by Krista Wolf
“Oh.”
“We told him to stay for stew, but he said he had an early morning tomorrow,” said Jacob. He glanced knowingly at Tate. “Plus, we plan to stay up late.”
The emphasis he dropped on the last word put a tingle between my legs. After tasting the stew — and finding it excellent — I took an emboldening sip of my wine.
“Look, we’re not trying to overstay our welcome,” said Tate. “And if Saturday night seemed like a one-shot deal for you, we’d understand. But the way we see it, you could use some pampering. No one’s taken care of you in a long while.”
I felt the broth from the stew warming me from within. What he was saying was true. Even more than he knew.
“We enjoy taking care of you,” said Jacob. “Good care of you. So if you’re up for it, why don’t you strip off your work clothes and join us on the couch. We can rub your feet, and maybe your back too. Watch some more of that movie.” He winked. “Maybe talk about your day.”
God, it all sounded so good! I shivered at the idea of being pampered and rubbed and touched. And especially, the simple camaraderie of their company. It made coming home so much more fulfilling.
“I like where you boys are going with this,” I smiled. “But I really don’t want to talk about my day. My day was cataclysmically boring.” Then, tilting my head seductively: “I’m up for all the rest of that, though.”
The guys looked at each other over their bowls and smiled. Jacob started eating voraciously. Tate sighed and shook his head at him.
“Fine, then we’ll talk about our day,” he said with a wink. “And if you’re really good, maybe I’ll tell you how achingly close that GTO is to being started up again.”
Twenty-Five
SERENA
We made it another thirty minutes into the movie, maybe thirty-five. But that was it. It was as far as we got.
I spent the time stretched out across the living room floor, melting happily into a sea of blankets and pillows the guys had already pre-arranged. Within that glorious half hour they rubbed my body from head to toe, using a jasmine-scented oil they probably plucked from one of my bathroom cabinets. I had so many bath and body products there it bordered on an addiction. Yet because I was always working or sleeping, I rarely got to use them.
But now…
Now I was in absolute heaven, lying there as four magnificent hands proceeded to undo every knot in my entire body. They rubbed my back, my ass, my arms and legs… paying special attention to my hands and feet. Soon I was groaning and moaning so loudly we could barely hear the television. Especially as their fingers traveled through the valley between my thighs…
Now this, I thought to myself happily, is absolutely ridiculous.
Slowly they mounted me, one by one. It started with Tate, throwing his big legs over mine and gliding into me from behind. He rocked me with long, deep strokes, pressing his stomach against my back and kissing my neck as he plunged in and out of me. Everywhere our bodies touched felt hot and magical, made all warm and slick by the oil.
Jacob took his place after a while, and enjoyed the same slippery ride. It was fun and wonderful, bouncing against them. Screwing my oil-coated ass backward into their hard stomachs, and feeling that extra inch or two of penetration as they slipped all the way inside.
Eventually I rolled them onto their backs and mounted them, screwing them side by side. Hopping from pole to quivering pole, I slowly lowered myself over each of my new lovers in turn.
This is crazy!
Back and forth I went, grinding myself to two, three, even four eye-rolling climaxes. All while sliding my fingers happily over two oceans of ripped abdominals, or dragging my nails teasingly across their glistening, oil-soaked chests.
Screwing two men made me feel wanton and wicked, but oh so very, very free. I rode them until they couldn’t take another second inside me, then slid down and brought each of them off with my mouth. It was ridiculously hot, looking up into their eyes as they came. Knowing that through both orgasms they were both watching, as I worked extra hard to put on the sluttiest of shows.
By the time the credits rolled I’d drained them fully and completely, leaving both men spent and at my mercy. My body still tingled from all the attention. My once-tired feet and calves were in heaven, and my muscles were jelly.
“We’re gonna need to rewind that,” said Jacob, nodding vaguely at the TV. “I missed most of what Claire and Luke said.”
“You know their names?” Tate and I laughed at the same time.
We passed out together, this time on the floor, and when I woke early the next morning the boys were already gone. I cleaned up quickly, then went about the rest of my day floating on a cloud of euphoria. In the back of my mind, there was still something inherently wrong about sleeping with David’s old classmates. I knew they were nine or ten years younger than me. That should’ve put them out of reach and off limits, at least in my mind’s eye.
Still, these weren’t boys anymore, these were men. Big, strong men in their early 20’s with stamina and strength and vigor. They knew exactly what they wanted and I’d let them take it, over and over again. I didn’t regret any part of it. Instead, I only looked forward to it happening again.
On Tuesday we somehow finished the movie. On Wednesday, we started a new one. The screen was background noise anyway, so it really didn’t matter. What mattered most was the time I spent with my two new lovers, talking and laughing and enjoying one another’s company… before they carried me off into the bedroom and stripped me of whatever clothes I had left.
Once there they screwed me in ways I couldn’t possibly ever imagine, putting me in places and positions that only three horny people can achieve. I gave back as good as I got, and often outlasted them until the wee hours of the morning. I loved the challenge of accommodating them, of claiming and draining them. I especially loved the look of peace and serenity on their faces, as they closed their eyes and passed out in my arms.
Sleeping through the night was impossible with three people. Most of the time I’d stir in the darkness, with one or both of them nudging me awake and climbing between my warm, sleepy thighs for another round. Once I was even the one who woke them up, blowing Tate awake and then bucking atop him until the movement of the bed broke Jacob’s slumber. He woke to us laughing at him, then after stroking himself hard while watching us, pushed Tate aside and went at me with a vengeance.
Thursday turned into a marathon session, testing our limits. I’d gone to work the next day achingly sore, but with enough sordid yet beautiful memories to last a lifetime. By Friday we’d had sex in almost every room in the house including the kitchen, where the guys swept off the dinner plates and took turns mounting me right on the kitchen table. It turned out to be the perfect height for them to stand there with my legs hooked over their hard, sculpted shoulders. They took turns impaling me again and again before finally flipping me over, then finishing hard together against my warm, quivering ass.
And through it all there was Cole, working away in the basement. He came and left through the back entrance now, having replaced the exterior door and re-mortared the staircase. We generally waited for him to leave before going at it, mostly because the floors were thin. There were nights however, where it didn’t stop me. Where it couldn’t stop me, because that’s how much I needed them.
Saturday was busy for all of us, so we decided to take a break from each other and catch up on some much needed sleep. Jacob was falling behind on lawns — a little fact that was amusing to me for some reason. And Tate had been forgoing a few projects at work that needed his attention, because he’d dedicated so much of his time to finishing the GTO… and of course, me.
But on Sunday, my day off…
Well, Sunday I’d already declared as their night. I planned to pamper them for once, and in more ways than one. The boys were to come over mid-afternoon, and plan to be well-fed and well-taken care of. The idea of serving them for once excited me greatly, and I alrea
dy had a few things in mind.
“What time?” Tate had asked.
“Come by in the afternoon,” I smiled. “Any time you want.”
“But the game’s on Sunday,” Jacob pointed out hesitantly.
“So?” I said innocently. “You boys can watch the game here.”
I paused flirtatiously, biting my lower lip.
“If you want to, that is.”
Twenty-Six
TATE
“I really don’t know what you’re complaining about,” I said, giving Rae a wink over my shoulder. “She makes a damned good point.”
I lifted the vending machine three inches off the ground and then dropped it again, expectantly. The banana Moon Pie teetered, but it didn’t budge.
“Of course I make a good point!” Rayleen chimed in. “He can’t stay here forever. He’s been here long enough to grow roots! And he’s starting to smell like that back room, too.”
My uncle rubbed his head and made a strangely sour face. I couldn’t help but laugh.
“You sayin’ I stink?”
“Not stink, smell,” Rae corrected him snidely. “And yes.”
“Like what?”
“Like stagnation!” she declared in exasperation. “Inactivity. Stale motor oil too, but I’m talking more about roots, Bruce. Roots!”
Rayleen — my uncle’s girlfriend — weighed all of eighty pounds soaking wet, with blue hair and fierce eyes. She looked like one of the Skeksis from the Dark Crystal, if the Skeksis wore lipstick.
Still, the woman was tough as nails. As she pointed a crooked finger toward the hallway, I saw my uncle all but shrink.
“If you’re looking to die back there you may as well keep at it,” Rae went on. “I’ll let you go. But if you plan to continue dating me—”
The slam of my fist against the vending machine ended her sentence abruptly. The moon pie tumbled end over end, landing in the receiving tray as I turned bright red and shrugged.
“Sorry,” I apologized profusely. “Go on.”
I was used to their little spats by now, but I still wasn’t used to hearing my uncle’s name. Every time his girlfriend said it, I had to marvel at the absurdity of the word.
“Bruce?” he’d grumble at me once. “What the hell’s wrong with Bruce?”
“Bruce isn’t a name,” I’d laughed. “Not anymore. Bruce is a floor manufacturer!”
“Bruce was a name,” he’d fought back, “in the days when things actually mattered. And it was a good name, too. Lots of reliable people named Bruce, back in the sixties and seventies…”
I remembered the conversation like it was yesterday. Probably because it was yesterday. But that was besides the point.
“Anyway,” my uncle’s girlfriend went on, “it’s high time you moved in with me. Split some bills with me, for crying out loud.”
“I have enough bills here.”
“It would also stop me from having to drive back and forth to this godforsaken garage every time I want to see you,” said Rae.
“Woman, I don’t make you do those things!” my uncle grumbled.
“You do so!” she shot back. “Every time you refuse to leave this place and get on with your life. You might be in your seventies but you haven’t cashed in your chips yet. Right? Or have you?”
“No,” my uncle said defensively.
“Well good, because I’m nowhere near ready to cash in mine!” Rae agreed. “Lots of things to still see and do. Not gonna do them dragging you around by the ear, smelling like oil.”
I snickered to myself as I bit into the yellow-colored cake. It wasn’t until the last second that I remembered: I don’t even like banana Moon Pie.
“Now get whatever stuff you need and lets start packing my car before I change my mind.”
“Bah,” my uncle waved. “We’ve had this conversation more than a dozen times. You never change your mind.”
Rayleen scoffed. “Yeah, well maybe this time’s different,” she warned.
“And you’ve said that at least eight or ten times,” my uncle settled back, feeling pleased with himself.
They had this argument at least once a month. As usual I tried staying out of it, but sometimes I just couldn’t help but interject myself here and there.
“Listen, unc…” I said, dropping a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe Rae’s right. It might do you some good to get out of here, at least for a while.” Over his shoulder, I winked at her again. “Maybe gather up some clothes and give it a shot?
Usually he had his haunches up, this man who’d practically raised me. But right now his shoulders were slung low. Not for lack of pride, or from defeat, or from anything like that. I tended to think that maybe, just maybe… he was finally realizing we were right.
“She’ll cook for you,” I said, leaning in and letting my voice go low. “She’ll clean for you…”
“To hell with that!” Rae sneered. “He can clean up after himself!”
“She’ll help you read the medicine bottles, that’s for sure,” I said with a laugh. “No more taking multivitamins in place of your blood pressure pills.”
My uncle chuckled gruffly. He’d done that and even worse, especially during the last couple of years when his eyesight was all but gone. The macular degeneration that rendered him legally blind absolutely sucked, and even worse it was probably hereditary. I hadn’t looked yet, but mostly because I was afraid to.
“But best of all she loves you,” I said, giving my uncle’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “God knows why, but I wouldn’t look that big of a gift horse in the mouth, if you know what I’m saying. Hell, maybe she’s as blind as you are.”
Rae’s lip curled in protest, but she bit back whatever she might’ve been about to say. The truth was, she really did love my uncle. Though they were constantly butting heads, they were somehow good together. Maybe because they were so damned alike.
I wondered if I’d have someone like her at his age, to look out for me in case I went blind. To pull me out of crashing in the back room of a garage for far too many years, when I’d apparently become immune to the scent of motor oil.
“Alright, maybe I’ll give it a few days,” my grand-uncle finally grumbled. He stared at his girlfriend and pointed. “Don’t get too excited, though. I’m sure as shit not leaving the toilet seat down or anything.”
They hugged in a rare show of affection, at least in front of me. And as I sat there firing my disgusting, pseudo banana-flavored Moon Pie into the break room’s garbage, one thing and one thing only came to mind:
Serena.
Twenty-Seven
JACOB
I pushed the pencil away, slumping my head to the table. It was the third time I’d tried to understand the workbook’s pages. It was the third time I’d failed.
Imaginary numbers aren’t real anyway.
It was a stupid joke, from an overly-awkward kid trying to show me the way. But I couldn’t complain. He’d met me a half dozen times in the library so far, and tutored me for free.
So much for that.
The whole thing was stupid, when you boiled it down. Calculus. For a criminal justice degree? It made about as much sense as a landscaper trying to do logarithms, or learn derivatives while daydreaming about a thousand other things.
Serena.
By now she was more than just a pleasant distraction, she was all I could think about. It was a double-edged sword, because I loved thinking about her! On the flip side however, she really took away from understanding the chain rule.
“Look,” Alex or Alan or Alphonse said. No matter how many times he told me, I never could nail his name. “You’re using this formula to find the derivative of a composition of functions.”
I tried focusing on the page again, on the ‘f’s and ‘g’s and ‘x’s scribbled across it. They might as well have been Egyptian hieroglyphics.
“And remember, many of these functions are nested. They’re actually the compositions of two or more basic functions.”
My eyes fluttered closed automatically. Immediately I saw Serena’s smiling face. That sexy, demure expression, as she winked at me over her shoulder.
“Jacob?”
I squeezed my eyes tight for a moment and tried again. This time I saw lawns. Flowerbeds. Mulch.
“Go on. Take the pencil again and try it.”
Serena was there now, up against the tree in her yard, surrounded by piles of grass-clippings. She tilted her chin to the sky, exposing her long, beautiful neck…
“Dude, I’m sorry.”
This time I closed the workbook and pushed back in my chair. Calculus wasn’t my thing — never would be. But with the added distraction of the glorious events of the past couple of days—
“Maybe it’s me,” my classmate said. “I mean it’s one thing to understand this stuff, but it’s another to try and show someone.”
“No man,” I consoled him. “It’s not you.”
“I mean I’ve never taught anyone before. Maybe I just suck at it.”
“What are you studying to be?”
“A math teacher.”
I grimaced. Then laughed.
“Alex?”
“Alec,” he corrected me.
“Listen, trust me it’s definitely not you,” I said. “For one, I have a mental block on this stuff. I’m in my senior year with a three-point-five and I’ve been putting this requirement off the whole time. I knew I’d suck at it. So don’t blame yourself.”
My words seemed to cheer him up a bit. He tapped his pencil on the worn library table a few times.
“And two, I’ve been pretty distracted lately,” I admitted.
“Work stuff?”
“Nah.”
He nodded glumly. “Family then. I get it.”
“No,” I said, thinking. “That’s not it either.”
“Ah… a girl.”
A measure of silence followed as I considered his words. No, I thought to myself. Definitely not a girl.
