try not to fatten you up too much while you’re here,” she said, still smiling.

He leaned back. “Speaking of which ... it’s going to take some time to get the insurance claim filed and paid and get started rebuilding and all that. You were very kind to take me in for the night, but tomorrow I’ll start looking for someplace to stay.”

“Have we done something wrong?” asked Mindy, her voice suddenly serious. “Have we offended you in some way?”

“Of course not,” he said. “I just don’t want to put you out.”

“Well why don’t you let us decide when we’re put out with you, then,” she said. “I promise you, Mr. Higginbotham, I’ll let you know when you’ve worn out your welcome.”

“I just don’t want to be a bother,” he argued.

“We have wood to split,” said Mindy, her face stern. “And I can think of a dozen other things that need a man’s touch. You can earn your keep.”

He glanced at Jennifer, who had lost all interest in her food, and was leaning forward, looking worried.

He looked away. “Look. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done. And part of me would like to stay. But the truth of it is ... well ... I’m not good around ... people.”

Mindy stacked her dishes in front of her. It was obvious she was nervous, but she didn’t sound nervous when she spoke.

“We know you have issues. But everybody has issues of one kind or another. I’m sure Jennifer and I have our own quirks, which we will have to just hope you can put up with as well. Of course you may make whatever decision you wish. But don’t leave just because you think it might be strained if you stay here. I wouldn’t ask you to stay unless I thought we could all get along. And after all, there are only the two of us ... people ... here besides you.”

His face moved in ways that suggested he was conflicted. Finally he spoke. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“We want you to stay, Mr. Higginbotham,” she said, formally. “But please ... don’t make me beg.”

He tried to help clean up after supper, but clad in only a sheet that kept wanting to fall off, he finally retreated to the living room and surveyed the shelf of books on one wall. That reminded him that all his cherished books were gone, and he almost cried. Those books had been his only friends for years. He wiped his eyes as he felt a presence behind him. It was Jennifer.

“You can get more books,” she said, obviously in tune with his own thoughts. “I’ll give you some of mine.”

“Thanks.” He smiled. “But you can keep your books. Like you said, I can get more.”

“It’s about all we have to do here,” she said. “We have a TV, but all we can get on it is one station. We kind of got out of the habit of watching it.”

“Me too,” he said. “I used to wish I could get cable out here, but not any more. I was pretty amazed when I realized I didn’t really miss it. I’m used to going without now.”

“We can put your clothes in the dryer now,” the girl said.

They went together and she handed him things from the washer while he put them in the dryer. She showed him how to set the timer and pushed the button. The familiar tumble of clothing with metal bits on them issued from the dryer. She looked at the part of his chest that was exposed, and then lifted her eyes to find his eyes pinned on her own chest.

“So why do guys like to look at boobs so much?” she asked, actually curious. She’d stared at her breasts for hours, and couldn’t imagine what all the fuss was about. They were just boobs. They were there. They wobbled when you ran. What was the big deal?

“Sorry,” he said.

“I already told you,” she said. “You can look at them. Just answer the question.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because I want to know!” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

“No,” he said. “I meant why did you decide I can look at them?”

“Oh. You’re special,” she said.

“Why?” he asked again.

“Like that’s a big mystery?” She frowned. “We saved each other’s lives. We fought off invaders together. You’re the most interesting man I ever met.”

“Oh.”

There was a long silence.

“So are you going to answer the question or not?” asked Jennifer.

“You’re serious?”

She glared at him.

“Okay,” he said. He still didn’t answer, though, and she folded her arms under the breasts they were talking about. She had still not replaced her too-small bras, and the T shirt she was wearing allowed her nipples to show, though they were mere bumps at the moment. When they were not erect they simply made a puffy indentation in the material.

“I never thought anybody would ask me that question,” he said. “I’m trying to figure out how to answer it without ... um ... embarrassing you.”

“Just answer it!” she snapped. “I won’t be embarrassed! I just want to know!”

“Well,” he started, looking nervous. “Guys like to touch them, I guess.”

“What does that have to do with staring at them?”

“Well, in most circumstances you can’t just reach out and touch them,” he explained. “But you want to, and I guess looking at them is the next best thing.”

She thought about that. She had touched her breasts hundreds of times. It was like touching anywhere else on her body. True, the consistency of the flesh was unique, there. The only other part of her body that felt like that was her big, fat butt, which she thought stuck out like a barbeque stain on a white T shirt.

“Why do they want to feel them?” she asked.

“You’re kidding me ... right?” He looked puzzled.

“No!“ she yelled. Then, immediately, she said “Sorry. I just don’t get it ... that’s all. I’ve touched them and I just don’t get why somebody else would want to.”

“You don’t have a boyfriend, do you,” he said. It was a statement rather than a question.

“No,” she said, a clear note of danger in her voice. “I’ve never had a boyfriend. Boys aren’t interested in me... except that they like to stare at my boobs!“

“Who likes to stare at your boobs?” asked Mindy, who suddenly appeared in the doorway to the laundry room.

“Boys!” said Jennifer, who wasn’t bothered at all by the question.

Bobby, on the other hand, suddenly reflected on how inappropriate Mindy might think the topic of conversation was. He wondered how he had gotten roped into talking about it in the first place. For perhaps the thousandth time, his urge to be a hermit reasserted itself.

His concern seemed to be borne out when Mindy responded. “Fascinating topic of conversation,” said Mindy. “Pray, tell me how we got on this subject.”

“I asked Bobby why men like to look at women’s boobs, but he won’t answer me,” complained Jennifer. Then she reversed herself. “Well, actually, he answered me, but it didn’t make any sense.”

“I see,” said Mindy. “What was his answer?”

Bobby just looked from one woman to the other, wondering when someone was going to start yelling at him.

“He said men want to feel them, but they can’t, so they like to look instead.”

“I see,” said Mindy again.

“I’m really sorry,” said Bobby. “She just asked, and I didn’t know what to say, and...” He trailed off, sounding hopeless.

“Well, perhaps you can give her a better explanation later, after you’ve had some time to think about it.” Mindy smiled, while Bobby stared at her, goggle-eyed. “Now, it isn’t all that late, but we have a full day tomorrow. Your clothes will be ready to wear in the morning. Why don’t we all hit the sack?” She waited until both her daughter and guest bobbed their heads in assent, and then said, “Okay, Mr. Higginbotham, I’m guessing that sleeping on the couch won’t bother you. You know where the bathroom is, and if you need water, or anything from the refrigerator, then just make yourself at home. I’ll set my alarm for seven.”

“I’ll probably be up by then,” said Bobby. “And please, when you call me Mr. Higginbotham, it makes me feel silly. I’m just Bobby, okay?”

“Bobby it is,” said Mindy. “Good night, then.”

The women went to their rooms. Neither door had a lock on it, but that didn’t bother either one. They were, at that point in time, perhaps the only two women in the whole area who weren’t uncomfortable around, and who completely trusted The Hermit of Scarecrow Valley.

Mindy woke. She listened, automatically, knowing somehow that a sound had awakened her. A low pitched groan, almost a whimper reached her ears. She rose. Normally she slept naked, but because of their guest she had donned panties and a T shirt. She knew the house well and had traversed it in the dark many times, so she felt her way to the door. The sound came again ... from the living room.

When she got there, the moonlight coming in through the windows lit the room surprisingly well. The body on the couch moved, one arm flailing, as he groaned again. It was obvious he was dreaming. And in his response, he had thrown the sheet off of his body.

She stepped closer, not because she felt like she could do anything, but because her curiosity drove her forward. His body, in the moonlight, looked like some marble statue, with muscles so well developed they created shadowed areas across his body. He was beautiful, in that sense.

Her eyes were drawn to the darkness where his legs met. His penis lay limp, where it had fallen as he moved. It was the first one she’d seen in a decade, and she was amazed at the warmth it created in her belly.

He groaned again and, in a strangled voice, said, “It hurts!“ His right arm moved again, and his hand seemed to try to push something away from his body. “No!“ he groaned. Then, in a voice that chilled her to the bone, he whispered “Please ... just shoot me.”

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