Chapter 5

“Did your mother mean what I think she meant just now?” Bridget asked me when she came inside.

“I think so. She didn’t come right out and say so, but she said Dad wouldn’t be home for three hours and she was going out to work on her tan for two hours. I also told her the same thing I told your mom about your memories,” I told her.

“Then let’s not waste any time,” she purred seductively as she grabbed my hand and headed for my room.

“I can’t believe both of our parents are cool with this,” Caitlin sighed when I was sure both ladies were thoroughly satisfied. Of course, each of them thoroughly enjoyed helping me make sure their sibling was sated.

“I guess we should send Heather in next,” Bridget suggested.

“Sally’s backside must be okay since she’s wearing a two-piece suit today and I don’t see any handprints,” Caitlin commented. I was still a bit concerned about how far Sally would want to be pushed. I hoped it wasn’t farther than I was willing to push her, or she could end up bouncing from one abusive jerk to another. Only time would tell. The girls rinsed off in the shower and hurried back outside after giving me one last kiss. I stayed where I was--flat on my back, naked, and resting. I also wondered about how well both sets of parents had taken the situation, wondering how and how much the Methuselah Complex was influencing them.

“Knock, knock,” Heather said nervously in my doorway.

“Sorry, the twins take a lot out of me,” I said as I slowly got up to greet her.

“I bet they do,” she chuckled looking at my flagging manhood.

“Now what?” she asked nervously.

“That depends on you. We can do anything from sit here and talk to heavy-duty sex, lady’s choice,” I explained.

“So, if I just want to sit here and talk, you’re fine with that?” she asked.

“Absolutely, nobody does anything they don’t want to do” I said.

“So, you don’t really want to be with me?” she asked hesitantly.

“I didn’t say that. I said we wouldn’t do anything unless you want to. If it was my choice, you’d already be naked on my bed and I’d be getting a good taste of your pussy right now,” I said, pretending to leer down the front of her shirt.

“Well, since you offered,” she teased. Her clothes came off quickly. After finding out that she was on the pill, we eschewed the condom. I gave her the full treatment, kissing my way from her lips south and making sure my lips and tongue sampled and catalogued every square inch of her body. I was pleased at how sensitive her large, brown nipples were. Her areolae and nipples were a lot like Joyce’s, but darker.

She had a ticklish spot just above her narrow waist that I used to bring her well back from the edge of the climax she’d been nearing. Her long legs were muscular. I was only mildly disappointed that her dishwater blonde hair was offset by brown pubic hair, but she kept it well trimmed. I imagine it would be embarrassing to have one of the many photos they take of cheerleaders doing a high kick that showed signs of growth sticking out around the edges of their cheer panties.

I tongued her to two orgasms before crawling between her legs and sinking my shaft into her tight sheath. Even with her abundant lubrication, she was tight. I found out later it was only the third time she had sex. Her last boyfriend refused to even try eating her after promising he would, so she dumped his ass last year. She came twice more while I was pumping into her for over ten minutes courtesy of the twins draining me earlier.

“Jesus,” she gasped when we finished, “Darrell never lasted more than a couple of minutes. That was intense.”

We rinsed off in the shower, taking the opportunity to play a little grab-ass. We teased more while drying off, then dressed, and went out to re-join the world. Amy was fixing a pitcher of iced tea, so we helped her carry everything out to the pool. “Oh, my God,” Heather mouthed to the girls who looked up at her when we exited. They broke out giggling; Heather and I blushed. Gratefully, Mom pretended not to notice.

After all the guests left, dinner was boringly normal. I told Dad that I wanted to put $5,000 into the stock market this week. He got the names of the two companies I wanted him to invest in. One was an IPO for a company that would see their new stock triple, then split, then double and split again, all in just the next eight months. The other would be a longer-term investment. He said he’d take care of it by Wednesday.

Dessert was Mom’s peach cobbler. While we ate, Dad calmly informed us that they intended to build an addition onto the house. Mom explained that she always wanted a sewing room and my room would be perfect, so they were building me a new bedroom. It would be slightly larger than their master bedroom and would have its own bathroom and an entrance from outside.

I was already stunned before Dad floored me with the next sentence. “We talked with Larry and Maureen Taylor last Saturday night, and we’re all fairly certain you and Bridget will end up married even though you’re only fourteen right now. They’re pretty sure Caitlin fully intends to be part of the family, too. The rest of the girls may or may not join you. Anyway, they agreed to let the twins move in here--unofficially.

“They’ll still need to keep things at their house so that it looks like they still live there, but we assume they’ll be spending most of their nights here. I don’t think we need to remind you that we expect you to continue behaving just as responsibly as you have been. The contractors will be starting the work in a week and expect to be done before Christmas. In the meantime, we’re having a king-size bed and two tall dressers delivered tomorrow to set up in your room, and the girls are welcome to move in tomorrow,” Dad said.

“I don’t know what to say,” I answered, flabbergasted. I also didn’t know what to think. By now, I was absolutely, totally, and completely positive that the Methuselah Complex influenced people around me. I wondered why my Uncle Fred kept his distance from the rest of the family if it affected people around him, making them more accepting of everything. “Maybe it only affects others if there are two people involved. Maybe it requires me to explain something about having other memories. Who knows?” I thought.

“Just tell me you intend to whip Hoover next Friday,” Dad offered smiling.

“Definitely” I promised.

Amy and I slept together with the door closed tonight, and with no clothes between us after slowly making love to each other.

The front door practically burst open at 7 a.m. sharp. Seconds later, Amy and I were buried in my bed beneath Bridget and Caitlin. “I can’t believe it,” Bridget squealed excitedly.

“This is so cool,” Caitlin added excitedly. Both girls showed us their key to the house. Dad had three made and gave them to the Taylors, one for each girl and one for the parents in case they wanted to drop in and check up on us. Eager to get everything moved, the twins dragged me out of bed to start getting my room ready while they headed for the kitchen with Amy to fix breakfast.

When Mom finally came into the kitchen both girls gave her a hug and kiss, then said, “Hi, Mom,” in unison; I laughed at the look on Mom’s face. I spent two hours after breakfast rearranging my bedroom several times until the girls were satisfied. My old dresser went temporarily into Amy’s room for additional clothing storage if we needed it.

Dawn, Joyce, and Sally arrived together just before lunch. They were surprised to hear about the new living arrangement. I suggested at lunch that I should probably contribute to the food budget now. Dad thanked me for the offer but reminded me that he’d paid off the mortgage so, in a way, I was contributing.

“I’m going to need to buy a car,” I said. Dad’s eyebrows lifted.

“Bridget drives her mom’s car. If they’re here, it’s going to be difficult for them to share. Both of your cars are frequently gone so we’ll need a third car to get around.” I could see Dad’s acceptance of my argument.

“And what kind of car were you thinking about?” he asked, grinning.

I looked at the bevy of beauties around the table. “Probably the new Caprice; it’s got lots of room and a group of such classy lassies should definitely ride in a classy chassis,” I said staring into Bridget’s eyes. Dad guffawed, and then agreed that the Caprice would be a good choice. The girls all made goo-goo eyes at me.

After lunch, Dad followed Bridget while she drove her mom’s car home. He checked with Mr. Taylor and got his approval for the twins to drive the new car. Then he and the girls went car shopping. I stayed home with Mom to help when the furniture was delivered. It arrived about 2:00 right after Heather arrived. She, too, was floored to learn that both sets of parents had agreed to let the twins move in with me and was even more stunned when I told her I was buying them a new car.

“You’re taking to married life well,” Mom joked when she saw how the girls had rearranged my room. Heather and Mom laughed for a while at that one. I didn’t care, she was right. The girls and I were happy and that was what mattered. The girls got home with the new car about 4:00 and insisted that we drive it around town.

I warned Mom that we’d stop to eat dinner at the A&W drive-in before we came home. We also stopped to get a couple sets of sheets that fit the king-sized bed. Gratefully, Bridget nixed the flowery sheets by reminding the girls that I had to sleep on them, too. They settled on one light blue set and one light green set. We also got more pillows, making sure to get extra pillowcases. I gritted my teeth and let them get a dust ruffle and frilly bedspread. I figured I’d be too busy noticing the women in the bedroom to worry about any of that anyway.

Everyone but me knew Tammy, the girl on roller skates waiting on our car at the A&W drive-in. With me ensconced in the front seat between the twins she had a difficult time asking what she wanted to ask of the girls until Bridget told her I just bought the new car for them. “Yeah, right,” she snorted. Bridget just smiled at her. “Did he really?” she asked when she brought our food.

The girls all assured her that not only did I pay for it, I only told them which make and model and let them choose the specific car they wanted. “Jeez, my old boyfriend didn’t even get me a card for my birthday,” she complained.

“Note to self, get a list of the girls’ birthdays,” I thought.

Since tomorrow was a school day, we were home by 7:00. We made a quick stop by the Taylor home so they could see the new car and the girls could give them a quick briefing of today’s activities. Naturally, Mr. Taylor and I had to pop the hood and check out the engine.

Once home, after a quick kiss, Amy’s friends and Heather headed home, too, but not until Heather told me where the cheerleaders hung out before school. Their book lockers were right outside the girl’s gym.

Bridget and Amy made the new bed while Mom and I watched, amused. Caitlin had volunteered to finish cleaning up the kitchen for Mom. It felt weird retiring to my bedroom as a teenager with one female partner, let alone three. I stopped and carried each of the three across the threshold of my room before we went to bed. I made love slowly to all three girls, grateful for a new bed that didn’t squeak. I noticed that my old pillow had been wedged between the bed and the wall as a thumper bumper.

We took the opportunity to tell Caitlin about my and Bridget’s ‘memories’, which naturally let Amy know about Bridget’s ‘memories.’ We were nervous about their reaction, but Amy thought it was cool. Caitlin thought it was the most romantic thing she’d ever heard. Bridget and I both breathed a sigh of relief at their acceptance, and I wondered if the Complex had somehow helped them accept it.

Even the king size bed was crowded with four of us, but we found it very comfortable to be tangled together.

We set the alarm an hour earlier than usual, not knowing how long it would take four people to get ready for school in one bathroom. We would have been done faster, but we got a little carried away in the shower.

The cheerleaders were gathered in a group when the twins and I strolled up. Bridget whispered into Heather’s ear but made sure it was still audible. “I believe you lost these in the car Friday night,” she chuckled.

“Oh, God, I wondered where they went. I thought Jim might have kept them as a souvenir,” Heather answered, actually blushing. The rest of the cheerleaders’ jaws hit the ground.

“How are you feeling today?” I asked.

“My legs don’t feel like jelly anymore but I’m still feeling a little bowlegged,” she answered.

“Glad you enjoyed yourself,” I said as I gave her a quick kiss on the lips.

“You’re shitting me,” one of the other cheerleaders gasped when she thought we were out of earshot.

“Ladner!” Coach shouted across the gym as I walked in to dress for our afternoon practice.

“Now what?” I wondered silently. There was a very attractive and slightly nervous woman in his office.

“Jim, this is Rachel Jansen. She writes for the Anaheim Gazette and wants to do a short article on you,” he said much too casually. When I coached, I always gave my players a heads-up and warned them what type of things not to say before letting reporters near them. I figured coach was testing me by not warning me ahead of time.

“How short?” I asked hopefully, getting a chuckle from Coach.

“That depends on how interesting you are,” she answered, rising to my challenge.

“Really short, then,” I jibed back. I made her a deal while coach continued laughing. I’d do the interview and she could use me as the introduction to the article, but I wanted the rest of the team mentioned more than just in passing before she got to the meat of the article. I warned her that it would be the last time I spoke with anyone from the Gazette if she reneged on the deal. It had been decades since I enjoyed talking about myself, but I suffered silently.

I was impressed that she’d already contacted my mother this morning to get some background and to get permission to talk to me. When she asked about the rumor that I was dating twins who were two years older than I was I let the tone of my voice show my displeasure. “Anything and everything about whom I may or may not be dating is my private life and I intend to keep it that way,” I almost growled. Her comment that my high school career was off to a faster and better start than either Johnny Unitas or Bart Starr caught my attention.

“Sorry, that kind of slipped out,” she apologized misinterpreting my attention.

“You have nothing to be sorry about. You obviously enjoy sports a great deal and there’s nothing wrong with that. I just wasn’t aware of the high school records of Unitas or Starr,” I answered.

“I wish the editors felt that way,” she said ruefully. “They think women should be home, barefoot, and pregnant,” she grumbled.

“There are lots of women who enjoy sports. They just don’t make it public knowledge because they don’t want to deal with the guff they’d get. As much as I enjoy football, I had no idea how well either Unitas or Starr did in high school or college,” I admitted.

“It’s refreshing to meet a man with that opinion. Maybe there’s hope in the future,” she sighed, adding, “No wonder you have two happy girlfriends,” and grinned victoriously. “Off the record, of course,” she amended quickly when she saw the look on my face.

“Obviously,” I reiterated tersely.

The article was published Thursday and I was grateful that she kept her word. “Nicely handled Ladner,” Coach commented after the interview, “now you’re late for practice,” he chuckled.

I asked him if I could have several players on the team try kicking field goals today. “Wilson’s our kicker,” he reminded me.

“But Wilson can’t hit from beyond the twenty. I want to try some of the guys who grew up playing soccer. I saw a couple of them the other day while we were driving around, and they could kick a soccer ball fifty yards right to someone. I just wanted to see if they could do the same thing with a football,” I explained. I hadn’t really seen anyone. There had been a point in the game Friday that a longer-ranged field goal kicker would have come in handy.

“Fine, just don’t take up too much time, you’re even later for practice now,” he grumbled playfully.

I started by asking Juan how many guys were on the team that he knew played soccer, and then what I wanted. “You want Pato,” he said, then offered to take me to meet him after practice. Pato was his brother, a sophomore and two years Juan’s junior. At first, Pato thought I was teasing him. When I mentioned possible scholarships if he was nearly as good as his brother suggested he changed his tune.

Juan and Pato managed to squeeze into the car and we headed home to drop most of the girls off. Afterwards, we ran by the store to buy a football, a kicking tee, a flat, rubber tee for field goal attempts, and a special tee with a spring-loaded arm that held the ball for practicing field goals when you don’t have someone to hold the ball for you. An hour later, we were back at school, and I showed Pato what I wanted.

Looking skeptically at the oval ball, he tried it. The first dozen or so attempts were remarkably terrible as he got used to the shape of the ball. Finally, one try sailed long and true, missing by only three or four yards of being a fifty-yard field goal. “Shit,” Juan gasped, knowing fifty yards was almost unheard of, even in the pros.

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” I told Pato. I gave him the practice equipment to use. “Come to practice tomorrow and show Coach what you can do,” I suggested.

Returning home after dropping the guys off, Bridget and I had a chance to talk alone. I wondered aloud about her lack of concern in sharing me so freely, postulating that it must somehow be attributable to the Methuselah Complex. She admitted being curious about it herself. She reminded me that, although the Complex affected her, the other girls were also content to share me. She said they could all sense when a girl would be a good fit with the group.

At practice Tuesday, Pato’s first several attempts hooked or sliced but he finally booted six straight from the forty. Coach was astonished and since we had two openings on the team, Pato quickly became a team member. I suggested to coach that he talk with Pato about doing interviews because he’d be doing several after his first near-fifty-yarder.

There was another pep rally Friday for our game against Hoover. The game was our final non-conference game and the excitement at the rally was palpable. The school was already excited about the potential for a good season.

Hoover tried pretty much the same thing Manville tried to defend against us and did a worse job of it. The final score was 63-21. Several reporters caught up with me on the way inside afterwards asking questions. I asked the reporter from the Gazette where Miss Jansen was. “She’s not a sportswriter,” he answered gruffly.

“That’s too bad because I liked the way the article she wrote Thursday turned out,” I answered.

“That was just a fluff piece,” he answered dismissively.

“So, I’m just fluff?” I asked flippantly. I noticed other reporters trying hard to keep from laughing, especially the TV reporter. He never did answer me, just stepped back and took lots of notes on what everyone else asked about, scowling the whole time.

Many students at the after-game dance were almost hoarse from screaming all night. Evelyn, the head cheerleader tried to get through to me at the dance and failed. I heard her complaining to Bridget until Bridget reminded Evelyn that she already had a boyfriend who might not take kindly to any attention she got from me. When Evelyn protested that Bridget let Heather dance with me last week Bridget reminded her that Heather didn’t have a boyfriend and that Heather hadn’t called them dykes last year. She did relent enough to tell Evelyn that if her boyfriend Steve came over and gave his permission for her to dance with me, they would let her. I guess Steve didn’t give her permission--or she knew better than to ask.

I was steaming by the time I finished the article in the morning paper about last night’s game. The reporter ended the article saying, “The new star has already become arrogant and conceited.” At 7:30, I was on the phone to the paper and asked to speak to someone in the paper’s legal department. Since they were all off until Monday, I asked to speak with the most senior person in charge right then.

“This is Tom Fredrick, editor in charge, speaking,” he answered.

“Mr. Fredrick, my name is Jim Ladner. Your paper ran an article this morning about last night’s Marcroft High football game. I am upset because your reporter willfully and maliciously slandered me in the article and I will take legal action against your paper and against the reporter personally if there is no retraction in tomorrow’s paper,” I blazed.

“Mr. Ladner, you obviously aren’t aware that the First Amendment protects us against such lawsuits,” he chuckled.

“Actually, the first amendment doesn’t protect you,” I countered. “It gives you the right to print your story, but you are still liable when you purposely print inaccurate information. Your reporter last night was upset about something I said to him and this is his way of retaliating,” I explained as calmly as I could.

“Even if that were true Mr. Ladner, it would be your word against his,” he explained evasively.

“Again, you’re wrong Mr. Fredrick. I suggest that you contact Channel 12 and ask to review all the footage they shot during the interview, not just what they aired. Please get back to me by noon today,” I said, before giving him the phone number and hanging up.

He made it with fifteen minutes to spare. Actually, his boss made it with fifteen minutes to spare. “Mr. Ladner, I apologize for the actions of our reporter. I assure you that we will print an apology in tomorrow’s paper,” he offered.

“Would it be too much to hope that the apology might be on the same page as the original offense?” I asked acerbically.

“That’s not usually our policy but I will see that it happens, fair?” he asked.

“Thank you,” I answered.

“May I ask you a question?” he asked.

“Off the record?” I teased.

“Not that it will matter, but yes,” he agreed. I could hear the amusement in his voice.

“Why were you interested in having Miss Jansen do the interview? I know she’s pretty, but I have heard reports that you already have your hands full.”

I laughed.

“I hoped she would do the interview because I liked the way she wrote the ‘fluff piece’ Thursday. I had asked her to be sure to write about the entire team and not just me, and she did an excellent job of seamlessly dovetailing the two parts together,” I answered.