Chapter 497: Routine Routines

What cravings does Becky have that she can’t make her cooks fix for her?

Ask, and you should find out.

“I need real ice cream, not the crap the staff keeps for the kids. Those little cups don’t cut it. I know they don’t want me to have a lot of baby weight after this pregnancy. I haven’t had much with the other three. If this next kid, or kids, given your track record, eat like the others, I won’t need to worry. I had to eat two-thousand calorie meals five times a day to keep up with the twins sucking me dry all the time,” Becky told me.

We headed to the ice cream place where everyone hung out when we were in high school. It was where college kids went when they were home on breaks. The older adults and parents with kids went to one of the chain ones in town. When we got our orders in and went to sit down, one of the girls that worked here intercepted Becky.

“Damn, Becky! You need to keep your legs closed or find a better form of birth control. Don’t you already have six at home?” the woman asked.

Becky shrugged and said, “What does it matter if I want to have more while I am still young enough to drop the baby weight? I like having kids and can afford to care for them. My grandmother finally decided to pack up and leave while I was on vacation. Now I can raise my kids without her breathing down my neck all the time. David lives next door now, so I will ask his mom for advice when I need it instead of being told I am doing it the wrong way all the time.”

“Some things never change, do they, Becky? Now you won’t get that nasty guilt trip about coming here to eat a gallon or two of ice cream. If I bring you a gallon or two daily, could I rent a room in your monstrous house? Mom shacked up with another creep. I came home a few weeks back to find him bathing my kids. They were both still filthy. My mom said they had been in there playing away for over an hour and never once went to check on them. I’ve been living wherever I can find someone to let me crash with the kids sleeping in a corner somewhere. The boss let me make them a small playpen area in the back with a camera I can watch from up the front. They are finally sleeping. Someone thought it would be funny to keep giving them a spoonful of ice cream anytime I was busy with a customer,” the woman told Becky.

The ice cream woman said, “Sorry, Mr. finally got a big-dick rich boy. I had them all tested when they were born. None of them are yours, but not for lack of trying. There are no worries about you knocking me up now. My second kid decided I was done with kids and wrecked my babymaker when they had to cut her out of me. Probably a good thing, given how you knocked Becky up with triplets and then twins. Did Becky let you choose to fuck her to knock her up this time? I know she took her turn on the David-go-in as much as the other girls. If you ever need to get laid, like you ever would, I’m interested in seeing if your big dick can make me cum as hard as your little two-inch dick did years ago. You’re the only dick I could ever get to make me cum.”

Two middle school girls were over by the window finishing some ice cream before calling one of their parents for a ride home. Some jocks were over in another booth talking shit about cheerleaders that they had no chance in hell of ever fucking. I asked the woman if she could take a break right now. The manager came up to watch the counter while the woman took her break.

I slipped into the back with the woman and then into the bathroom. She had all nine inches working over her surprisingly tight pussy. After getting hers nine times, I pulled out to fire my load on the toilet.

“Sorry, but I cum a lot more than I did the last time you fucked me,” I told her. “No need to have that gooey mess in your panties for the rest of your shift. I can’t believe I am the only one who has made you cum from sex. We only did it for ten minutes.”

“That is why you are the only one that has made me cum. I’m lucky to get two minutes before the guy pops his cork, and that is after a blowjob. Sometimes when I rode your little dick, you wouldn’t ever seem to cum. I remember you walking around with a tent in your pants because you hadn’t cum with the girls that snuck into your hiding place to use your dick. I know that half of our teachers knew what was going on during lunch and recess when you went off to hide somewhere,” she told me. “It is good to know that since you stopped ignoring everybody, you will still fuck a Black Korean woman.”

“You’re Korean? Huh. I don’t see it in your face or features, but that explains why you have straight black hair. I always thought you saved for months to get it straightened. All the kids in your family had black curly hair like your mother,” I told her.

“Mom was a cunt to some Asian guys in high school. You know how it goes. Black guys are hung like stallions, while Asians are hung like squirrels. Finally, a Korean guy said he could fuck her with his small dick better than any of the black guys she had been fucking all through high school. Nine months later, she had me. No one is quite sure what happened to my dad after learning that she was pregnant. He was the only one she wasn’t one hundred percent sure wore a rubber. Mom always used rubbers, but my dad seemed to know how to compensate for where his dick might be lacking. To this day, she doesn’t remember much after he went down on her. High school guys didn’t eat pussy, especially the black ones she fucked. They spent one weekend together,” Becky’s friend told me. “My sisters still hate me for not having to fight with an afro like they do each day. None of us has the money to get our hair done.”

She looked me in the eyes and said, “You don’t care what color a person is, do you?”

“I’ve always been color blind regarding someone’s skin color,” I explained as we washed up. “I never cared for people of any color that spout hatred because of their skin color or go around shoving it in people’s faces.”

She got ready for another fuck by the time we got cleaned up, so we had to wash things up a second time. When she said she had to pee, I left the bathroom.

When I returned to the booth, Becky said her friend working here had always liked me. It was good that I could give the woman the fucking she deserved.

I did tear into Becky when she said something to the effect of me doing a black girl. I had to remind her that Mary is black, well, dark brown, but it was the same point.

It was after eleven when we got back to Becky’s house. Dee, Tee, and Ellen had cuddled up to each other. All three were sound asleep. Becky said she would wake them up early in the morning to go home to get dressed for school when she woke Crimilda.

Shit. I have to deal with Ellen’s school in the morning. The day got away from me.

“Ellen’s behavior two days ago was atrocious,” I told the dean, assistant dean, and Ellen’s science teacher. “Based on the information, the EPA identified a form of rat poison that affects pubertal girls. It is no excuse for her behavior, but the girls go through something similar to nasty PMS. Later, they have painful uterine contractions. The EPA sent a notice to the fast food places to pull the boxes of toys sprayed in the port but failed to do so. Ellen went out to get fast food three nights ago.”

“Yes, we have gotten advised of that problem, Mr. Jones,” the assistant dean said formally.

She explained to the two others what the state had sent her regarding the spray’s effects.

Once she stopped, I asked her science teacher, “From talking to Ellen, I want to get something clarified. Can you explain to me why you are calling my daughter stupid? How about the remarks regarding her living alone in the woods like a Neanderthal? Ellen has never lied to me, so I have no reason not to believe her.”

“You have been misled by your daughter to get out of trouble, Mr. Jones. It is a common childhood behavior,” he told me.

“Dean, can you please pull up the video and audio footage from that classroom a few minutes before the incident? It will clarify what Ellen said, along with her teacher,” I asked. “If she is lying, Ellen and I will have a not-so-pleasant chat this evening.”

Ellen remembered multiple occasions where this teacher said degrading things to Ellen and Crimilda, among others. She had the date and time down to within seconds of the teacher saying such things. I didn’t say anything as the administrators reviewed the classroom footage. It quickly became apparent that this teacher didn’t like being told he was wrong by a student. Anytime Ellen mentioned that he was wrong about something, he made a nasty, unprofessional remark. Ellen got under his skin because she had read the entire book and lived in a forest for eleven years of her life. They were studying plants and animals.

Ellen went to wait for the assistant dean to discuss her consequences while we finished up.

“Mr. Jones, I wish Ellen, or any of the students, had brought this teacher’s behavior to my attention. The discipline of students goes to the assistant dean. Per the school handbook, offenses of this nature have the child sent home. If the behavior persists, we suspend the child for one or more days. We have not had any behavioral problems with your daughter other than those expected for a child her age. Her other teachers have corrected those issues in the classroom without needing to send her to the office,” he told me. “Now, if you will, please excuse me. I have other matters to attend to here.”

I waited with Ellen to get called into the assistant dean’s office. She got the usual dressing down about her behavior, and the assistant dean sent Ellen to go to her classroom.

“You continue to amaze me, David. You managed to keep a cool head for an eighteen-year-old when other parents here would have gone off about what the science teacher said to your daughter. I nearly went off on him when I heard what he said. I watched the footage closely. I see that Ellen asked for clarification and referenced the textbook in all the other instances. If it were any other kid, they would have told him he was wrong and argued away. Know anything about elementary school science?” she joked.

They may need someone to fill that science teacher’s role, but it won’t be me.

I took the long way to get home to look at the neighborhood Molly was building out. It seemed impossible, but all the houses were either complete or almost there already. I doubled back to look at where she was making the golf course. There were dozens of dump trucks, loaders, excavators, and equipment. I had no idea what they were.

Did I have that many machines in the garage from the original developer?

A somewhat fittingly guy drove up to me in a golf cart.

“Here, boss,” he said, tossing me a striped neon hardhat and safety vest. “OSHA likes us so much that they brought out a trailer. Molly will skin you alive if you cause us to get another fine. I get that they want everyone to be safe, but they have been nitpicking recently. Anyone near the job site must be run off or wear safety gear. Molly made sure we all had a hard hat and vest with us if you should wander over here. If you have the money to throw at it, you can get a lot done in a short time. Molly had us subcontract each golf course hole to do all thirty-six in parallel. She noted that the original plans were for only eighteen, but she changed all of that. It seems the services that were supposedly already in place weren’t. Molly made a lot of sense when she said if we have to excavate down sixty feet for the sewer lines, we will build the golf course over those sections. It is easier to deal with possible sinkholes and settling issues on a golf course than a house.”

When we got to the construction office, he showed me the updated plans and model. With all the work required to get the infrastructure in place, Molly designed things so that most houses along the course were up on a hill above the course. It lets homeowners sit on their decks and watch people play, making it less likely for a golf ball to hit their home.

“Why are there children walking around the construction site? That is against child labor laws and unsafe,” a woman who came into the construction office screamed. “I saw a little child driving a front-end loader just now. You just earned yourself heavy fines!”

I stepped between her and the door before she could storm out.

Don’t be a bully, David. Just give her the facts.

“Ma’am, can you tell me what OSHA regulations we are breaking?” I asked.

She spouted off all sorts of bullshit but no regulations.

Finally, she said, “Children under eighteen cannot drive any heavy equipment. You also have children running around in all the homes under construction.”

“Can we please locate the person driving the front-end loader to determine their age? It is the first time I have been on this job site, so I’m also curious,” I asked the woman.

As we walked toward where she saw the front-end loader going, I said, “The children you see in the houses are student learners from my foster care complex. Each is investigating possible career paths. None should be under sixteen because construction jobs are prohibited for children under sixteen. The last I heard, they were all learning how to run wires and pipes, taping, and finish drywall. Are there regulations preventing them from doing those jobs? There are no live wires or water in any house where any child is doing apprenticeships with electricians or plumbers. I need to check to be sure, but I don’t think any kid can hang the drywall. They are only supposed to observe from a safe distance. All workers near drywall must wear respirators, safety goggles, and painter’s suits to protect them from dust. However, I am a little unclear as to what defines a worker. These kids are school learners and thus are not paid. It is an elective class for them.”

We found the person we sought to get out of the front-end loader.

This shall be funny.

When we got to that person, the OSHA woman started ranting about children driving heavy equipment.

“Aren’t you just the sweetest thing?” the woman asked the OSHA woman. “No one has called me a child for a long time. I turn fifty in a month, and my granddaughter just had my fifth great-grandchild. I guess that face cream does make me look younger, as advertised. It better work, for how much it costs.”

The driver then pulled out a wallet to show pictures of the kids, grandkids, and great-grandkids. I told the OSHA woman I was going to the house under construction twenty yards away. I had all the kids come out to stand on the side of the road as we waited for the OSHA woman.

Each showed her that they were between seventeen and nineteen years old. I did see a girl I knew wasn’t sixteen yet.

“What are you doing here?” I asked her.

“They call me the water girl around here,” she joked. “I deliver the lunches and bottles of water to each job site. Each day, we prepare them at the foster care complex as part of one of my classes. Do you see that green sign with the box mounted on it? That is as close as I can go to whatever they are building. Your scary friend that doesn’t talk had them put up at each place. Most of the time, I replace empty water bottles with full ones. That is why I have that nickname. I can only carry things from the golf cart to the sign. They won’t even let me drive the golf cart. It is funny because I have my motorcycle driver’s license. I could drive a moped or motorcycle to take the water around.”

Take that! You thought you had something to bitch about and fine us over.

I watched the front-end loader driver get a hard hat and vest from a box beside a construction trailer.

She handed them to the OSHA woman and said, “This is a construction site, so everyone must wear a safety vest and hard hat. The OSHA people will get all over us if anyone here isn’t wearing the proper safety gear. If you don’t put it on, you will have to leave the site.”

Oh, that was unexpected.

The OSHA woman looked embarrassed and excused herself to return to the construction office trailer. The foreman wanted to talk when I returned to the main construction trailer.

“What did you threaten that old battleax with that made her come to apologize?” he asked.

I shrugged and said, “It was the lady in the front-end loader. She walked over to hand the OSHA woman safety gear because she didn’t have it on. Otherwise, the OSHA woman had to leave the site. It was funny when the driver said OSHA would be all over us if the OSHA woman didn’t put on the safety gear. The driver had no clue who was with me. For that matter, I don’t think she knows who I am.”

“She didn’t but does now. The driver called in on her radio that we had two people on the job site she didn’t recognize. It is one of the other safety things Molly implemented after getting hit with a fine for people not wearing hardhats everywhere, except inside one of the construction trailers,” he told me. “I think it was more about security than safety. We had some theft of materials on a few occasions. Nothing of any value, but it was noticeably missing when someone went to get it.”

We were interrupted by someone screaming out in pain.

I rushed outside to find one of the kids from the complex laying on the ground in excruciating pain. The OSHA woman was hot on my heels.

Legs and arms don’t bend that way.

I have to give it to the OSHA woman. She immediately started to check the girl over to look for anything life-threatening.

I used my implant.

The first thing causing the most pain was the girl’s dislocated shoulder. She also broke her arm and leg in multiple places. From the dirt all over her, it didn’t happen where we found her. The asphalt didn’t have any dirt or mud on it here.

I didn’t even think about how to paralyze her and block the pain.

“Don’t move. You broke your arm and leg. The paralysis is only temporary while we wait for the ambulance to get you to the complex’s hospital. Do you remember any of what happened?” I asked.

She took a few minutes to settle down enough to tell us, “Yeah. I’m still a clutz. I was up on the hill behind me, talking on the phone, and I wasn’t paying attention. I caught my foot in a root. I felt my ankle pop right before I went down. I couldn’t stop myself from rolling down the steep side of the hill. I was the kid who fell down the stairs, all on my own and broke my arm. I have a photo album in my room that shows all the times I looked like both my parents got drunk and used me as a punching bag. Before my parents died, do you know how often they had to talk to the child services about people suspecting they were abusing me? Thank you for doing whatever to did to block the pain and keep me from moving my arm and leg.”

“If you even think about trying to write this up as a job site accident, I will call Paula. This area is outside the perimeter fence, and she fell from a spot outside the construction site,” I told the OSHA woman.

She took mild offense and said, “I take my job seriously, Mr. Jones. It is unquestionably outside the construction site, but you are still liable for her injuries.”

“Yeah. This girl is one of my foster kids that lives at the foster care complex I built. She is already my liability. Even if she weren’t, she would get the best care around at no cost to her or her family. The ambulance should be here in a few minutes, so can we try to keep this girl calm? I don’t know how long the pain block will last,” I told the OSHA woman.

Knowing better than to move the girl, I held her uninjured hand and asked her to tell me about herself. Her parents died in a car crash where they got hit by a drunk driver on their way home from her grandmother’s funeral. That was the only relative she could remember being alive. She had nowhere to go, and her being a clutz caused all sorts of trouble for foster parents. The system moved her to another foster home anytime she did something that caused bruises anywhere, even under her clothes.