PART TWO – The Townhouse

   When we hit the front door, I asked how many felons had been over while I was gone. The starting left wing raised her hand, and said he had only been on probation before, but he was off now. I looked at him, and said see what I was talking about. The place was destroyed. Dirty dishes left wherever they had been last used. Empty take out food containers dropped. Thank god I have my own room. I showed him all three rooms, they never lock them and don't care. I saved the best for last, the one that looked like it had been bombed. There was, in fact, a used prophylactic visible when I studied around and pointed it out. He just shook his head.

   My room mates took turns asking me if I had fun, and exchanged sly smiles. They decided I was in a better mood, because I hadn't gone off about the condition the townhouse was in. I saved my room for last, and let him marvel at it. Not a thing anywhere. Bed neatly made. Any school book I ever bought, I simply kept so I would have my own little reference library building up. I'm not majoring in basket weaving, you know. A bed. A closet with shelves. A big study carol style desk to work at, and the wooden book case. I told him we'd get him an identical matching desk, there were more in the basement for which I had the keys.

   We all watched a movie together before bed, and one of them said it was official, so what did he like on his pizza. When I smiled and said "ha ha ha", two of them shared a high five, happy. Apparently I was already slightly less of an insufferable cunt, I suppose. I saved the bathroom for last, and took him in for a nice, long hot shower. Together. I ran a hot bath, all hottest water only, before we got in the shower. That way, after the long shower, we could have a bath finally cooled down to just get in for a soak together. I enjoyed my shower, and I mean immensely. I got pampered. I got my hair washed, then moisturized, then eventually rinsed out and worked. He brushed it back for me, before following any suggestions I made. I got soaped up, a loofah used on me from head to toe, then the soap rubbed all over. Rinsed with the hand sprayer. Then moisturized and rubbed in and rinsed off again. I didn't have to do a thing but stand there and occasionally lift a foot to hand him.

   If any ladies out there don't get this treatment, every night? I just don't know what to tell you. Keep doing whatever the hell it is you're doing, then wonder why you aren't getting these results I'm enjoying. By the time I got into the tub, I couldn't at first talk him in. I got my hair brushed back again. Then a neck and shoulder rub, and a little leg and foot rub, too. He even put a couple fingers of brandy in my hand, so I could enjoy it all. I laid there with eyes half closed to slits of pure pleasure. I finally got him in with me, and enjoyed seeing the look on his face when I turned the jets on. I know, I'm spoiled. Originally intended for high priced rich kids, oversize tubs with whirlpool jets were the thing. As were walk in showers with room for two to move around in, without wiping the walls with your butt every time you bent over and turned around.

   By the time the university acquired a portion of the Village for starting athletes, whirlpool tubs were considered good for athletes. Before we hit the shower I threw every stitch of his clothing into the washer, so by the time we were headed for bed I just tossed them in the dryer. I smiled to myself. I now had him naked in my room, and naked in my bed. He wasn't going anywhere until I brought him his clothes, and I intended to tease him he had to put out to get them. He laid me down on the bed face down, and I got a back rub before we finally drifted off to sleep. I had already locked my door, there was no way I was getting interrupted.

   The next morning, the coast was clear. Off season with no duties? Those three will stay up too late and sleep in the next morning. I sneaked out in my robe and slippers, and got the switches in with a blanket around them. I reminded him he had no clothes, so he was essentially trapped in my room. And he had to use the bathroom naked, so best to hurry there and back, if he didn't want caught.

   This gave me the opportunity to make him breakfast quick. Good lord, I was lucky to find clean plates and glasses. I brought him a tray for our breakfast in bed. The washer and dryer have weird electronic controls, and if you don't know what you're doing, you can't open the doors. It prevents little kids from getting in or something. Apparently, little kids getting into washers and dryers, and somehow turning them on and washing and drying themselves to death? Must be a thing. He had my short, silky, girly robe if he had to use the bathroom and hurry back to my room. I smiled as I kept refusing to get his clothes out of the dryer, and told him he had to spend time with me in bed, until I allowed him to get away. How that was the nature of being my property, to do with as I pleased.

   When I finally "gave in" I got him his clothes finally, so we could join the others downstairs. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, and pointed and smiled. Some time begging and thanking me was as fun as ever and never seemed like it would get old. I could in no way pass up "threatening" him with the long thin switch, and giving it the occasional swish for fun. I even got into it, and marched around a little, giving him a little story time show. Like I said, I know I hit this one out of the park.

   My one month allotment to lure him into staying with me, turned out to be more like a week, and that was with him there every night anyways. Guy had two of those big, dark green military rucksack things, that all his clothes and stuff fit into. One was clothes and blanket and towels and stuff, the other was small belongings. His books and notebooks and papers, along with the laptop and its related accessories. His only big furniture was a military footlocker. We moved a desk up and wiped it off out of storage in the basement. His books and laptop and stuff like that all fit on it, and we lined it up touching mine. His two military "mail bags" as I call those things, fit under his desk. I relented and smiled and allowed his footlocker to be a sort of corner coffee table thing.

   Imagine a luxury townhouse bedroom. Now imagine a dark green military footlocker, as the coffee table. Yeah, as if it goes with the decor. But I want him here. This footlocker, is one of his favorite things. So, now I have a military footlocker in my nice bedroom. I successfully convinced him, that a "retro corner coffee table" was actually a thing. Retro, is a thing with decor. I've never heard of a corner coffee table. But in the far corner, is where it's least noticeable. I can see this from a reverse point of view though. If a woman suddenly camped into a man's apartment? The man is expected to certainly smile, and allow the "ceramic duck collection" in a display cabinet, so… whatever.

   In addition to understanding it all from the guy's point of view, for obvious reasons. There is also the idea in my head, that who in the hell is ever in my room anyways? I keep my door locked. I'm in here, if I can live with it? Fine. He's in here now too. He's more than fine with his beat up footlocker. The interior design police are not coming in to do a centerfold on my college apartment. The damned thing is growing on me, however. I squatted and straddled it one night and he sat behind me doing the same thing, then took me from behind on it. Rough, like over the hood of my car. Then it happened twice more. Strangely, I've now stopped having fantasies of how it meets its demise and what cover story would be most believable. I honestly think one more hard ride from behind on it, and I'm giving it a somewhat affectionate name. The Green Weenie is popping into my head as a possible nickname for it, and I can't shake it.

   According to the girls, I'm by reputation supposed to be an insufferable cunt. Tolerating this thing and now growing mildly fond of it, in some strange way, is perhaps proof that the girls were right. Having a steady boyfriend I am into and getting railed on the regular, is going to make me more live-with-able.

   I'm not sure that telling him we would have our first "girl's shower room" encounter hurried his decision to move in, but I'm not sure it hurt either. I was really only waiting for his little tookus to heal up, but he didn't know that. I made good on my promise.

   I'm well known for being as I said previously, the adult on the team. Especially in the off season, when I often practice by myself. I let him sit and watch, while I worked up a good two hour sweat practicing my ball handling, and running, and power kicking for accuracy off of a wall and catching the ball accurately on the rebound. I made sure I was pouring with sweat when I took him into the locker room, and tied him face up to the bench running down the row of lockers. Smiling at him, I never said a word other than threatening him he wasn't allowed to utter a word, move, or make a sound.

    Dripping with sweat, I rode on top and took my time. I stopped before he finished, for that sweet torture. I turned around, and put my holes over his face for getting them both serviced, while I teased a long blowjob that went nowhere except to heighten anticipation. When I was done and he had tasted sweat off of nearly every part of my body, I retied his hands in front of him, and led him into the girls shower room. Tugging him along was a fun chore. How many guys get to see the inside of the girls locker room and showers, let alone get used in them, I tell you.

   I made good on my helpless promise. I tossed the rope his hands were tied to up and over the heavy pipe, and over to my shower, where I hitched it to a pipe. I could release it with a tug, but it wouldn't come loose until I did. Farm girl trick. I made sure my shower show was epic. I pranced and strutted around, and teased in any way I could before I even turned the water on. I trained two adjacent shower heads onto me, and made it last. Soaping up show, rubbing the soap around show, the works. Rinsing off, and more of a show afterwards. More prancing and strutting after.

   By the time I approached him, he could barely stand it. I let him watch me roll my favorite snapping towel up, and get it just so. Rolling the elastic hair bands onto it to make it permanent. I enjoyed testing it, to show him the noise and crack I could develop. I trained two shower heads on him of warm water, and took to stalking around him, stopping to take practice shots near him to frighten him as long as I wanted. In no hurry, I finally began taking towel snaps on whatever part of his body I felt like. I did concentrate on his butt though. By the time I was "done" I had a beautiful collection of raised red welts on his butt, hips, and thighs as well.

   That was when I started laughing, and got serious. I concentrated on one cheek at a time, until I got the squealing I wanted. Then the tears. The sobbing followed. Then I really went to work. Fast shots, non stop, alternating from one cheek to the other. With his wrists tied above him, and his ankles tied down below, he was helpless. The ending was relentless, and I moved him into the screaming and begging that turned me on so badly. When I was finally done, I had him washed and rinsed and moisturized like me, before the sobbing had even subsided.

   The towel snaps, and his sobs and cries all echoed in the shower room as long as it pleased me to hear it, and it wasn't a quick procedure, believe me. I drew this out to enjoy it to the fullest extent I could. Which was of course as long as I felt like.

   When I had him clean afterwards and still sobbing, I threw extra towels down under the double streams of water and loosened his hitching rope. I laid him down on his back, and first once again presented both my holes for servicing, while he again got a long teasing blowjob that went nowhere. By the time I turned around to ride him properly, he was begging me to come, and I just smiled and shoved my wet washrag into his mouth after rolling it up. I teased and stopped and started back up, demonstrating my horse riding ability growing up on a farm, and what it provided for his pleasure.

   By the time I was finally done, he was screaming into the washrag for release, and after stopping several times, I suddenly sped up and gave it to him. I took the rag out and turned back around again, and had him "clean up his mess", and I mean thoroughly. I wiped it on his face shamelessly, before, during, and after. By the time we rinsed off, gathered our stuff up and I led him back out to my locker, he had the biggest smile I think any guy ever sported.

   I dried him, then finally untied him and had him dry me. Head to toe, under my directions. By the time we were back at my locker, I dressed him, then had him dress me… slowly. His fear of getting caught, in such an embarrassing and humiliating condition no doubt added to his excitement level. I waited through far too many of these trysts, before admitting it was actually a secure bit of fun.

   He didn't know I was locking doors behind us. A person sees the person with keys unlocking doors. Normally, if you don't see the person doing something, and the door is just closing behind them? The door is now (and still) unlocked. He had no way of knowing, that a slight twist while retracting the key, was in fact re locking it. Nor did he know until I told him that all the campus security knows me and knows my car, that they know it to be often enough parked there at odd hours. My car has a staff parking sticker, a gift from the coach so I can park anywhere. The campus security is also all male, and not one woman among them. Not only do they know me, my car and don't question its presence? They wouldn't dare enter the girl's locker room let alone the showers. One security guy even said when they drive rounds? My car late at the practice field means they know there's no one fooling around and they can drive off without checking the doors are locked.

   God, the naughty fun I've had with him there though.

   A little over four weeks into his staying, we had developed a few things by then for us and our sexual hobby. We're always on the lookout for a new "scenario", that provides the excuse for him to get "punished". I mean, we both know it's a made up excuse. But still, it has to be at least slightly believable. Or else we both end up laughing and it gets ridiculous and it somehow ruins it. Example. The garbage going out, worked. The spots on the dishes? Didn't work. How this all works or doesn't work is beyond us, but somehow we both know when or when not.

   Another thing was that after his first weekend camping, I had to find an appropriate level of "abuse". Remember, the model for it is that it's based on a sort of 1910 era child abuse scenario kind of affair, just played out with two adults playing those acting roles. I need to be able to make marks, I need to be able to make him at different times squirm, squeal, or even tear up or on occasion cry. This isn't as easy as it would sound until you have some experience under your belt. Pun not intended, but there it is anyways.

   The first weekend? His bum actually got damaged. Which was okay, but we can't have that constantly. We're adults and that won't work when classes are back in. Neither of us want to wait 15 weeks between happenings. There are only 52 weeks in a year, and every 15 weeks you soon hit 45 weeks and you have only gotten three of them in. Toss in a fourth, and we're going to only have four a year? Not acceptable. He only got his original "birthday taps" twice a year. I can't very well be expected to replace it with four times a year and call it a day. Quarterly sessions, to replace bi-annual sessions? Uh, sure.

   Criteria. I need to make marks, I need to get the required effect in. Remember, this is a substitute for real "abuse". The long, thin switch was a great find here in this respect. It makes a great "swish", and it makes a real burn and sting. It makes real marks too, when used effectively. Wicked looking surface marks, but without the tissue damage underneath. The thick, hard things under a "you won't sit down for a week" session, don't happen with the thin switch. Doling out some long medium thickness switch use, and even the occasional long thick switch abuse, works.

   Also, I have to be able to get tears and real pain. Then there's the matter, of my hand. Finding out that my hand, after a marked up butt, is being all it can be? Was a highly desirable scenario to both of us. The over the knee position really is the most intimate of them all. Then, my bare hand swats actually having temporary super powers, is far too perfect a thing. The fact that a hand session after a marked up butt, changes nothing damage wise, while still providing real tears and sobbing? Priceless.

   Knowing how and with what to accomplish all this, while avoiding the actual structural tissue damage, is key. Now, just toss in that I have to be on the lookout for new and believable scenarios. This sexual hobby, if you want to call it that, requires creativity and imagination. You can't simply do the garbage taken out properly thing every week on Tuesday night, and call it a day. That's structurally no different than a vanilla couple's boring "Thursday is boink night" schedule. Five or ten years into "it's Thursday, we have to boink" is a recipe for disaster.

   When I walk into just the right scenario though, it's great. Remember, my three room mates? Are actual turbo-whores, like many college girls. Sorry to be blunt, but who's kidding who. The fact I can refer to them as lazy whore number X, in front of them? Should tell you something. Lazy whore number three? Actually did sleep with my pre-med boyfriend, an actual sport-fucking. It was an actual huge issue. My instructions to him, about all this? Is real. Hello, perfect scenario.

   Maybe four, maybe six weeks into him being there, I didn't keep track on the calendar. I'm coming home, and I pause at the living room window. What do I see. He's on the couch, nose buried in some computer tome thicker than the complete bible. He's oblivious. I'm fucking standing there at the window, and I see lazy whore number three, wearing panties and a T shirt that barely covers them. She's bending over, picking up things like empty pizza boxes in the living room. The T shirt barely hides the panties when she stands up straight and keeps her ankles together. She's got her ankles separated and is bending over, "cleaning".

   I'm about to go in and strangle her. I stand there rooted to the spot, like a person watching a train wreck almost happen. She has her big Bluetooth headphones on, dancing around the living room. Giving her best panties show she possibly could, not to mention the leg show. He's actually in space cadet mode, into his huge computer manual. In reality, she might as well be wearing a snowsuit, for all the good it's doing her. This is the same girl, that sport-fucked my pre-med boyfriend before. I already gave her the one on one girl talk about just this sort of shit.

   This is bad enough, but… this lazy whore chooses right now and today, after a year of never once, to start picking up empty pizza boxes and empty cans? Uh huh. In panties and too short of a T shirt to boot? Uh uh. Either one would be plausible, but together? Hell no. Girl talk number two, is going from a stern warning and a finger in the face, to getting bounced off of a few walls and bodily rag dolled around the apartment. I'll be nice and do it when the other two lazy whores are there. Both so I don't kill her? And, those two can benefit greatly from the example. They will surely gossip and joke about it. That? Is my property sitting on the couch. For an insufferable cunt, I'm amazingly tolerant. Well, I think anyways. Also, there's the team, the coach, the championship, etc.

   I watched this shit show for about a minute, to ascertain if he's sneaking little peeks over his manual. Wow. My panties got wet. He wasn't. His face is buried in the goddamn computer bible, looking down and into it. I just shook my head and snapped a few cell pictures with the flash off, then a nice video. Then? I busted in as if nothing was going on. She can't hear and won't know until she sees me, with the damned Bluetooth headphones on. I plopped down next to him on the couch. He notices me and starts kissing me hello and talking to me, and doing what he always does. Staring at my body and grinning like an idiot. Which I like, by the way.

   She finally notices me, and simply oozes and melts away into the ether. Hoping she got away with this. I'll let her think she got away with it for now, then hammer her later. Like I said, in front of and for the benefit also of, the other two. I know that those three are all going out, and will be gone for long hours. Leaving me and him alone. Hello, scenario from hell, like a gift from heaven. I am just dying for the chance to have a great scenario that would call for a day after, over the knee, repeat of the campsite over the knee experience. Oh god, I'm so wet just thinking about it. Everything like the campsite, save for the hard butt-pads tissue damage.

   I already have my 1910 switching down pat. The lecture. The speeches. The I'm gonna really give it to you… everything. I've been dying to come up with a real reason to take him down to the basement. It will be my version, of down to the barn for a serious talking to. Summer. Athletes all going out for the weekend. Deserted. Bare room in the basement. Privacy and soundproof. We already tested it. We both tried screaming to see if we can hear the other, then switched places. We both agreed, it's perfect.

   I can do loud music and gagged in the bedroom. I don't need the gag in the basement. I have the only key to our basement to the big townhouse, too. When the loud music, gagged, in the locked bedroom isn't "enough"… he gets threatened with the basement. Then taken there. Fucking perfect. Pun not intended, but there it is again.

   "Hun?"

   "Yes?"

   "We're not going out, right?"

   He smiled.

   "We usually stay in."

   "Great. Do me a favor, I need to talk to you about something important. Will you please report to me, when these three get scarce?"

   "Sure."

   "Thanks… I'm gonna go to the room. Go on, keep your nose buried in your manual. I don't wanna interrupt you. We have all night when they're gone."

   "Okay!"

   He doesn't suspect, and he's cheerful. Too perfect, when I jump him about it. More than perfect, even. My pictures and long video? Will actually give him pause. We've talked about it. We decided there's a haunted house aspect to it all. You know it's not real, but you get scared anyways. If the scenario is just right. Like when he admitted that he knew my one threatening speech was fake, because I winked at him a couple times first. But he readily admitted later, that his tummy did butterflies, when I made it good and talked about "taking my wink" back.

   I might even get some real fear out of him, with the pics and video. I'm definitely going to get real marks, and definitely going to get real tears, as well. My bonus, is that I'm not entirely going to be acting. I'm actually mad, and my anger though it is in reality entirely directed at her? It will be easy to conjure some up for his fun show.

   Like any decent to actually great performance, though? Its based on a tried and true, very basic formula. The person in charge, tells the child to not do X. They know not to do X. So when caught doing X? They are not only doing X, they are defying you. The only other formula I can see, is the "because I can" scenario. Which is really thin. At least to me, and to him as well. We laughed at it.

   We both thought elaborate role playing would be too much giggling on both our parts. People do the homeowner catches the female thief in the act? Well, she has the choice of getting the cops called, or… submitting to summary punishment meted out by the rightfully angry homeowner, who creepily presses his advantage. Sexually. We both laughed our asses off at that one. Neither one of us could play it straight, we were sure. The secret agent caught, and needs tortured to give up information X? Urp. We might as well dress up in superhero and super villain costumes, as try that one.

   No, there's a reason the tried and true, misbehavior meets 1910 child abuse discipline, simply works. Even though you wouldn't ever actually do it? You can still understand it. Abusing someone physically, when they defy you and you know you actually can? That's a real urge. My side benefit to this one, I am sure? Is that afterwards, when we giggle about it in the bathtub a week later? I can follow up the conversation and leave a tiny question mark in his head. If this is what I'm capable of actually doing to you physically, for catching you in fun? Imagine if you ever did it, what I'm capable of.

   I wanna see if I can get that real shiver going, even if replaced by a nervous laughter immediately after. I bet I can. And, I'll go you one better. My relationship, our relationship? Is the better for it. There should actually be real consequences for cheating. There used to be. We removed them, primarily for women in today's so called modern world. Women that were caught cheating? Used to get punished. Now? Not only do they not get punished, they can get cash and prizes for divorcing after getting caught. They can even flaunt it, and still get the cash and prizes. Are we idiots? We truly are, I think.

   No, the Domestic Discipline fans that practice it, naturally have the highest percentage performing the somewhat traditional wife over the husband's knee scenario. The couples claim it makes actual cheating, less of a possibility. When you stop and think about it, why should a woman be allowed to brow beat her man, belittle him and ruin the relationship with a smirk on her face, and risk nothing except rewards. And we wonder why our modern relationships are going more to shit every year, quicker to shit every year. Gee. I wonder what we changed.

   Look at actual 1910 child abuse discipline. Wow. Children didn't grow up telling any adult authority figure, taunting them. Nyah nyah, you're not allowed to touch me, so blow it out your ass. Wow, and we sit back and wonder why so many children are dealing drugs and shooting people over anything they feel like. These crimes were once reserved for only adults, and way fewer of them as well.

   You know, deep in your heart of hearts, that I'm right. The fact that me and him play the less traditional, mommy and misbehaving boy scenario? The role reversal of the wife over the husbands knee, is immaterial. Our relationship is the better for it. No matter who goes over who's knee, you're cutting the risk of cheating somewhat in half. Doesn't matter which half, its better statistics by definition. Also, no matter which way it goes, there's more time and effort and enjoyment and hobby put into the sexual relationship, which again can't be a bad thing. Should my boyfriend be out at the bars all weekend with the other boys, a somewhat normal thing? Or, is it a bad thing that we can't wait for the others to go out, and we get alone time for this.

   Modern so called experts are such hypocrites, really. You always have this self righteous single female grade school teacher with their ever so snotty "but violence is always wrong" attitude. We need to talk things out, not hit people. Gee, really teach? Been observing you assholes implementing this more and more now for two decades. Country's going to shit more and more every passing year. Ha. Let many of those same self righteous and smug female grade school teachers… suddenly come home early from work, and catch hubby in flagrante dilectieu, red handed… with the other grade school female teacher, her friend that works in the class right across the hall. In her own towel and bathrobe, in her own house.

   Bitch will be the first one throwing vases at heads, usually. Yeah. We're gonna sit down and talk that one out. Tell me another one.

   So, I was up in our bedroom, waiting on my boyfriend to come up and join me, when those three had finally gone out for the night. He would lock the door, check the windows, and come up for some fun time. I went and slid my favorite switch, the long thin one, under the covers. And added two pieces of rope as well. I could grab them in a flash. I put a couple bandannas in my little hidden cache as well. It will make absolutely no sense whatsoever to you right now, that I also hid a pair of clean socks matching the ones I was presently wearing under there as well. It will become apparent later, just learn to trust me, would you? Wow, I actually "need" a couple pairs of handcuffs, I realized. So much handier and quicker than rope. Rope is more intimate somehow, maybe. It takes more time, more ritual. More deliberation, more willing of a victim to sit for it. Handcuffs would be a delight to click on sometimes, though. Gotcha. This? Was one such time.

   I'm practically humming to myself with glee, waiting to spring my scenario.

   I was all smiles and innocence when he came up and into the bedroom. He asked cheerfully if he could lock it? I smiled and shook my head yes.

   "Definitely, lover. I have plans for you."

   "Ooh. I like the sound of that."

   "Do you, huh? Let's just see how much you like the sounds you're hearing yourself making in a little bit then, hmm?"

   "Yum…"

   He came to me. I rolled around with him on the bed for a little while. He would see without asking, going by my body language. Did she want a bent over hard quickie? Or, maybe she was more in the mood for getting on top and shaking her finger at me and lecturing me. It wouldn't kill the mood for him to ask me like a stock quote, but I'm "officially" dominant sexually, and I demand to be in charge in the bedroom. He knows it, and he admits he likes it. As a nod to this known situation? Whatever I want, I'll just tell him, or even start to do it.

   I smiled and held up a chunk of rope. Dangling it, and beckoning him with it. He smiled, I was asserting my rights over his body. The one that explicitly belonged to me, and we both knew it. I said it sweetly enough, but still an order, smiling.

   "Strip."

   He did.

   I beckoned him with my finger and my word.

   "Come."

   He came over smiling. I kissed him, and gently pushed him down, and firmly if gently rolled him over face down on the bed. I don't need to do anything but suggest, and he does what I want. My light touch, will make him move how and where I want. I ran my hand down his arm, and rested it on his wrist. My hand closed around the wrist. I heard him make a little "mmm" sound, and I didn't have to fight him. He pushed both of his wrists behind his back for me the instant he felt a tug on one.

   I was still all smiles and sweetness.

   "Oh yeah, give me those hands, little boy…"

   I wound rope around his wrists tightly. Maybe a little tighter than usual. I usually wind it around the wrists several times, not particularly tight. Its the last couple winds around between the wrists that cinches it in, and turns it into rope handcuffs. Its all in those last few winds. Do I desire snug, or… uncomfortably tight. I have a bowl full of clean, washed wristbands. I grab two any time I tie him up. I grabbed two more, and tied his ankles together tight. I'm a starting athlete for a big university, I'm sure we all have a container of these in our rooms. Camping? Rope marks and bruises are cute. Its my mark on him. These things are a necessary evil to keep him from getting looked at and stared at and teased. Hell, it protects me that way too.

   Its another reason I need handcuffs. Handcuff bruises are a lot more subtle, if you don't over tighten them. Even at that point, the sweatbands will prevent so much as even that. Vanilla couples won't point and giggle. Little double lines at the edge of the wrist, and the person noticing? Likely already knows what they are. Pity we have to hide. I smiled camping, when I marked his wrists up, and his ass. He liked looking at it all the next morning, marveling at it. He's embarrassed to go out in public like that, but not in front of me for the weekend. I kissed his forehead and smiled. I asked if the other girl didn't mark him up at all, and she hadn't. I smiled and told him she didn't like him enough to put her mark on him then.

   Now laying helpless in front of me, alone in a tightly locked room within a tightly locked townhouse, I had my willing victim. He's trembling with anticipation for me to have some fun with him. Not yet.

   "So. Have you been behaving yourself, and being good for me."

   He said he had.

   "Do you follow my rules, because you have to? Or because you want to, because you love me."

   He said he wanted to be good, that he loved me. I'm glad he's face down. I blush when I hear it, every single time. I don't need him tied up to hear it, either. Hugging when we're in the middle of making breakfast in front of the others, I hear it just as easily. They roll their eyes and make gagging sounds and motions. We both smile, and he doesn't seem embarrassed. What's gone so terribly wrong with our society, that it's become something to be ashamed of, to admit you have real feelings for the person everyone knows you're fucking. Why do other girls complain its become hard to get a guy to admit he loves you or has feelings for you. Why do we need Retards Monthly articles on this issue. How to get your man to admit he loves you, and say it. 12 reasons why you should wait to admit you love him, and here they are.

   Who writes this shit? Who reads this shit? Who would want to write this shit, who in the hell would want to read this shit? Well, I don't call all women's magazines… Retards Monthly as just a joke. Only retards would write such drivel, and only retards would buy it and read it. Only big retards would like it, and keep buying it. Only bigger retards would think they were providing some kind of service to the readers. We are all ruining society, one article at a time. Making the Retards Monthly magazines rich, and affording the writers and publishers and editors good livings.

   Reading this, you can't tell me there's something wrong with us, that we're crazy for having fun with each other how we see fit as willing, consenting adults in private. Read those retard articles, that's what crazy looks like. I don't expect you to do what we do. I'm sexually dominant, and I need a willing victim to ask me for it. What's your excuse for not freely admitting you love each other, and that's why you're fucking. Why would you even want to fuck without feelings for each other. Oh, its boring, to be sweet and to care. Does our relationship sound boring to you? It's the opposite of boring, and we can't wait to spend hours together alone. Given any chance we take it greedily.

   I slid the long thin willow switch out from under the covers. It had been laying right next to him the whole time. I tapped him with it gently.

   "So. You want to be behave, because you love me."

   He admitted it.

   "Are you sure?"

   He was sure.

   "Promise me. Swear it. I like hearing it, and you want to please me, right? Go on…"

   I blushed hearing the gush of promises that followed.

   "Enough."

   He quit.

   "So. You admit you want corrected, when you misbehave?"

   He did.

   "You understand, that its for your own good, to behave. That if I didn't love you, I wouldn't care enough to make sure that you behave. And correct you, when you deserve it. Explain it to me, go on."

   I blushed so bad, hearing it.

   "That's enough. Zip your little twat lick-er."

   He instantly got silent.

   "Now. If you misbehave, you get corrected. I'm going to give you a chance, to tell me about anything you might have done recently. Have you?"

   He swore he hadn't.

   "Really. I'm going to ask you a second time. Tell me if you misbehaved, no matter what it is. I promise you, I'll forgive you. After I punish you."

   He promised again, and went on a bit.

   "It should be obvious to you, by the tone of my voice. It should be easy to see that there's something. And that I know about it. Just admit it. If you refuse to tell me, that's lying. That's defying me. That's sneaking. Tell me, and you get punished and then forgiven and we kiss and make up. You keep going like this? You're getting punished. Then? You're getting that punishment all over again, from the start. For lying to my face. For sneaking and trying to hide it? That's going to get you punished again. Defying me? Well, that gets you punished one more time. In fact? I'm losing count. How many times I have to repeat the punishment. So? No counting how many times we repeat it. We'll repeat it as many times as I feel its necessary. Don't speak yet."

   I tapped him gently with my favorite switch.

   "Last chance. Tell me about it. Or I promise you… I'm going to make what happened to you in the woods? A happy memory. I'm politely suggesting, that you tell me now. You know not to dare me. Why? You don't dare me, I dare you. Speak!"

   He claimed he didn't do anything wrong.

   "This is your last chance. You better admit it, and get it over with. Don't make it any worse, it's bad enough the way it is."

   He stuck with his story.

   "Fine. Deal's over. I gave you how many chances. No more talking."

   I put my phone under his face.

   "I'm very disappointed in you. I leave, to go pick up some food. So I can make it for you. Its my way of being nice to you. And this is what's going on when I'm out trying to be nice to you…"

   I showed him the picture. I swiped it, and showed him the others. Then, I held his face there, while he watched the video. I replayed it several times.

   "Shut up. This is what's going on behind my back. Lying to my face. Sneaking around. Defying me. This is just what I caught going on! I can imagine what else goes on! No, don't open your mouth, I don't wanna hear it. Shut up."

   I waited for dramatic purposes. I drew out the suspense. Where's my golden whip award, for my efforts. I think this is the performance of my career. I'm getting stammering, until told to shut up. Still getting looks of amazement, and more and more nervousness.

   "Shh, don't speak. I want to know, how long this has been going on. Right now. Days? Or weeks."

   He didn't know.

   "You don't know, huh. Sounds like you just won't tell me. We went over just this sort of thing, on night one. I told you what would happen. No, shut up. I'm talking. Don't interrupt me, don't try to talk over me. I'm not buying it anyways. Not when I have the proof, right in front of me. So shut up, and keep it shut. I'm deciding how bad this is going to go for you. Not a sound."

   I left him laying on the bed, helpless and face down like that, and got up. Walked around. I stepped out of my jogging shoes, and took my socks off. I undid my jeans, and slid them off and tossed them aside. In my panties and my T shirt, I got back on the bed, and sat in front of him. My back up against the pillows. I put my feet on his shoulders, and slid him down the bed, until he was bent over the foot of it, onto his knees before I stopped. I have long, muscular legs, and he loves staring at them. I dropped my socks that I was still holding.

   "There we go. This is how I see you like girls to look for you, right? T shirt and panties. Get a good look. If I want you to enjoy looking at me, the pictures and the video tell me, this is what you like, huh? Get a really good look. Oh, wait. I forgot. I'm supposed to be dancing around, wiggling like a little slut. I forgot. Excuse me… allow me to do it right."

   I wiggled around.

   "Shut the fuck up, and don't you dare open your mouth until I tell you. This, is what you like, right? Go on. Watch. You like watching. I know that now. Get a good, long, look. So you can remember it."

   I waited, and I drew it out. I don't know jack shit about acting. Never wanted to be in the school plays, I wanted to play wiffle-ball. Drama and suspense though, were coming easily now. Draw it out. I finally lifted his chin up with my foot.

   "Look at me, and don't speak until you're told to. I ask you a question? I get a quick answer until told otherwise, got it? Better watch those manners, too. For all the good it's going to do you, though. Look mommy in my eyes."

   "Now then. What are the rules. What's one of the most important rules. There's only two of them. What's one of them."

   "Don't tell. Its a secret."

   "Yeah. You don't have a problem with that one, do you. No, that one gets you what you want. What's the other big one. You tell me."

   "No cheating."

   "Yeah. That's the one you obviously don't understand. You tell me what cheating is. Five words or less. Go."

   "Fucking someone else."

   "So. You know what cheating is. So, what's this shit I'm seeing pictures of, and I just love watching the little movie…"

   I swiped back and forth on the pictures, stopping to watch the movie. Laughing, shaking my head.

   "The fuck do you think this is here. Do you think this is cheating? Yes or no."

   Stammering.

   "I asked once. Now I'm asking twice. Is… this… cheating. Speak!"

   More stammering, and trying to explain, and not being able to.

   "I don't repeat myself several times. You're going to get lots more for that, too. Don't make that any worse, when you've got so many other problems right now. Is this cheating, yes or no."

   He couldn't decide.

   "Eyes up here. You like looking, and I'm wearing the outfit that you clearly like looking at, so I shouldn't have the slightest problem holding your attention. I want your undivided attention, and you better give it to me. Eyes on mine. Yes or no don't get it, huh? Give me a short answer, if this is cheating or not. It better be very short, sweet, and to the point. Very few words. Go."

   He didn't fuck her.

   "Oh. So, as long as your cock doesn't fall into her twat, it's not cheating, huh? Or is it only actually cheating, if you get caught. I need a video of your cock in her twat, is that it? What happens if you cheat? You tell me. Now."

   "You'll… hurt me. Bad. Then get rid of me."

   "That's right. That's why I told you to remember me, dressed like you like to see, wiggling around for you just how you like to see. I meant it. Get a good look, and enjoy it. So you have a memory of me."

   I wiggled the phone at him.

   "The fuck is this shit. Is it cheating? No. But this shit? This, is what comes right before it! Isn't it? Is this, or is this not, exactly what goes on, right before the cock accidentally falls into some whore's twat. Yes or no."

   He admitted it was.

   "So. You were just about to start fucking her."

   He said he wasn't.

   "Oh, then you already did."

   He again said no.

   "Which one is it? Pick one. It's either what goes on just before you fuck the tramp, or you already fucked her. Pick one! There's no other choice!"

   He stammered and swore it wasn't either one.

   "All right. I'm going to give you enough rope to hang yourself. Go ahead. Open your mouth, and try to explain this to me. Go on. You're just digging a deeper hole. I can't wait to hear this pathetic shit. I dare you."

   He didn't notice her, he was busy studying in his manual.

   "You didn't see. A lazy whore, who won't pick up shit, ever. Going on a sudden cleaning spree. Dancing half naked around the room, bending over in front of you. Leg show. Pantie show. Do you hear yourself, with this lame ass story you're selling me? Do you? How fucking pathetic does this sound. Or, do you think I'm that stupid? Pick one. You're that pathetic, or you think I'm that stupid. Don't you dare make me ask you again, I swear to god. Speak!"

   He picked pathetic.

   "I'm so pissed right now, I can't believe this shit. And you expect me to believe, that you didn't notice. I got another video on here. You're fighting. Funny thing is, you can see quite fine. You can see a punch coming. Before the guy even throws it. I can hear the guy on the speaker, talking about it. How experience and hard work pays off, and you can see things coming before they happen, giving you time to react. How it looks like a sixth sense, to the other guys that don't have experience yet. Is that you? Yes or no."

   It was.

   "Oh. So… you can see anything coming at you, but you don't notice a whore dancing around, putting on a show for you. Fucking amazing. Do you know how pathetic that sounds to me right now? Don't answer that. You keep your mouth shut, you're not going to do anything else, but piss me off more right now."

   I lifted my foot up still under his chin again.

   "I love the guy talking. Sixth sense for danger coming. Experienced at it. Well… how's your sixth sense right now, huh? Is it warning you, that something bad is about to happen? Something very bad. Yes or no. Speak!"

   Yes, it was.

   "Good. That's all I needed to know. You have a sixth sense something very bad is just about to happen to you. Kinda hard to miss, ain't it? But… you can't see a half naked dancing whore putting on a show, right in front of you. That's really hard for me to believe, wouldn't you admit? Speak!"

   He admitted it was. I put my feet together, and snapped my fingers, pointing. He knew where his face went.

   "Don't speak. Don't move. I'm deciding what I'm going to do about this. I have to do something, that much is obvious. I let this shit go on, I might as well shove your cock right into the lazy whore's cunt and ram it home for you two. I'm not doing that, you can believe it. I have every fucking reason, to beat the absolute shit out of you right now. Until those lazy whores get back. Late tonight… tomorrow morning. Tomorrow night, if they found some worthless halfwit dumb enough to pump them. Beat the shit out of you all night, maybe all day tomorrow… then throw you're worthless ass out, when they get here. Poof. Then? I'll deal with them."

   "Don't you dare move, don't you dare speak. Don't you dare look at me, until you're told. And stop kissing them. You're not allowed to. I'm deciding what I need to do here."

   I took a while. When I heard a little whiny noise, I flicked my foot up a little.

   "You were told not to make a sound. One more of those? You'll get something to whine for. There's going to be plenty of time for that soon, you can count on it. Try me. I dare you."

   A little while later, I got a little shaking or fidgeting. I flicked my foot up again.

   "You were told not to move. One more time, and you'll get something to move for. There's about to be tons of that coming. Don't provoke me."

   "All right. Mommy's decided. Do you want to know what I've decided? Yes or no. Speak."

   "Yes."

   "Yeah, I bet you're interested. My first decision, is whether I believe your pathetic excuse, that you didn't see it. You'll be pleased to know, I've been looking at all these pictures, and really studying that little movie I made. You seem to be telling me the truth. I don't see your little eyes coming up, sneaking peeks of what's going on."

   "Thank you."

   "Don't thank me yet. I was only gone, about twenty minutes. Is this what goes on when I leave the townhouse?"

   "No."

   "It doesn't? You're calling me stupid then. I can see with my own eyes, it does. Now then…"

   I tapped him a couple times with my favorite switch.

   "Now. I'm going to ask you a question. I better only have to ask it once. I have to ask it a second time? Don't. You can barely handle simple yes and no questions, you need to answer me with a clear answer. Short, direct, and right to the point. Don't hesitate to answer me, or I'll have to assume you're lying, and trying to come up with an excuse. Be quick. You answer me immediately, and you keep it short. Five words or less. Do we understand each other?"

   "Yes."

   "I'm warning you. Answer quick, and five words or less. Now then… how long has this been going on?"

   "I don't know…"

   I got whiny voice, I got trembling. I deserve an academy award for my performance.

   "You don't know, huh? Has this been going on for weeks now? Or just today."

   He didn't know.

   "Well. Do you want my decision? Ask nice."

   "Please… tell me what you decided to do."

   "Maybe I believe you. You're not looking in the little movie. You do seem to get lost in whatever you're studying. I've seen you do it for weeks now. Actually, if you'd been able to answer me how long it's been going on? That would have proven to me, that you've looked. And not come to me and reported it. That's about all I've decided though. I obviously? Have a huge problem on my hands, don't I? I got lazy whores living here with me, and I got a space cadet that doesn't notice a dancing whore putting on a show for him. Its a fucking huge problem, wouldn't you agree with me? Yes or no. Speak!"

   "Yes."

   "And don't I know it. I'm going to ask you one time. Do you love me?"

   "Yes."

   "You want me to take care of this problem, the best way I know how?"

   "Yes."

   "Okay. I will. Do you understand how bad this is?"

   "Yes."

   "I'll handle her, when she gets back. I have time to deal with you, while I wait. And I'm going to do just that. I'm going to use that time, to make sure you understand how important this problem is. Fortunately, we have ample time to do just that. Do I make myself clear?"

   "Yes."

   "I told you about this. Up front. You know that one of the girls here, is the one I found out she sport-fucked my boyfriend, before he went away to finish med school. You know that's the girl in the little movie I just enjoyed. Don't you."

   "Yes."

   "You also know, that two of these girls, are girls you were asking out, and were turning you down. Isn't that right, mister."

   "Yes."

   "That means, you wanted them. That means, you couldn't have them. Now, all of a sudden? I told you this was going to go on. Once a girl sees that another girl she knows places value on a guy? That shows he's worth something. She had multiple chances, to have you, and she turned it down. Now? She knows that you liked the way she looked, because you were asking her out. Now then. Let's see how well you take telling me the truth, very seriously. So I know I can keep trusting you. Admit to me, right now. That you liked the way she looked, and that was why you kept asking her out."

   He admitted it, groveling.

   "Yes or no would have sufficed. You answer questions quickly, so I can believe your answers. You keep it as short and sweet as possible, so you don't annoy me. I already know you liked how she looks, because you like tall, strong girls. Now then. Has anything changed, about how she looks, between then and now? Yes or no."

   "No."

   "So. You admit, that you still like the way she looks. Go on, and admit it. It's obvious."

   "Yes…"

   "That's good. That's a tiny start. The truth. Well, the truth sometimes hurts. Its about to. Soon. Do you love me?"

   "Yes."

   "Then you understand my big problem here. I have you here, with me. I have to put up with her being here, there's no way out of that. Until I can get you alone with me, and I will, this is going to be an issue. You like the way she looks, and its right there for you to put your eyes on, every day. You saw the pictures, you saw the movie. She's trying her shit all over again. The other one? I have to worry about her now, too. Do you admit that you asked her out many times, because you liked the way the other one looked? Be honest and tell me the truth."

   "Yes."

   "And does she look any different now?

   "No."

   "Another problem. Now, I'm mad. Hell, I'm fuming right now. With what I just saw, continue telling me the truth, and being open and honest with me. Do you admit, that I have a reason to be mad?"

   "Yes."

   "That's because I do. Do you admit that I need to do something about this problem?"

   "Yes."

   "I know I need to. Do you understand that if you would have simply looked up, for one second, at what was going on around you, right in front of your eyes? You would have seen it, and you could have come to me and told me. So I could have handled it. Yes or no."

   "Yes."

   "Do you understand, that I claim you as my personal property, that I expect you to belong to me? And that the reason is because I love you."

   "Yes."

   "And do you love me? And like being my property?"

   "Yes, very much."

   "All right. Do you understand, that when the girls sport-fuck the other girl's guy, that they don't really even like the guy, they're just doing it to fuck with the other girl? Taking them light, showing them they can do it and get away with it? Be honest with me, you can see it now."

   "Yes."

   "All right. This isn't going to be punishment, per se. I need to make it crystal clear though, how important this is. I need to give you a reason, to be a lot more observant, to what's going on around you while we still live here, until I get us out. Which will happen soon enough. But… until that time comes, I need to be able to trust you. And I do. The only thing I'm even remotely happy about? Is that you didn't look one time in that movie. Now. Mind your manners. You were just given a compliment."

   "Thank you."

   "That's it? Thank you for what. Do you not realize, how lucky you are right now, that I even believe you, and trust you? Now try it again. I complimented you. Thank me politely for the compliment."

   He said thank you, and kept   going on and on.

   "You can give the kisses again. I'm going to keep you as my personal property. You're allowed to. Don't move otherwise, and don't talk. I still have to decide how to make you understand how important this is."

   I waited a while, enjoying it. Blushing.

   "Stay. You like tall strong girls. I'm a little taller, and a little stronger. That means you like me just a little bit more? Yes or no."

   "Yes. I like you more…"

   "Just because I said yes, is that it?"

   "No. I like you for lots of reasons."

   "Oh, you just like me. Or do you love me."

   He repeated he loved me, again and again. I blushed so bad, I could light a cigarette off my face. Glad he couldn't see that.

   "Shush. I wanna hear it. How much you love me. How much you appreciate the special secret we share. I better hear all about how you understand the problem I have. You will admit, that you like the way she looks. You will ask me, to handle the problem. You will be begging me, to help you notice what the hell's going on right in front of you here. You will promise me, how I don't have to worry about leaving the townhouse for twenty minutes, worrying about what the hell's going on back home. And this better be good. I better feel like I'm not wasting my time. Don't repeat yourself too much, you better figure out what to say, to make me believe it all. That you're begging me to both keep you as my personal property, and that you want me to fix this. Go on, get started. Make it good…"

   Oh god, how I love this part. You talk about being pampered. I let this part go on for a while. Never fails to amaze me, how this part is actually just as much fun as the action. For the first time, this is going to be the most fun I've ever had, because those pictures and that movie? Have him rattled. He doesn't know. He can't know. I could very well actually be mad. He's scared not only of what he might now get, but scared he could lose me, too.

   We talked about this before, me and him, a ways back. How the fear of a scary ride, was part of the thrill. I'm getting tons more though. He wouldn't be afraid, if he wasn't scared he would lose me. I have proof he actually loves me. I have proof, that he'll go through anything, to keep me. Even if he didn't do anything wrong, he's scared of something happening.

   God, I'm giving a great performance. My audience of one, is buying that its real right now. Where's my Oscar and my Emmy.

   After a while, I flicked my foot.

   "Shush. Stay. Don't make me tell you twice. You got enough of a problem right now, don't do a thing to make it worse. I'm actually very mad, and I have every reason to be. I think you know, how bad your ass is going to hurt very soon, don't you?"

   "Yes."

   "Yeah you do. I've given you examples of how it can be. Problem right now is? That was for fun. This is serious. This is different. I would tell you, that I'm about to give it to you so good, that you can't sit on your ass for a week or more, but… that would imply you'll even have an ass when I'm through with you. All night till late, and that's at the very least. Maybe they don't get back till tomorrow morning. That's all night. That's some more tomorrow morning, too. If I get all day tomorrow, too? Oh well. You? Had better pray they don't take off all weekend, mister. I intend to make myself crystal clear, and the more time I have to do it? I'll take every minute of it. When I play in a game? I give everything I have, every second, start to finish. That's why I'm a starter. This? It isn't a fucking game. Its serious business what's happening. I'm even more serious about this, than any game. So… I'm going to keep making my point, until that lazy whore gets back. If I were you? I would pray that happens sooner rather than later. While you still have a scrap of skin left on your ass."

   I flicked my foot up again.

   "Shush. You were told to keep quiet. That's twice I had to tell you. Don't do it a third time."

   Trembling in my foot.

   "Moving around, huh? You know stay means stay. Sit still, means sit still. Go on. Dare me. Worst possible time in the world, to defy me. You? Clearly, have absolutely no idea how mad I am right now, that's obvious. But that's okay. I'm going to show you. Then? I'm going to keep showing you."

   I got up on my knees, and slid my panties down. Walked in place with my knees, until they slid over my knees, then I fingered them down my shins, over my calf muscles, and finally picked them up from where they came to rest on my ankles. Just the T shirt now. I wiggled around for him, making him watch me.

   "You like that? You want a show, you come to me for it. I'll give you all the show you want. But… you don't go watching shows from any other girls. Before I'm done with you tonight? You're going to learn that important lesson."

   "We're going to get started. First things first. There's no way you'll be able to sit still for all this. That's why you're helpless right now. Now. You already know, that sometimes a phrase doesn't have to just be a phrase. Example. I'm going to give it to you so good, that you won't be able to sit down. You learned that night, that it's not just a phrase. You like word games so much, good. Here's another one to add to your collection. Put a sock in it. It means shut up, and stay shut up, right? It does. That's not necessarily just a phrase either."

   I rolled my socks up, and wrapped my panties around them, inside out. So he could taste my holes. Both of them. I shoved the rolled up package carefully into his mouth and wiggled it in, putting the ass of my panties on his tongue, so he could taste me the whole time. Then I wrapped one of the bandannas around his mouth to hold them in nice and tight.

   "Helpless? Now quiet. You? Can now beg, and cry, and scream all you want to. Not going to help you one bit, it's just asking for more of the same. Oh yeah, and those helpless little puppy dog eyes you're going to be giving me? Uh uh."

   So I blindfolded him with the second one.

   "There we are. Let's get started, little boy."

   I pulled him up into the middle of the bed. I sat on him kneeling, just above his hips.

   "First lesson. I feel horrible right now. I don't know which way to turn. I want you, to feel that. This might give you some idea how that feels. Enjoy."

   I started tickling him, and I didn't stop for a while. I laughed, and I made fun of all the noises he started making. Then, I did it more. Once I figured out all the spots that were the worst ones, I dove in and worked on them. I had crying quick, turn to sobbing, turn into bawling and into screaming. I'd stop, and taunt him some.

   "What's that? I didn't quite catch that. You, were told to put a sock in it. You must be asking for more. I'll give you some…"

   And I did. Several times, over and over. When he was a hot mess, I pulled at his hips, and dragged him down again to be kneeling over the foot of the bed.

   I treated him to some swishing noises. While he got his breathing under control, I kept it up. When it was safe for me to continue, I grabbed his tightly trussed up wrists and held them up tight in the air. I gave his helpless, exposed ass cheeks a serious switching with my favorite one. The long thin one. I gave him hard strokes, and the thin one just makes burn and sting. No damage, just surface blemishes. It can't make the thick, hard, damaged tissue layer underneath.

   So, I didn't have to worry. After a couple minutes and fresh squealing, I paused.

   "So. Dancing legs and pantie peeping shows for you, when I leave you here, huh? I was gone about twenty minutes. That's a twenty minute show for you to have not noticed. So, I want you to enjoy my very own twenty minute show that I'm about to give you. And I just bet that you notice this one… call it my hunch."

   I gave him twenty minutes of the long thin switch. The little red lines appeared across his cheeks. They went into a sort of generalized red marks, but composed of the red lines. When I was done, I ran my fingers over them. Red marks, but very little raised welts. I told him not to move from that position, because we hadn't even gotten started yet.

   Later, I did it again. I've learned that I can make a long stroke, that makes the swishing sound, and quit just before I make contact. I wanted burn and sting right now, not even surface damage. After several shows like this one repeated, I had another trick. When you deliver a lick from a switch, you get a way better sting out of the stroke, if you quickly retract it. You can retract into another big lick, or wait for the next one, as you prefer. If you don't retract, it deadens the blow a bit.

   Several of these twenty minute shows and me using these two tricks, made for all burn and sting and red marks, and allowed me to do it more. To extend the fun. When I wanted to take a break, I could pull him up onto the bed again, and put his face on my feet, and give him a nice, long lecture. Of course, he wasn't getting the point, so… another tickling torture session. Or, dragged down to bent over the bed yet again, for another of those switch sessions.

   By working like this, and taking nice, long lectures and speeches for breaks, I was able to fill quite some time up. I felt his ass under my finger tips. All red marks, and only the faintest raised welts, like corduroy material. I could drag this out, and extend my naughty fun time to the extreme. After enough of them, the marks would make what would become bruises tomorrow morning. But only surface marks. No thick, padded, hard damage layers inside. I'd have the perfect ass to use my hand on later, I didn't even have to wait for morning. I love it when my hand makes him cry and jump. Its like the power an adult has with just their hand, over a misbehaving child.

   I didn't choose to have him call me "mommy" for naughty fun time for no reason. The classic 1910 child abuse discipline scenario, calls for it perfect with us. Mommy has to punish a misbehaving little boy. A classic is a classic and you enjoy it for that reason, that's why its so popular for a scenario.

   Over what, four or five weeks? I've had time to get a half decent repertoire together. Enough I could string together both action and breaks for him to get the breathing back under control. Reading on websites constantly, all about my fun new hobby. They emphasized it in no uncertain terms. When you tie someone up helpless, when you gag them so they can't use safe words and such, you're completely responsible for their safety. Screaming and sobbing and crying and begging is fun for both of you, if you like hearing it, and they willingly ask for it. If you have the privacy to do it, have fun. If you're open about what's going on in your bedroom? Let the neighbors hear and its just you bragging its a fun night.

   We can't. Also, the gag becomes necessary if you both like an extended time of that sort of thing. You don't want to damage the throat and the vocal cords. A hoarse voice that will heal is bad enough, but you can permanently damage it to stay that way. Scarring of the throat and the vocal cords. Even with enough privacy, I have to go back to thoroughly gagging him, to watch it. Coughing is a sign of damage already done. I have never heard a cough, and I never will. A certain amount of it, in brief non-gagged periods of pantie wetting fun, is enough at a time. You can go back and forth as long as you want. It just works into the scenario. Yeah, I wanna hear you make some noise. Gag out. Nah, its annoying. Gag back in, so I can really give it to you this time.

   He doesn't know I've read how to slow the swing just before impact, and they don't figure it out if you give enough strokes before you start doing it. He has no way to know I'm not retracting the swat immediately after impact, either. Again, after the up front warm up, he can't tell the difference. That's for me to know that I'm extending the fun. He thinks that he can take more. He thinks that he's pleasing me more. And he is, but you know what I mean.

   He dared me that first time, and I took the bait. A submissive that knows they enjoy it, can ask for more than what's enough. Trying to please you. Trying to show off. Fulfilling their fantasy too much. It's my job, to keep it sane. To keep him safe, as silly as that sounds given what you now know goes on.

   Also, their little butts go sort of numb. They asked for crying, and you have to give it to them. If they go sub numb, and you're trying to get there? You can easily get more damage than what's safe. I can give the full swats as I want to, in between other patches of controlled chaos. Works out perfect, too. I'm really going to give it to you now, I hope you're happy… then he gets to hurt a little more. I'm not swinging harder, I'm just not stopping swing just before impact, and I'm not failing to retract.

   The fear of the scary ride is part of the fun. This all too perfect scenario I picked up on? Allowed me to give it to him. Ha, give it to him. I'm a comedienne, I guess. But no, experience taught me how to break it up, and move around through the fun games. To extend it. I now get to enjoy the fruits of that. I get to take longer and longer face on feet time. Enjoy more of my lectures and speeches. More fun for him as well. More fun for him too, that he's actually worried and scared tonight. My gift to him. His birthday is two weeks away. He hasn't put two and two together, and I won't tell him to spoil it until we're all done. He thinks I'm actually frustrated and angry right now, and lashing out. I'm actually fuming at my team mate room mate, and her very real second warning is coming when her drunken lazy whore's ass finally makes it back home.

   If my boyfriend comes and reports her doing anything similar ever again? She's getting the shit knocked out of her, and I know I can do it and so does she. She's all skill and speed, and not a goon at all. That's my job, and we both know I can do it. Now, as fun as this is, it serves a very real function in our relationship we both care so much about. I saw he wasn't noticing what I told him she would do, and I was just waiting on it to happen. This will serve as a very real eye opener, to watch out. He's going to be crying enough tonight, that I doubt he'll forget it.

   But that's all later. Time to ramp up the fear and the fun factor.

   "Oh. You want something to cry for? Keep it up!"

   "I told you to keep quiet. You want something to cry for? Fine…"

   I went and swished the long medium one around.

   "This, is the long medium one. I'm so mad, I was stopping myself from using it on you, little boy. You want some of it? Good."

   I bent him over the foot of the bed, and touched it to his red but undamaged ass.

   "You can't count, but you can sure as hell sit still. You don't sit still when you're told? You're asking for more. You're asking for harder with this one. I'm warning you… I'm actually pissed. I'll give you exactly what you ask for now. Do not test me. I dare you."

   Of course he can't sit still. He gets another little speech. Then he gets more. The first ten are the "real" ones. Full force, retracted into the next ones. Fast, hard licks. The rest after that? Safety licks, that again, he doesn't know about. Stopping short. Then dead licks. Of course he can't not scream and cry. He gets more. They always get more.

   "How are you showing me, that you're going to pay attention to this very serious problem I have, huh? You won't even listen, when you're told to lay still. Defying me. You won't stop that whiny shit, when you're told to knock it off. Again. Defying me. Daring me. You better knock that boring shit off, and sit still. I'll stand right here and wait, and you better not make me wait too long."

   Which is another little break. Little humiliations are part of it all too. Just like he admitted from night one, that the scary ride is half the fun, he admits that the little humiliations are too. Kissing my feet. Laying his head on them, while he gets a lecture. Holding my ankles if he's not tied up, like I taught him to. That's ritual. That's our ritual. Our ritual has come out of what works for both of us, and it's uniquely ours. Its like a secret code we share.

   Example. We're sitting around the living room, with the others. If I catch his eye and smile or wink, I can put my feet together on the floor in front of me, and he gets the reference. He'll smile, and sometimes blush. No one else gets it, because its such a uniquely personal code, that its unreal. If I simply draw my knees up, and pull my feet up? Its another big one. He'll blush looking at it, if I catch his eye. If I so much as take my shoes and socks off now, and put my feet together? He looks away blushing.

   I was waiting for the right time to do the used socks in the mouth trick. He doesn't know I changed them out. How humiliating, to get gagged with my dirty socks tied into his mouth all night. They're clean socks. My worn ones went under the covers, and I grabbed the clean ones. He'll never know that though. The panties were real. Tasting my holes he already licks and craves is fine. That's why the panties are wrapped around them, inside out for him to taste me. The little added humiliation that I'm making him taste my ass.

   When he finally settles down, kneeling over the bed sobbing, its under a constant stream of intermittent speech. I'm waiting. Move it. Still waiting, it's getting worse every second. Get a move on. Finally, a final ten hard and fast long medium switch licks. I'm supposed to be actually mad right now. I've spent four or five weeks, with the long thin one. Because I don't want to actually hurt him. This also gives me the fun of teasing him, that if I want the long medium one? It's right in the corner of the closet. You give me a better reason? The long thick one, is right next to it.

   Actually getting to taste the long medium a little? Is really a treat, and also "proof" how mad I am right now. He's scared and I want to keep him scared. He's actually worried he almost lost me, and that he still could. I want that continued, too.

   Another speech now that we're done with medium. Back to the middle of the bed for another face on feet lecture. Then some more being ridden while tortured by tickling. Some more speeches, then back to the long thin one. I want a burnt and stung ass, that will scream from my hand later. He asked for the over the knee "intimate" position, and I've been putting him off. Saving what I learned camping. When we're finally "done" here? A long break, not forgiven yet, interspersed with speeches and lectures, will get rid of the numb bum. It will hurt finally. Then? Over my knee, and my hand will be something else. A real, honest to goodness, over my knee spanking. Given something to cry for, given more to squirm for. Then finally, re-gagged and I'm going to "really give it to him".

   A nice long one.

   We went around all the games which are "serious" this time some more. Then, he still won't sit still, he still won't shut up. Still defying me. Still daring me. I fumed over, because I "lost my cool", and got the long thick one out. I menaced him, and I speech-ed and lectured.

   Ten fast hard ones, on a burnt and stung ass. Ten, ordered to start listening, and get the extras. Stopped short, with dead falls. But he doesn't know that. Eventually, he manages to sit "still enough" to make it "back" to the long medium. Uh oh. Someone doesn't appreciate the nice gesture? Bad idea. Eventually, we make our way back to the long thin one. I have what I need now, and I can give him a nice, long, string of hard fast ones to finish his ass off. Undamaged, but well marked and feeling it.

   I'm watching the clock. I know when they'll be back. Its now time for a nice, long, apology and for him to thank me. I'll tell you why later, how I know. But for now, that's enough.

   Thanking and begging my forgiveness, takes a long time. Its one of my favorite parts now. He finally gets the "dirty socks and panties" gag out. I enjoy this phase. Of course, I'm not sure. He's not forgiven yet. I have to decide what would make me grant that. His face is planted securely on my drawn up feet. The little kisses I generously allow him now. He's to lick the tears up, as they fall.

   "Have you noticed something? No sex tonight. This is serious. Its not for fun. I think you know that now. Don't speak until you're told to. Do you want forgiven? I'm starting to just now think it might be time. But we need to understand each other, how big a problem we have. Its our problem, not my problem, not your problem. Our problem. I need to know, that you want this problem solved. That you're going to be on board, helping mommy out. Are you? Because if you don't come and tell me next time, this is going to be worse. A lot worse. We can go somewhere for privacy, and have a week long talk about it, if we have to. Don't talk. I'll do the talking. You do the listening."

   I wait.

   "All right. Here's your big chance, to be forgiven. Ask me nice and polite, to demonstrate that you want to be forgiven. Ask me for one final reminder. Beg me for it. Then, I'll give you that final reminder. Then we can see about actually being forgiven, after I know you understand how serious this is. Ask me polite, that you want to be shown how important this is. Go."

   "Please… show me how important this is to you, I…"

   "This isn't important to you, too? Start over."

   "Please. I'm begging you, to show me how important this is to me and you."

   "Again. Add in the part you left out, that you want to be made to behave, because you know you need corrected. Start over."

   "Please, show me how important this is for us. Please make me behave. Please make me be good. I want to make you happy. Because I love you. Please… correct me and make sure I understand. I'm begging you, please. I want you to forgive me. I'm so sorry this happened and I didn't help. I promise I'll come and tell you if it happens again. I swear. Please show me…"

   "Not bad. This? Is a lot better than we started. Its not enough you don't actually cheat on me. You need to keep your eyes open, for shit just like this. It shows you care. Like I care about you. Now. Are you sure you understand what you're asking me for, and what its about?"

   "Yes. Please…"

   "All right. We're going to see about this last reminder. Get yourself dressed. Don't stall, do it quick. Show me you can listen to me. Go."

   I untied him. He quickly got dressed and came back, and started to kneel where I was sitting at the foot of our bed.

   "Not now. I need dressed too. First off, I need dry socks and dry panties. I'm not sitting around in wet panties and wet socks. This is going to take a while. Get them for me."

   He brought me clean panties and dry socks. Both matched what I had taken off, he was trying to please me. Good.

   "Kneel. You? Are going to dress me. Do it slowly and carefully. It shows you care. Go on…"

   I held out one foot, then the other so he could put dry socks on me to replace the ones that got soaked. He held out the dry panties for me to step into, then held them while I stood up so he could pull them up. He held out my jeans for me, and I stepped into first one leg, then the other. He tugged them up carefully. Then zipped them ever so gingerly. Then buttoned them. Finally he redid my farm girl belt for me. I sat back down and leaned forwards, so he could stretch up and put my shirt on for me. He even flounced my hair after pulling the head through, and arranged my T shirt so it hung evenly. He put my jogging shoes on for me, then put his face on them.

   "Thank you. You did a good job. Are you ready? To get your final reminder. So you can actually be forgiven."

   "Yes. Please."

   "All right. Hand me my phone. Then get me my keys, off the dresser. Please."

   He handed me both.

   "Hand me both ropes, that I untied you from a little bit ago. Roll them up for me before you hand them to me, please."

   He handed me both coiled up, and I stuck them into my back pockets.

   "You? Will follow me. With a closed mouth. I want you to bring a bandanna, and you're gag socks and panties. Keep them carefully like you find them. They're going back in your mouth soon, and I'm not ruining more socks and panties. Go get them and show me."

   He came back instantly.

   "Now. Follow me, and keep quiet…"

   He followed me out of the bedroom, and I locked it behind me. I had the switches out. If anyone came home early, I wasn't risking it.

   "Go pee. And get a drink of water. Your mouth is dry from being gagged and yelling in it. Don't make me wait on you long."

   He was back quick, and he followed me down and out the front door, which again I locked behind me. We went for a short walk, to get around to the back of the row of townhouses. I unlocked the lower basement door. We have a normal basement, but this is the bigger completely underground one. It's for storage and some maintenance stuff. The townhouse rows, are on a hill. Our regular basement, the door from the kitchen and down the stairs, is half underground. Things like the heater, the duct work, electrical, and all that. Like a normal basement. The storage one, is the one under that.

   Its completely underground. It can't freeze in winter, and it has storage cages for the four tenants to have secure storage of things they might want kept. If they leave and owe money, their shit ends up in "their" cage, until its either gotten rid of, or they pay to get it. This sub basement, smaller than the main one, sort of "heats" the one above it. No frozen pipes in winter. If a tornado came? This is the premium place to hide. The locals call them "fraidy holes", and no luxury rental would dream of not offering one. Its a thick, cement box basically. It gets double duty as the secure storage area. The cement walls and the steps leading down to the door, let you know you're completely underground. Ha. Sub basement. Another little funny from your favorite comedienne. I'm a fun girl to be around.

   I locked the door behind me. We had both taken turns before, switching places and seeing it was completely soundproof. We couldn't hear each other scream, from the regular basement above us, let alone from the living area. We couldn't hear loud music, either. This is where I had come to get his study carol desk to match mine for him to have, and his matching chair. One of the room mates, hadn't wanted the desk and chair, for more room. Stored down here.

   "Do what you're told. Don't talk unless I tell you. Go bring me the other chair you know is over there. Move."

   He brought it over to me.

   "Put it behind me, and politely push it in when I go to sit down. Be a good boy, and show some manners."

   He did it, and came back around the front of me. When he went to kneel, I stopped him.

   "We're not doing that. Stand up."

   He stood patiently and waited.

   "Strip."

   He pulled his clothes off quickly. Stood again. I waited.

   "All right. Turn around, and give me your hands."

   I grabbed a ball of rope out of the one back pocket. I tied his wrists securely, over my athletic wrist bands protecting his wrists from my rope marks. To keep our secret safe. I pointed just to the right of me seated.

   "Stand there and wait."

   He did.

   "Can you guess what's about to happen here? Tell me."

   "Over the knee."

   "That's right. Now bend over my knees. Don't make me yank you down. You, will offer yourself politely to me. Now."

   I pointed to my lap, and he bent down and I helped him over it.

   "Put your hands on the cement, and support yourself. I want your ankles up. Don't make me force you. You're offering yourself to me. Willingly. Now."

   I tied his ankles as securely as his hands, again over my athletic wristbands. They're mine, they have my jersey number on them, they have a soccer ball and some pink to the school university colors, to show its the girls soccer team, and who they belong to. Just like he belongs to me.

   "I'm fully dressed, because this isn't for fun. This is serious. I'm really going to give it to you good. I will not stop for tears, I will not stop for crying. You'll get more. Do you understand me."

   "Yes."

   I swatted his ass, each cheek, one after the other, hard and fast.

   "Yes please. Again."

   He got four, two on one, then two on the other.

   "Yes please."

   Three hard fast ones, first one side, then the other. I got another delicious yes please.

   He got four each. A sniffle.

   "I want to hear the following. Thank you, please correct me. Every time. Do I make myself understood?"

   "Yes."

   "Good. We're going to begin soon. You saw how this went. You'll get one hard swat on each ass cheek. Then, you will say thank you, please correct me. Then? You'll get two each. You will say it again. This? Will continue, until you can no longer say anything, because you're going to be screaming and crying. By then? You will be crying, instead of saying what you were told to say. Which means, that you're asking for it. You'll get what you're asking for by crying instead of saying what you know you're supposed to. I'm going to listen to those screams and those cries, and I'm going to keep right on going. Eventually? You'll start pulling and twisting away. When that happens? My leg is going over your legs, and you already know, that you can't get away like that. That? Is you telling me its time to gag you tight. And then I'm really going to give it to you. And I mean good. Do we understand each other?"

   "Yes"

   Nervous. Good. Being fully clothed, reinforced that I was in charge. It was another little extra humiliation to be over my knees, helpless and naked ass in the air, waiting on it.

   "Good. You're simply going to get more and more. You're not sorry yet, you just think you are. I can do this all night. Once that gag goes in, its going to get faster and harder. When I finally have to put my leg over yours to hold you still? You're really going to get it. And I mean really bad. Once that starts? Better get comfy. Because its going to take a while. We'll see how well you listen to me after this. After this? When I say basement, you'll know what I mean. You better hope and pray, that basement is for fun. Because if I need to correct you? It will be for a long talk, worse than this one. You can get the switch down here, too. You're very lucky I chose not to bring it down. I don't have much reason to be nice to you right now, do I. So? Tell me how thankful you are, that I didn't get the switch, and that you appreciate me being that nice to you."

   "Thank you, for not giving me the switch. I appreciate it."

   "You damn well better. I can leave you here and I can go get it, if I think you need it. Remember that. And if you screw up what I told you to say, and I mean one, single, time? Before you're crying too hard to say anything? That's what I'm going to do. I'm going to go, and get that switch. All three of the long ones. Then? You're really going to get it. Bad. Real bad. You better appreciate that you're just getting my hand, little boy."

   "Thank you. I appreciate it."

   I started over from one each, and he said what he was told to say. Then we went on. Each time, was one more per cheek, and each time he said it. Tears started, and we continued. Squealing, and then crying soon after. I continued.

   "You damn well better not fuck up what you were told to say. If I don't think you're trying hard enough, its going to be a very long night down here, with us getting to know each other better. Me, you, and all three long switches. Used on you like you won't believe."

   I did what I promised, and eventually, around 40 or so, the crying got to where he couldn't say anything coherent.

   "We're just getting started, little boy. Stand up. You'll get no breaks. I'm taking a little break. So I can give it to you better, the way you need, so you understand how serious this all is. Don't move, and don't annoy me."

   "Now. Bend down. Open mouth."

   He had handed me the socks and panties bundle before we began, so I could tie his wrists. I put it back in, then secured the bandanna around it to hold it in.

   "Now. Back over. Offer yourself willingly to me. Now? You can scream and cry your little eyes out. All you feel like it. That's what the gag's for. There's no one can hear you anyways, and everyone else is out for the weekend, too. Just me, you, and my hand. And you better keep yourself still for long enough, that I think you made an effort to try hard enough. I think you didn't try hard enough? Time for the switch. We'll see if that makes a better impression on you and your behavior. Because I was very unhappy with what I saw, and I better see an immediate improvement, with you helping me watch out for it."

   I started again, this time in earnest. Over from one. With no counting, It was one number each cheek in turn, followed by the next. We got up to a much bigger number, moving quicker this way.

   "Sit still! This is shit! Try harder!"

   "I'm warning you. You want the switches instead? I'll go get them. Then you'll really get an excuse to start pulling and twisting like this. You better knock it the hell off…"

   There was an immediate improvement, the instant the word "switch" came out of my mouth, and I laughed. Every time I said just the word "switch", he tried to stay still for it. Eventually, he lost the battle and couldn't. I had to put my leg over his legs, and hold him securely. I pushed down on his neck, so his hands could reach the floor to steady himself. I swatted him as hard and as fast as I could, stopping only to tell him things, or warn him about the switch being brought down, or just to taunt him and laugh.

   When I was satisfied, I had him stand back up.

   "Now. My hand hurts. Which is pissing me off, because this is supposed to hurt your ass, not my hand. Don't you move a muscle. You're lucky, I'm not leaving you and bringing the long switches down. Or is that what you want. You tell me, do you want the switch? I can be back with it in no time flat. Give me the word. Dare me."

   He shook his head no, and several times.

   "Oh. You don't want that. You, want mommy to be nice about finishing what we started, is that it?"

   He shook his head yes.

   "You want the switch? Or is mommy going to have to take her belt off, so I can really give it to you good, like we need to have happen here. I'm not playing around. I'm serious."

   Tears and sobbing.

   "What's that? I didn't quite catch that. You do want the switch? Was that what I heard?"

   Squealing and more crying, and shaking his head no back and forth quickly.

   "Oh. For a minute, I thought I wasn't making myself understood. You sure you don't want the switch? Not a problem."

   No, no, and no.

   "Then you must want the belt. Tell me yes, that's what you want. You want mommy to take her big belt off, don't you."

   Yes, yes, yes.

   "If you're sure now… you don't have to be ashamed if you want the switch. Its no trouble at all. You sure?"

   No, no, no.

   "No you don't want the belt?"

   Yes, yes, yes.

   "Or is that yes you want the switch."

   No, no, no.

   "Last time I ask. Do… you… want… the… belt…"

   Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

   I stood up and smiled, letting him see me take it off. Slowly unbuckling. I pulled it slowly out, as seductively as I could.

   "Last time? You just got the loose end. That was me being nice. This time? We're doing it right. Doubled over, so it actually hurts more. You understand me?"

   Yes, yes, yes.

   I yanked him back over, and pushed his head down, and scissored his legs tight.

   "You don't understand how serious I am yet. You just think you do. You better get it through your head exactly how important this is. You ready?"

   Yes.

   "Doesn't matter now. I'm ready. Get comfortable. Gonna be here a while getting better acquainted, little boy…

   I gave him the belt hard and fast, taking practically no breaks, except to taunt him.

   "You mean to tell me, that's all the louder you can scream and cry? You can do a much better job crying for me. Let me show you…"

   "That's more like it. Go on, try to pull away some more. I'll give you something to pull away from. We have all night to work on your behavior. And we're not finished, until I'm satisfied I made my point, and you understand how serious of a matter this all is. You think you understand?"

   Yes, yes, yes

   "Yeah, right…"

   I started again, and in earnest this time. This, was just surface marks. This hurt, and brought crying and sobbing, but didn't make the hard pads under the cheeks. He'd be able to sit. He didn't know that, though.

   "Okay. Lesson time, little boy. You having fun? This is what happens, when I have a problem with you, and some girl…"

   I smacked his ass as hard as I could, as fast as possible. I got a set of screams that were pretty convincing.

   "Lets go over that one again. This is what happens, when I have a problem, with you and some girl. Enjoy it."

   I did it again, and I must admit that I enjoyed the ensuing commotion.

   "Oh, its fun to give mommy a problem with some girl, isn't it? Let me show you how much fun it is… to watch some slut, dancing around in her underwear…"

   I did it again, for much, much longer.

   "And, one more time. We are going to keep going over how much fun it is. Tell me now how much fun that was, huh? Tell me! I can't hear you…    

   Another long period with the big, thick belt.

   "Looks like we're going to have a couple hours of more fun. Look how much fun we're having now… come on, let me hear how much fun you're having! Oh. Not so much fun now, to piss mommy off about some slutty girl, is it? No, it isn't, is it now…"

   More. Lots more.

   "That's it. You just keep on letting me know how much fun this is. Oh, am I pissed right now…"

   Gobs more.

   I kept asking him if he understood yet, he kept frantically shaking his head yes, and I went right back to work. The little breaks? Were so he could catch his breath. So there was no real danger. He didn't have to know that.

   Eventually, the screaming and crying started to show a break. That was what I was waiting for. They call it crying it out. There's only so many tears. They eventually slow down to a trickle. The screaming and crying subside into just sobs. That's what I had been working towards.

   "Quit crying, or you'll get the switch. I mean it. You're really pissing me off now… defy me, go on, I dare you right now. Not the time to test me, bent over my knee, is it? No, it's not."

   The crying subsided to the little stream I had read about, the screaming and crying went to just sobbing. There. All cried out.

   "Finally. Starting to listen. A little bit. That? Is a start. We'll work on this some more, so you don't forget. Ever. Next time? You'll get more. Lots more. Can you imagine a switch instead of the belt and my hand? All you have to do, is ask me. By misbehaving. I dare you."

   "Now. Stand up. We're done, for now. Maybe, you understand how serious I am about all this."

   Yes, yes, yes.

   "Better be. Now you just stand there. Don't move. You? Get yourself quiet. And don't take too long, or there's plenty more where that came from. We have all night ahead of us, if we need it."

   I waited, with my arms crossed. Watching him.

   "I'd be on my very best behavior, If I was you. Don't you agree?"

   Yes, yes, yes.

   "If you're taking polite suggestions now? And taking them seriously?"

   Yes yes yes.

   "For the time being? I would suggest, that you take the garbage out, and don't forget it. That's every day, whether it's filled up or not. Think that's a good idea for a little while?"

   Yes, yes, yes.

   "I would do those dishes, I would wipe the kitchen down, after every meal. Breakfast, lunch, and especially dinner. One minute a meal, three minutes a day, is easier than waiting. Think that's a good idea?"

   Yes, yes, yes.

   "Spray the bathroom with the foam wand built in there, that's what its for. Once a week, without being reminded. And try not to forget to flick that red switch, so it dries out, before we get back. Another good suggestion?"

   Yes yes yes.

   "All right. You're just about forgiven. But if I was you, I'd make sure I was a good little boy, and on my very best behavior, if just for a little while. Wouldn't you agree?"

   Yes, yes, yes.

   "And I already know, you'll never fail to watch out for what I saw today coming home. And that you'll come running and tell me, won't you?"

   Yes, yes, yes.

   "We'll just have to see, won't we? And for the time being, until you're told otherwise, and things are back to normal. You will not sass me. I will not get the slightest bit of backtalk. You, will hang on my every word. I won't embarrass you in front of the girls or anyone else, but… I think you know what will happen if you don't follow these polite suggestions for a while, and your forgiveness becomes… let's say permanent. You're going down the basement. No fun, naked and over my knees in my jeans. The discussion? Will be even longer than the one we just had. Do I make myself clear?"

   Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

   "And if I need to have another, longer conversation like this one we just had? It will go the same. It will end the same, which is to say with the belt on your ass at the end. The difference will be, You will then get tied helpless, on that extra table. I'll use the switch, all three of the long ones. I'll use them all, and I'll use them for quite some time. That's after what you just got, which you will get again. Followed? By three switches across your ass, that you will not believe. Do we understand each other, and do we understand what will happen. Tell me now."

   Yes, yes, yes

   "We'll see. Do not test me. I'm all out of patience. All right. Get your mouth over here… and you better watch what comes out of it, until I tell you that you're out of the doghouse."

   He bent down and I untied the bandanna, and took out the little panties around socks package that was his highly effective gag tonight, and handed it to him.

   "Now. You think we understand each other better now?"

   "Yes. I understand, I promise you…"

   "We'll see. Hold your hands out."

   I untied him.

   "Sit, and let me get your ankles untied."

   He sat down, and I untied his ankles.

   "Back up. Take the chair back where you got it from. Then get dressed."

   I checked the time on the cell phone. Perfect. I still had time for them to get home. You see, when he went upstairs? I managed to corral the other two, in the kitchen when she went to her room to change. Go figure, she went to go put some clothes on. I explained to the other two, what I had seen coming in. Showed them the video and the pictures. They had their hands over their mouth, trying not to lose it laughing. She was known for sport-fucking, and for teasing their guys they brought home. They were on board with me roughing her up a little. I had given them both an extremely polite warning, that this was my boyfriend, and that I really liked him. The one that had sport-fucked pre med boy? Got a hair sterner warning. I mean in private so as to be polite about it, I mean go and figure.

   I told them, I wanted a chance to talk to my boyfriend. Get back when the bars close. I'll be waiting up. That I was gonna show her the phone, and toss her around some. Their job? Keep me from killing her. They were content to have me smack her around, I explained that I was just making a less polite warning, though it would be the last one. They agreed, this would be fun. Then I went up and joined him in the bedroom.

   My timing was good. I had time left for my bath. Well, our bath. Now for after action fun. I had him kneel, face on jogging shoes, and told him now he was allowed to thank me for caring enough to make sure things got better, and to beg for my forgiveness, which now he might just get finally.

   After enough enjoyment, I granted him my forgiveness.

   "No kissing and hugging to make up. I want my holes cleaned, you have a problem with that?"

   He didn't.

   I led him back to the lowest basement for forgiveness time. I got undressed to give him a pile of clothes to kneel on, so he could lick me for a while, and not get sore knees. Let it not be said that I am not nice to him. If I didn't care? I'd let him get bruised knees kneeling on the cement sub basement floor. I obviously care. I got my usual, and even better, bang up licking I was now well used to. When I turned around and knelt over the chair, he catered to my other hole just as well. I no longer had to give any advice on either job, he had them both down pat.

   I had another little thank you session, with the little kisses I enjoyed so much. Then, I had him dress me. Slowly and carefully. I had him kiss the big belt buckle after he redid my belt.

   Stripping naked, and going over my knee with me fully dressed, was as I said, another little humiliation to the ritual. Getting him dressed, while I got my lickings, was another. When I had him get me dressed, it was obvious there was no sex for him. Because this was all for serious, not for fun like usual.

   Again, where is my award for this performance.

   We went back upstairs and I had him run the bath, all as hot as possible, so we could get our shower and it was just able to be gotten into when the shower was over. When I had him in there, before we got started showering, I had him lay down on the floor, near the drain. I stood over him, and smiled down and peed on him. Another little humiliation.

   "I was pissed off earlier. Now? I got it out of my system. Its better to be pissed off, than pissed upon. Thank me."

   I got thanked for peeing on him. Then it was time to rinse him off, and I had him service my shower needs. Pampering. All I had to do, was lift each foot when needed. He did everything. I got my now customary foot rub, in the tub. Followed by my leg, neck and shoulders. Then, I got him in with me. I had him start the whirlpool, so we could enjoy the jets in the oversize tub. I had him sitting in front of me, my arms around him. My legs up over his, my feet inside his legs. When we sit like this, he likes to idly rub my legs, and trace my leg muscles. He'll tell me how much he likes my body, and how crazy other men are that they take away points, instead of awarding extra, for having a killer body and being fit.

   That's his word for it, no prompting or suggesting from me. He tells me I have a killer body. I told you, he makes me actually feel gorgeous. When I'm with him and his eyes are on me? I feel like the 8 to 9 he claims I am in his eyes. Not the 5 to 6 the rest of the world gives me. I love it, I eat it up. Its a two way street. I know what he really could be like, if he wasn't disinterested in petty pecking order games he was taught to care less about, and to disregard as childish nonsense. I have my very masculine boyfriend, that I cherish. It's just for me. We share secrets. He's perfect for me. He thinks I'm twice as pretty as everyone else sees me, and I get my masculine boyfriend, even if everyone else doesn't get to see it.

   We both have the same, if even mirror imaged, compulsion we crave. An urge that we crave in our partner. Its all so perfect, its practically unreal. I had my arms around him hugging him to me gently, and I kissed his shoulders and neck once in a while.

   "So. Little boy. I want to know one more thing, and I better get the truth, when I ask it."

   "Yes."

   I dropped the voice, and giggled, kissing his neck.

   "Happy birthday. Did you enjoy the birthday spanking, hmm."

   "What…?"

   "Aw. What did you ask for. Over the knee. What did you ask for, getting it for a real reason. What else. You said the belt after my hand, camping? Was hot. I thought for sure you were going to figure it out, it was everything. You told me having action be a surprise? Made it more fun. You said that you liked the scary ride feeling, wondering if it was real or not."

   "Holy… you mean, the girls were…"

   "In on it? Not at all. That, was an accident. When I came home with my hands full, I planned on waiting to see if someone would get the door once they saw me. You know what I saw standing there. Christ. It was all just too good to pass up though, once I realized I had the perfect opportunity. How else could I have you actually scared. I just couldn't pass that little gift up."

   "So you know I… didn't…"

   "Honey? I saw your nose buried in your book, and she was looking back, seeing where she could stand to play her little game. Didn't I tell you, what she was going to do? I just knew it. If she isn't the center of attention, she pouts like a little baby. Which is fine in and of itself, but… she sport-fucked an ex of mine once. She puts on a show for any of the other girl's guys they bring around. We're all pissed. One of us was going to snap soon anyways."

   "Oh."

   I kissed his neck again.

   "Rest of your present?"

   "How bad is it going to hurt…"

   "Hmm. Didn't you tell me you wanted a video of me smacking some girl around? You keep your cell phone handy, you're about to get one. They'll be home in a little while. Bars are closing."

   "Oh."

   "Yeah. Now, are you going to… watch it in front of me, later?"

   "You mean…"

   "Of course. I never saw that, might as well see it."

   "Okay."

   "Hmm. Then, there's the matter of you didn't get taken care of, on account of how you were being punished and all, so you'd believe it and get your scary ride you asked for. So… someone is getting a very sloppy blowjob, followed by laying there and enjoying a mommy ride."

   "So I'm not really in trouble?"

   "No. Fun's over. Well, the really naughty fun's over. The normal fun is coming."

   "Oh."

   "What's oh?"

   "Hmm. The best behavior thing. You… were very convincing."

   "Thank you. Yeah. I seem to be getting better with the speeches, is that it?"

   "Oh. Down pat. I can't believe I can…"

   "What?"

   "I'm sitting, ain't I?"

   "Oh. I sat you down immediately when I was untying you, I thought for sure you'd figure it out then. All the tears, all the marks, none of the damage. I think I have my recipe down perfect."

   "Thank you."

   "I have fun too. Did you see how wet I was, when I finally sat in the chair, and got my licks? Jesus. I think the panties I was wearing, are more wet then the pair stuck in your mouth. Thank you too."

   "You? Are welcome."

   "Hmm. I went all out, for your birthday spanking. Did you like the little extras? Remember, you said getting embarrassed was fun too. I read about that, after you said it. It seems… shame, humiliation, blushing… releases a set of chemicals, similar to love and sex release. Not the same. But, they're related. So… put a sock in it. Not just a phrase. Humiliating?"

   "Yeah. I can't believe you shoved socks in my mouth. The panties, I liked already."

   "Aw. You should have seen how bad you blushed when I did it. I could barely keep a straight face. There was more. The website I was reading, suggested adding the little things for humiliation in, if they liked it."

   "Like what?"

   "Oh. You, stripped naked. Made to willingly bend over my lap? Not just yanked over. You had to ask for it. That was one."

   "Hmm. That was hot…"

   "And… being naked, while I'm fully clothed? That's another one."

   "Again. Very hot."

   "Why thank you. Then dressing you, while I got serviced, another one. No fun for you, all fun for only me."

   "You're getting too good at this. I wonder, if I was ever stupid enough to leave you. When I regretted it one day, which would definitely happen. What would I have to pay, to get this again. I mean, what do guys pay for tonight? It can't be cheap. I don't mean, that…"

   "Shush. I know what you mean, dear. Its very sweet of you. You like it so much, and you admit you'd never find it again. Rich guys pay top dollar for tonight's performance. Thousand dollars an hour. Minimum. Only some girls will do it, apparently. Then, only some of those, are even any good at it, I guess. So, its expensive. You add in a certain look to the girl you need doing it? The price goes up even more. You would need a tall, strong, fit girl. That's hard to find. That makes it even more expensive. You? Get what only the richest guys can afford, honey. I might not be able to shower you with expensive gifts, which I would like to, if I could. But… you seem to be getting top of the line fun. This is top of the line… entertainment… for when rich guys get bored with the vanilla, and want something new."

   "Wow. I'm having millionaire sex. I could brag to millionaires, if it wasn't a secret."

   "It is a secret. But, if you could? Yes. A multi-millionaire? That wanted it from a girl just like me? Would pay more than a thousand an hour, for what you just got for a free birthday present. Because I'm not rich enough to buy you something expensive, like I want to."

   "Thank you. How do you know all this again?"

   I kissed his neck, and bit it and laughed.

   "Accusing me of something you shouldn't? We can take the medium switch down in the basement, you know. We can do the whole chair routine again, every bit of it. Then, get you helpless, for a real switch across your ass. The kind that hasn't been seen or heard of, since 1910."

   "Uh…"

   "Hmm. Someone's heart just skipped a beat. I can feel it in your chest. Shh. You're fine. I knew what you meant. Mommy's just teasing you, that's all. You've been a very good boy. But, to answer your question. Remember, we lost a girl or two the last two years. To the… escort services recruiting female college athletes. They look on the school website team pictures, and email the girls. Propositioning them. I've seen the offers. They start out with a fee split, of a thousand dollars an hour, and go up if the clients like the performance. We lost one of our best fullbacks. The volleyball team? Has a girl up to something, she's either dealing drugs, which she's not. Or… brand new sports car. Expensive clothes and jewelry and bought a house. All cash. She says rich uncle, but… we're pretty sure its bullshit. Taking the escort offers? Is the only thing that explains it. I'd like to hunt them down and strangle them. Slowly. I miss my fullback. It hurts us."

   "Wow. You get these offers too, I bet. You are cute. You're a tall strong girl. Those leg muscles… mmm. Only thing I'll give those rich perverts, they do have good taste."

   "If you continue to impress me? I'll show you the next one. You can email them yourself and tell them to fuck off. And if you want to hunt the person making the offers down, and beat the ever loving shit out of them? You have my blessing, just don't get caught. I need you here with me, not in a jail cell for a couple years. For doing the world a great public service, such as that? How do you always phrase it? No good deed goes unpunished."

   "Hmm. What can I do for you? Anything you want? Name it."

   "Hmm. Well, for starters? I want my little show, when you watch your video. Not tonight, I want you horny, then watching it."

   "That's it?"

   "Well. I liked giving you the polite suggestions, on how to be behaving extra good, until you were out of the doghouse."

   "Oh, yeah. That was hot. Mommy is going to punish me, for forgetting to do my chores. Or not doing them good enough."

   I started kissing his neck.

   "No backtalk. No sass. Don't you dare interrupt me, or correct me, ever. I'd have fun… warning you, what was going to happen, if it didn't stop. Just a game, when we're alone. I told you a bunch of times. I'm only… dominant? About sex. Outside of sex, I don't even like to order a guy around. But, if it was a fun game… well…"

   I kissed his neck, and bit it gently again.

   "Done. Do, you want me to…"

   "Give me excuses, to slap you and warn you? Give you the speech? Oh, yes. I want to see how hot it gets me. I think it might. Will you play along for my benefit, to see?"

   "Anything."

   "Hmm. Forget something, every day or every other day. I'll be watching, waiting to make sure, you didn't forget our little… talk. I'll keep warning you. You have two weeks, until your birthday. Plenty of time to see if it makes me wet."

   "No problem."

   "Two weeks? Clean bum to mark up. I can start fresh. You… could do something one time too many, you know. Could just happen to be one time too many, right on your birthday."

   "Hmm. Like we're guaranteed to be alone on my birthday. Doesn't fall on a weekend. Which is a pity."

   "Oh. The girls like having you around. And no, not just the sport-fucker. They… claim, apparently, I'm slightly less of an insufferable cunt, I think. I just got complimented last week, on not being cranky one said, before my morning coffee. I asked for an alone day and night, for your birthday. For obvious reasons. If one of us has a guy with a birthday? Its a normal request. Also, for our own birthday, too. So… we'll have privacy."

   "What happens with this… privacy."

   "Oh. I've had it with the missed chores. I've had it with the lackadaisical approach to how you perform them. You were warned, and I'm sick and tired of having to repeat myself. I don't like to repeat myself, and you've made me tell you far too many times. Time for another lesson. The kind of lesson, that starts upstairs, in our bedroom. Then? Ends up with you going down to the basement. For the chair talk. Again. Much longer talk, with the chair needing done a second time, so soon after your first one. And after that? The chair and the hand and the belt didn't work right the first time, so, you were told and now I see that you didn't listen. You thought I was kidding about the switch coming down and getting used. Just like I said it would. You asked for it. You tested me. You think you cried your little eyes out over the belt? Wait until you get the switch used on you properly, after the belt next time."

   I was kissing his shoulder, and biting his neck gently. I felt that his interest meter, which would show me the level of interest? Was up.

   "Play along for the next two weeks while we're alone. Then you'll get another chair talk, and more."

   "You? Are a very bad girl."

   "I'm the worst. I'm rotten. And you? Love it."

   "I do."

   "All right. Let's get done. Mommy wants dried off. You up for that? Do a good job. Then, you can dress me. You can finish, with some… little kisses, if you know what I mean. Just till the girls get here. Then? Don't forget your cell phone, and get your recording. Your mommy riding tops? Comes after. I'll make it good, trust me."

   "No problem. What happens, in reality, if I have to tell you a bad report on…"

   "Oh. No question about it. You'll get another video, of me actually kicking the shit out of her. She's been warned once, politely. She's getting the second warning, being bounced off the walls and rag dolled around. Next time? Well. As you well know. The third time, is the charm."

   "Won't you get in trouble with the coach?"

   "No. I texted him. He can't believe it. After he intervened, because the guy was gone anyways, and its a team mate, and to keep the peace… she gets forgiven over my best judgment. I was nice. He's pissed right now too. This shit is causing problems for the team, and in his own words, he's not the sex police. He has no authority to put a stop to it. But… he suggested a warning, and if she does it again? I could handle it any way I felt like, to put a stop to this shit once and for all. He said, to make an example out of her. That if he can't put a stop to this? He can at least turn a blind eye to one of us that does put a dent in this bullshit. Its going to lose a player or two one day, and we can't afford it. Not when we're this close, to finally winning a championship, instead of getting close and missing out again. The team? Is always a bridesmaid, never a bride. College sports writer coined that one."

   "If she dares you, and you do it, she could go to the cops…"

   "Pffft. Did you ever once notice, that the guys, never seem to get in half the trouble regular students get in for the same shit? Its a big university, its a big deal to everyone. The boys in particular, get away with murder. A warning, for a DUI stop. Made to shake hands, for fighting in the bar parking lot and the cops have to come. Please. Spare me. Two starting female athletes? A cat fight over boys? Get real. You do know, that for a big school, sports are big money makers for the schools, right? There's millions of dollars a year at stake. More if we're winning more."

   "Well, yeah…"

   "The games that are televised, like the football games? The schools rake in money, like its pro football money. Us athletes? Don't see a dime beyond scholarship money. The last time it was an issue in the news, was when starting players started getting perks, like… starting players, get luxury townhouses. You start? You get somewhere better than the dorm to live. Its an incentive to play hard and train hard. The boys were getting it, then the girl's teams asked why it was just the boys. It was asked in the papers, I mean. Now? Here we are. The more money the school makes, the more money the tiny town its in makes. Do the math."

   "She could sue you, and…"

   "First off, I don't have any money to sue me for. Never, never sue poor people. Second? The rule, that is never enforced, but can be… two players fighting, in or out of a game, on or off school property… run the risk of both players being cut. That? Is the coach's call. Who is… influenced, by the administration. Coach just threatens the possibility of enforcing that rule? Okay. Sue a poor student for nothing. See what that gets you. But… you'll lose your scholarship, for nothing gained. You're not playing? Even if you get hurt in a game? You lose the scholarship. None of us can afford to be here, without it. Or, the parents would be broke. The best players, don't always come from the richest families. No. Shake hands, and quit the shit that started it. Or get essentially kicked out of school. And no other school will touch even a star player, that gets cut for disciplinary reasons. They know its rare, and they have to wonder what they were up to all along, to incur the school's wrath. Nope. That's the school's version, of kicked to the curb."

   "Wow."

   "What? It's obvious how it all works, when you sit and notice it, and think logically."

   "Not that, wow."

   "What then?"

   "I was actually scared tonight."

   "Hmm. That was your… scary ride, you wished for. I managed to give it to you."

   "No. Thank you for that, but…"

   "Oh. You were actually scared, of getting hurt? Hmm. What was that? It just popped into my head, and I went with it. I'd say you're not going to sit down for a week, but that's assuming you even have an ass when I'm through with you? I don't know how I come up with this stuff. Glad you enjoyed your scary ride."

   "No, I was scared of that. I was also scared, when you told me I was going to get hurt bad, then you were going to dump me."

   "Hmm. If you decide, you want to have to sleep face down for a couple nights, before you're birthday is here? That, can be arranged. So, if I were you?"

   "Yes…"

   "Bar's closing. They get kicked out a half hour later. And if I don't have time to get dried off properly? Get dressed slowly like I want? You might get another chair lesson tonight. Get a move on, little boy. I'm getting tired of repeating myself. Move it."

   "I love it when you're forceful."

   "Make me miss this? You'll get more love than you can stand. Last warning. Don't test me."

   He stuck his tongue out at me and winked, as we got up out of the whirlpool bathtub. I tapped the back of my hand across his face gently. I did the face and the voice with my own wink back.

   "Watch the sass. Now get the towel, and do it how you know I like it. Or else."

   I tapped his face with my forehand slightly more forcefully, but nowhere near enough to leave the slightest mark. I hissed at him.

   "I don't speak twice. Towel… and kneel. Start at my feet and work up. Slowly. And don't you dare touch my twat. We don't have time for you to do anything, but pat it dry gently. Watch your mouth, and watch your manners. You wanna sleep face down tonight? I dare you. Do not test me."

   He smiled and knelt down on another towel, and took my foot I presented him with to dry it off. Then the other. Oh, this level of pampering. I'm getting completely spoiled rotten.

   When he was done, I got kneeling and little kisses.

   "Not bad. Could have been better."

   I winked.

   "Dry yourself off, and be quick about it. You're in the doghouse, for the next two weeks. And you know why. Now, you're going to dress me. Nice and slow, like you know I like it. I've been going over this for weeks now. Get it right. One slip up? You know better at this point. Move."

   Oh, Jesus. I sat down on the end of the bed, and I got more kisses, then dressed slowly. Pampered. Like royalty must have gotten back in the day. I didn't have to lift a finger. I really don't deserve this treatment? But I'll take it, and I'll enjoy it. I put the long thin switch next to me seated, and left it there as a "warning", and winked. I made him dress himself. Then, we went downstairs to watch a movie on the couch. The girls would be back soon. I had a surprise for lazy whore number three.

   We had time for him to microwave us a snack. I laid his head in my lap for the movie, and put them in his mouth, after blowing them off. Its almost his birthday, for Christ's sake. I opened my mouth now and again, and got one popped in back. When the three girls were back, you could hear them coming. Drunk people are loud, some of them. They came in hooting and hollering. Lazy whore number three, was louder than even her usual. Pretty sure, the other two bought her a few shots. One smiled at me, and the other winked. They were waiting on this as well. She had put on a show for guys they had over before, too. Well, number two went through it. Number one? Actually never brings a guy back, only the other two do. The joke is, she mates like a cat. You know, they go off… then come back the next morning, tired and haggard but happy.

   They got seats quicker, and she was stuck next to me as I got up to let her sit down.

   "We need to have a talk. You and me. Right now."

   "What about?"

   "Picture's worth a thousand words, they say. A short movie? Must be a million, at least. 30 to 60 pictures a second. Do the math."

   "What…?"

   "Here."

   I handed her the phone. Her face dropped. She thought, obviously, she had made good her escape before I noticed. She now knew she hadn't.

   "Swipe left. Couple more pictures. When you get to the video? I suggest you watch it. Then? We're on the same page. You better watch your tone. I thought I already warned you. Hell, I warned them, too. Didn't I girls?"

   "Sure did."

   "Yep."

   "Right. Let me know when you're done with the movie. Girl talk time."

   Her face dropped. I took my phone back.

   "Now. What the hell do you have to say for yourself. The fuck am I looking at here. I want an explanation. Now."

   All I got was stammering, and uhm, well, you see. Then stuck, the sorry routine. Like a little kid. So I stood up, and stood right in front of her.

   "I thought I warned you. What did I say?"

   "All right… I'm sorry."

   "I don't want sorry. What did I say. Or you too drunk to remember a couple weeks ago."

   "I remember, okay? I said I'm sorry, now can we just…"

   "No! We can't! I told you, what I told those two. Who by the way, never sport-fucked my boyfriend like you did before! Sorry? Didn't get it back then. The only reason sorry cut it, was the guy had already left anyways, and I didn't find out till after the fact. Then? You could have kept that shit to yourself, but oh no. You had to turn it into a sport-fuck, and mention it. Then the only thing saved your ass, was the coach and everyone else, wanted to keep the peace. He was gone anyways. Okay! I let bygones be bygones, and I forgave you. Then? The coach wants his starting front line, in one place, where…"

   "Yeah, yeah. I know. So coach's pet can keep an eye on me. This is old news, that…"

   I ripped her up from sitting by the scruff of her shirt, and tossed her back down, sticking my finger in her face.

   "The coach? Doesn't call me his pet! He calls me, the adult! Because I don't pull your kind of shit, and he wants someone here, keeping an eye on his front line! You wanted to live here, coach wanted you here, they both wanted you here! I didn't! I had to forgive you again, and I'm the head of household, because I lived here the longest! You know the rules, one adult, or whatever passes for the adult, in every townhouse. That? Is me. So I'm not the coach's pet, I'm the coach's adult! You better watch your mouth right now!"

   I got the muttering under her breath, another couple sorry-s popped up, and it went back to muttering under her breath. Typical drunk's stage whisper. Then one of the other two enjoying the show, had grabbed my cell phone and were sharing the pictures and video, and rolling their eyes and trying to keep a straight face. One went to make that it was time to grab me up, the other made a patting motion. No, wait a second it said. This is getting good. She has this coming.

   "What was that? I didn't catch that. Get the cock out of your mouth, so I can understand you."

   I got a sigh, another lame sorry, and the muttering, well… I caught something about her leftovers. Something about, if I was jealous and wanted her leftovers so bad, fine. Fucking whore. That was it. One of the other two was smiling, the other was rolling her eyes and palming her face to hide her amusement. I yanked her up and fired her off the door. She made like she was going to push me, but that wasn't happening. I dribbled her off the steel front door, and rattled the dishes. The other two noticed we were getting cell video, from him.

   "Leftovers?!?! I wouldn't fuck one of your leftovers, if someone paid me! And what kind of drunken whore leaves used condoms laying around for god knows how long? The fuck is wrong with you!"

   She tried pushing me again, which held up against the door isn't going to work. I dribbled her a couple more times off of it, and tossed her across the living room floor. Like a doll. Sober she knows different, and drunk? Her mouth is engaged when she should know better.

   I got the drunk piss-y routine now.

   "He asked me out first! Hell, he asked her out, too! And more than me! You're all head over heels for a goddamn cheerleader? Fine. I said I'm sorry, drop it."

   I grabbed her and tossed her around some more. She thought she was gonna try it back, but, yeah right. Not even sober. When one of these three is getting knocked around, I'm the one that gets moved up to handle it. I knock the girl around that thinks she's hot shit, to keep the front line from getting cow tailed. Its the simple truth, and everyone knows it. You try to be nice to a spoiled cunt. I forgave her for the first sport-fuck. I let her move in.

   Then, you can't say I could have been nicer about it. Polite warning. Alone, so no lost face. Don't try it again, I'm warning you. Then? The fuck do I get for being nice. Now? Take your second far less polite warning, say you're sorry and it won't happen again, and knock it the fuck off, like you should have done for the first warning. But no. Now? I'm gonna get mouth. Like a little kid that thinks no teacher can put their hands on her. Mistake.

   I slapped her several times, across the face. No love pats. I smacked the taste right out of her mouth. That, finally got her attention, and brought her to her senses. I grabbed her by the hair, and dragged her bodily over to the front of the couch by her hair.

   "Now! Let's go over this one more time, so the cheap seats can hear! This? Is mine! This? Is my goddamn personal property! You? Had your chance, several of them! Unlike you, I know a good thing when I see it! This? Belongs to me! It's off limits!"

   I dribbled her off the door some more, rattling a few more dishes.

   "Hello?!?! We awake in there! We getting through?!?! Earth to space whore! Come in, space whore!"

   She finally shut her yap. Finally.

   "Now. We're getting somewhere. Last warning. You so much as brush up against him, moving across the kitchen? I'm going to stomp the shit out of you. Try it, I fucking dare you. New house rules, too. You? Are gonna wear some goddamn clothes, when one of us has a guy over. Girls? You ever see this shit like you see on my phone before? Tell the truth…"

   Number two, who does bring guys back home fairly regularly, responded first.

   "Oh yeah. That's her patented shake your ass for date night routine. Pissed me off once or twice before. I let her slide, we were drunk…"

   Number one, as I call her? Might not bring guys home, yet still agreed.

   "Oh yeah. Same here. She does it to me, when we're out. They were just casual fucks, so I let it slide. I'm not happy."

   "You listening?!?! Everyone's tired of your shit! You prance around like that again? In front of mine, or one of theirs? You better knock it off, or I swear to god, I'm going to knock you off. Now then, attention whore. Let's get down to brass tacks, shall we? When, exactly, was the last time you ever once, picked up a goddamn thing around here? Name one time!"

   Another dribble.

   "Exactly. I leave the house for 20 minutes, oops. There goes your clothes. You start shaking your ass like a hooker! One more time, I fucking dare you. And if you ever, talk like I just heard again? Leftovers shit? Same thing. Go stick a cock in it, the next time you got something smart like that to say. Clothes? Stay on. Mouth like I just heard? Shut. And you so much as brush up against him, or one of theirs? One of us, probably me? Are going to knock the shit out of you. Now, you don't like it? You wanna call the coach? Feel free… to use my phone. I already talked to him. You know, you all know? He's tired of this sport-fucking shit. Starts too much trouble. Like now! He? Just can't police your fucking. I don't like it, but as long as it ain't mine or theirs? Have fun. Now get the fuck out of my sight, before I actually lose my cool. You want another girl talk? Bring it up tomorrow, and see if you wanna try this sober…"

   I yanked her up into my face and hissed at her.

   "Please. Now quit trying to fuck our guys, and we never try to fuck yours anyways. Knock it off. Last warning, I swear to god. Now get out of my sight, go sleep it off…"

   I tossed her in the general direction of the kitchen, which should lead her to her bedroom if she has half the brains I give her credit for, which ain't much, but still. She went off, and one of the other two yelled up after her.

   "You really get an itch to pick up? Try throwing used condoms away, you sick fuck! You're gonna catch something off of your sport-fucks! We need you healthy for the season!"

   They were clearly enjoying the show. One gave me two thumbs up, the other said it was 7.3 out of a possible 10. Without talking. She apparently had an app I didn't know about, on her phone. She held her cell up, displaying the number 7.3, like an Olympics judge. I chuckled despite it all. It was, after all, hilarious and well timed. This, was lazy whore number one. My good, smart kid, as I thought of her. God bless her.

   "Do you think I got through?"

   One said maybe. The other wiggled her hand in a seesaw motion. Then they gave each other a hearty high five. I smiled, and made a cutting motion with my finger across my throat to him. Like a director. Cut. He chuckled and saved the video.

   "Can I have a copy of this? I want it on my phone."

   "Sure."

   "I want a copy too!"

   "Yeah! Me three!"

   "Fine. Show it to whoever you please. Particularly the team. I wasn't kidding. The coach is sick of the girls starting shit over this bullshit. The best part? Sport-fucking, come on. You don't even like the guy, it's just to fuck with your girl. You're asking for trouble, when you don't even like him."

   "She doesn't like any guy, until someone else likes them. Then? Shake her ass time."

   "Hope it works."

   "Come on. Let's leave these two to watch their movie."

   "Good night!"

   "Enjoy the movie…"

   "Thanks girls. Sorry you had to see that."

   They giggled and went to their rooms, which left us alone. Finally.

   "What about you. You ready for bed?"

   "Yes. Please."

   "Okay. You still listening?"

   "Hanging on every word, dear."

   "Good. Go get me another snack microwaved. The other two ate mine. I want the same thing. We have some. Bring it back in here, and don't dilly dally. Move. I gave you an order, mister."

   I was speaking softly so no one would hear. He whispered in my ear.

   "Thank you for that."

   "You want some? Get a move on."

   I winked. He smiled and stuck his tongue out at me. I swatted his face, playfully.

   "Watch your sass. I'll give you something to use that tongue on. Now go, would you?"

   He went and was back in not many more seconds than it took the microwave to run. He smiled, and put the plate in my lap, and gave me some little kisses, holding my ankles.

   "Look up at me."

   He did.

   "I wanna ride my property, if you think that would be fun."

   He nodded.

   "I figured as much. Would you mind taking this plate up and waiting for me in our bedroom? I'll be up after I shut the lights and the TV and everything off."

   "I'm looking forward to it."

   "You better be. Get going."

   When I came up to the bedroom, I sat on the foot of the bed, and he came up to me. Without being asked, he started to undress me. Pampered. I had to only lift one foot, then the other. I stood up, and he took my jeans off, and I stepped out of them. He pointed at my panties, and I shook my head no and smiled.

   "Go sit. You like a show? You might as well get one from a girl that actually likes you."

   He sat in the desk chair he turned around, and I gave him a little imitation of the bending over, pantie and leg show she had been trying to pull off.

   "Now you can pull them down."

   I stepped out of them, when he had them slid down to my ankles. I lifted my arms, and he took my T shirt off for me. I went back to the bed, and sat down once again, at the foot of it. He came back, and held my ankles and I got little kisses. God, how I love that. I pulled him on top of me, then told him to put some music on. For privacy. He did. I directed the volume with up and down finger motions, then flashed the OK sign. He came back, and I pulled him on top of me again, before rolling on top of him, pinning him underneath me. I tucked my legs in, and gave him his ride. I extended it as long as possible, starting and stopping to prolong it.

   He asked if I wanted him to clean up his mess. I smiled, and shrugged. He went about it. I got what I was starting to call a mouth quickie. Then, I sat on his face, so he could actually clean me. He didn't complain. He never does. It never gets old. I whispered in his ear, that he was going to get a quick clean up too. I cleaned him up, until he brought me up to let me know there was no destination. I kissed him anyways.

   "Do me a favor?"

   "Anything."

   "Play some fetch for a little bit. I missed it."

   I sat on the foot of the bed and tossed my socks and panties all around and over, and he fetched with his mouth, crawling back. I either tossed them again, or got ankles held and my little kisses.

   "Think you can sleep now?"

   He nodded.

   "Lay down with me."

   He did.

   Laying close, we could talk in each others ears. Privately. I like to talk some, falling asleep together.

   "So. Was that better, than your run of the mill, once every six months thing that gave you the idea you liked this?"

   "Not even in the same league."

   "Hmm. Thank you."

   "You're welcome."

   "So. After one every six months…"

   "Twice? Then never again. Until you."

   "Right. But, it let you know there was something missing. That you wanted."

   "I… already was interested. Like you said, it pops into your head, whether you want it to or not. She, was just the first real offer of any kind, ever. I jumped at the chance, to try… what had popped into my head since I was young. That I couldn't talk about."

   "And then?"

   "And then what."

   "And then, once you got a taste, the idea came back. Worse. More often. Stronger. That was how it was for me. I gave myself a little taste? It wanted more."

   "Yeah. It wants fed. It waits, it wants to grow."

   "Became your fantasy, huh? I admit it became mine, after the first polite one happened."

   "Yeah. Same here. You know guys… take matters into their own hands, I'm sure."

   I smiled.

   "I've heard rumors. I know. You know girls do too, right?"

   "I've heard. As often as guys do?"

   "I think we're the same that way, boys and girls. What do you… think about. Or do you use… inspirational material."

   He smiled and tapped his temple on the side of his head gently with his index finger.

   "Oh. I don't need material. It comes from in here. You?"

   "Same. So tell me. What do you use for… ideas."

   "You first."

   "I asked first. We're also, in bed. I'm in charge in bed. So… do I need to beat it out of you? I have quite a collection of switches, you know. The music's on. You're not going to get something to cry for, but I can arrange a few love taps, if it gets you talking."

   "Do you think that would work?"

   "I know that will work. I have a simple method. You get one, until you decide to talk. You don't talk yet? You get another one. Pretty simple. Now I asked you twice. You need a gentle reminder, I can tell. Go, and get me one. A long one."

   "Which one."

   "Medium. I'm tired, I'm not going through this forever. I'm gonna make this short and sweet."

   He brought it back.

   "I, am going to turn the music up. You? Over the foot of the bed. I'm going to hold one hand. When you feel like talking, you… squeeze my hand to let me know."

   I turned the music up, and he was waiting for me. I held his hand, and backed off and really lit him up. He got a couple more, I was hauling off and letting him have it. I know his ass already hurt, it shouldn't take long. It didn't. I got my hand squeezed several times, after several of these good ones. I handed it to him, and pointed to put it away. The corner of the closet, with the others. He came back, and I took a picture of his boo boo butt. It was marked up, sure, but none of the wicked looking hard things. All surface marks, all burn and sting. Perfect. I shared the pic with him. These red lines were on their own, residing on the tops of his legs.

   "I asked a question. I want an answer. What do you think about. Any more stalling? You risk getting a trip to the basement. I'm tired, I'm in no mood to play games. I won't be gentle. Talk. I'm not asking again."

   I winked.

   "Could be anything. But, recurring themes work for you?"

   "Sure."

   "Girls that look like you. Birthday smacks type of thing…"

   He blushed bad.

   "…and, maybe, tied up once or twice? There, I said it."

   "Hmm. I must make you happy."

   "Very. Its hard to ask, the first time. When you… brought it right up? I thought I was gonna have a heart attack for a second there. Now, your turn."

   "I get to direct the action. Sometimes, I'm getting it good and quick. Or… I give the birthday smacks kind of thing. What do you see me suggest? What I like. Like I'm some kind of mystery? I'm not."

   "You said you were tired."

   "I am."

   "Bedtime?"

   "I would like."

   "So? Say something."

   I smiled.

   "I'm not in charge, outside of sex. Not really. Its not my thing, I told you that before. The average person on the street, yeah, there's a stereotype… and it just isn't me. Now, if I'm going to razz you about the dishes, the garbage? That's different. We planned on it. But, even in places where I actually am in charge, a little bit? No, you don't see me walking around, pointing at things, being bossy."

   "Oh. You're not a… the hell are they calling it this year anyways…"

   "Being bitchy?"

   "No. I don't watch TV like I did when I was young. But when I do? Most of the women on the shows, and in movies. They… you know. Smart girl reading glasses. Gray business suit, office clothes. She's walking around with a clipboard. Always stopping to… point, and issue orders. Has a little frown, and nods a lot. Says all right, everyone gather around. They just flock to listen. Then? She uses that… am I in trouble if I call it, the… newscaster lady voice?"

   I laughed, and I made it a point of him knowing I wanted him to laugh at it too, it was okay in my book.

   "Yeah. I complain about that stereotype too. They, whoever they are? Are really pushing that stereotype. That, was called the "girl-boss" for a while there. Still is, in certain circles. I'm sure they'll push it more, and… get a better name."

   "Yeah. Everything needs a name. It can't just happen. The magazines and talk show hosts, have to get the memo and advertise the new thing."

   "The, smart girl glasses? Yeah. Women buy them now. No prescription, not even regular reading glasses. They're… flat pieces of glass. They think it makes them look smart. The clothes you described? Gray businesswoman's pantsuit. It comes? Any shade of gray you want. You forgot, the hair simply must? Be pulled back in a bun. Clipboard? Yeah. You forgot the little briefcase. She has to take the clipboard, out of the briefcase. And? It's called an itinerary, not just a list on a piece of paper on the designer clipboard. You gotta call it the itinerary. The briefcase? I guess it's for holding the clipboard, I don't know. Shall I continue?"

   "Please. I never heard a girl talk like this before. Continue."

   I shrugged and smiled before going on.

   "The pointing? Everyone looking as she directs and is in charge of, simply everything around her, all day at work? Oh yeah. She adjusts the glasses, whether they slip or not. The little frown? You forgot the irritated shake of the head. And that newscaster voice? That oh so fake, gather round team, I'm issuing orders, and you just naturally hang on my every word? Yeah. Believe it or not, us girls have a class or two. On, tips and tricks for succeeding in the business environment. They push what you just described. The girls all do it. Its… all totally a made up thing."

   "Whats the point…"

   "Women are taught to pretend to act like this. So… they'll grow up to be little girl-bosses. The girls? Most of them aren't like that naturally. They're just imitating the silly newscaster girl voice. It's supposed to make her confident, and take-charge. That… attitude you described? That… gather around, while she directs the sun rising and setting, she's in charge of that too? That is, some girl somewhere noticed coaches, and how they see them talk. So? That's how anyone confident, and in charge? Should be. Its all so fake, it would be funnier if it wasn't so tragic."

   "What's so tragic about it?"

   "Well. For one thing. If women are such natural girl-bosses, like they claim. Then why do women have to be taught how to dress, how to talk, how to frown, what kind of glasses to buy and when to touch them. Answer? Its no different than when the little girl played dress up, as the princess. The adult girl? Is playing dress up, to be the girl-boss at work. Here's the tragic part. That coach act? Writers at Retards Monthly, were asked for an article. How to act and dress to dominate the boys at work, or something. The girly writer? Sees coaches, during games. She thinks that's how a confident leader is now. You played sports. You know it and I know it. Coaches only act like that during a game? At game time. Or during practice. They raise their voice, so everyone can hear them. The hand motions? Are because in the confusion of a game or big practice, it makes sense. Coaches don't act like that all day. When there's no game or practice? They act like normal people."

   "And the girls are walking around all day, imitating game day coach behavior. This isn't a trick? I'm not getting… extra basement time for laughing?"

   "No. It's silly. Here's the sad truth. You take any 100 guys, and stick them on a field, or an office, or some factory floor somewhere. I don't care where. Pick the 100 at random. You come back an hour later? With no prompting, with no rules… you'll come back and see several guys standing, with a bunch of guys near and around them. Asking questions, they'll think and give answers. Point over there, is where he's talking about. I don't care who you put in charge later on, you come back again, with no warning? Those same guys, in charge or not? Will be the ones everyone goes up to, checking what they should be doing, and asking if they're doing okay. Those? Are your natural leaders. That's the guy that should be the coach, that's the guy that should be the manager. Not… whoever they put in that position."

   "Makes sense. It happens in the service. Everyone knows when its crunch time, who to ask for what. On paper? So and so, is an inspiration to his men, and they hang on his every word and gesture."

   "Yeah. Women are people, just like men. The women divide themselves up, naturally, the same way. Now. Take a few girls, and stick them on that field, with the men. They'll do what the men are doing. Looking around and deciding which guy they should huddle around. A good… top leader? Can figure out which people to put in the position. The one everyone naturally looks to, without being told. Now, you fuck that up? Oh, boy. Think… coach's kid, thinking he's the assistant coach. Think… owner's son, is going to be a floor boss, or an office manager. If they're not natural at it? Fucks everything up. These people, act like they're in charge. They're not really. It gets worse when they… try to fake it and force it."

   "How old are you again? I'm kidding. I feel like I'm listening to someone older than me. Go on…"

   "Its all fake. We're teaching girls, most of whom should not be in charge of something big… to play dress up, and learn to act the role like they're in a school play. And men, that try to… force that? Not any better."

   "Wow. You saying that you're not a… girl-boss?"

   "Nope. Sorry to burst your bubble. I keep telling you. Just because I tell you what I want in bed? That comes… natural to me. I'm not… I didn't read some article. How to be dominant in the bedroom. What to say, how to say it. Read this month's Retards Monthly big article? You can go from getting grabbed and bent over, to riding tops in one day. Doesn't that sound silly? That's because it is silly. Now. Imagine a girly girl, reading that article, then trying it on her next boyfriend. Would it… work for lack of a better word?"

   He thought about it.

   "Would I like it? And I seem to like that, too. Hmm. No, it wouldn't… feel right."

   "See? Now, she can play that, one night, or one weekend. For fun. That? Is role playing. Now, let's take me. When I casually say… hey, bend over. I wanna smack your butt. Why does it work."

   "You're right. It's natural. I don't look over one day, and see you prancing around, you forgot to be in character."

   "In the bedroom? That's me. Now, the rest of the day? Normal life? No… I don't walk around, ordering everyone around. If I did? It would be fake."

   "I just saw you put on a show downstairs. Very hot, by the way. You sure didn't seem like you have a problem with it."

   "That? Is different. You see me act even remotely like that any other time? No. For as much of an insufferable cunt as my reputation might be, no. If I don't do a few things around here, they wouldn't get done. I just do it myself. After I do it myself, yeah, I make some snide comments. But I don't yell and carry on."

   "But what I saw…"

   "What you saw. How do I put this. I'm a tomboy. I rode dirt bikes with the boys. We played tackle football. If a guy has a girlfriend, and… some guy in the group thinks he's gonna, I don't know. Shake his dick at her when we're around the campfire on the weekends. She was doing the girl version of the same thing. Why does she think she can get away with it? Because. Girls don't fight as often as boys do, growing up. Usually. When we do? It tends to be, name calling, getting other girls to make fun of her. The big fight? Mostly pushing and shoving. Hair pulling, scratching, tearing clothes. Cat-fight. The punches? Are like puppies swatting you with their paws. You've no doubt seen little girls cat-fight bigger girls. Well? I hung around all guys. I'll punch a girl right in the mouth."

   "Yeah. It was a whole lot more, like the guys having a discussion about someone smacking their girl on the ass."

   "Because that's what it was. If you let a guy smack your girl on the ass? She's either going to complain, or sometimes, after the guy gets away with it and you let him do it… she'll go fuck him."

   "Aren't you the… girl-boss on the team?"

   "Not like you think. I don't walk around pretending I'm the assistant coach. I'm a player. If the coach asks me things, if the coach tells me to just do things without asking on the field. Yeah. I'm doing what I'm told, just like everyone else."

   "So you are coach's pet."

   "No. Coach's pet? Always kissing up. Asking to do things. Am I bringing the coach an apple everyday? No. In football, you call plays. Its a lot more planned, what you're trying to do. In soccer? Its a mess. We work on how to react to things in practice, then scrimmage it. In a game? When that happens, we know how to react. Problem is, every game is different. Every player is a different combination of things. You move players around to account for it. Coach doesn't get the luxury of getting a chance to call plays, with things starting and stopping, like football, or baseball."

   "So you…"

   "If I see a girl with a problem on some mismatch, yeah, we have hand signals to temporarily switch positions. We know to fall back to regular, when the ball's back up field, and the coach can have a chance to switch players around, if he liked how it went. There's no time to argue, you instinctively follow a signal. The girls go with it, the coach likes it. He wants me to do it, its a band aid, its temporary. If he sees it working? He'll make the switch during a timeout. There's big shot coaches, and there's fluid coaches. He's a fluid coach. I can't play with a big shot, you do it like we do it in practice, and my way or the highway. A fluid coach sees that? He'll create mismatches, and eat you alive."

   "Why do they even have anything but fluid coaches then?"

   "Little league? Most of the coaches beat it into their heads. Do what I say! Like we practiced it! The girls get used to it. You get to junior high? Most of them are still like that. High school? Too many of them, and the little schools don't know any better than to look for another kind of coach. My high school coach? He had to explain fluid to us. Now, you got stars all over the states. These girls come here, and lots of them had my way or the highway coaches… that's what they're used to. The coach? Has trouble getting them to play this way. Freshman girls take a while to get used to it. Can't have some girl rolling her eyes, and not following signals. There's one or two more of me on the field. We're in it, we can see things the coach can't see. But what he can see, is when the temporary switch is working."

   "And… the fact you protect the girls, and can move yourself into position to…"

   "Yeah. If you're gonna steal the little girl's milk money? You're gonna hear from me. Do you have any idea how dirty girls soccer is at this level?"

   "Not really."

   "Hmm. You watched on TV. Leg show."

   He smiled, shrugged and blushed a little.

   "Yeah. Guilty."

   "On TV. The camera, follows the ball. The ref? Watches the play around the ball. Lots of shit is going on, everywhere else. Yeah, the girls that play dirty? Learn how to get away with murder. They learn when they're in position, that the ref can't see them. The crowd? They see it. They scream, they boo, the coaches pitch a fit. What the ref doesn't see? You get away with. Example. The dirty player will rip you onto the ground, by your hair, right before you bolt up to see who gets the free ball. She does that a couple times, that girl starts watching her. Instead of the ball, like she has to."

   This was all new to any TV watcher.

   "Then, another girl sees, and comes over and knocks her over. Can't have that. I'm used to it. Try pulling my hair. Try knocking me over. We got girls slapping, punching and tripping, and get away with it all game. Guess what I do, when everyone's watching the ball. I'm waiting on it. I let her do it to me a couple times, I'm timing it, she gets my elbow in the mouth. I'll give her stitches or knock a tooth out. I put her out of the game."

   "You don't get a penalty."

   I shrugged, and grinned.

   "When I'm getting ready to bolt for the ball, my elbow just happens to accidentally get a perfect shot in the mouth. When I'm turning around on the ball, my fist just happens to whip right into your mouth. These things just happen."

   "What if you get in a fight?"

   "Oh. It better be worth it. If I can get a starting player, eating us alive, to take a swing at me? If I can talk shit and get her to punch me in the mouth, and start a fight? I let her. She? Gets thrown out of the game. Or, I can put her out of the game."

   "Planned."

   "Oh no. Perish the thought. But, when I'm sliding in to get the ball, I'm supposed to be going for the ball. If I just happen to take her leg out, and she gets a limp? Star player out. We jokingly call it… you'll love this one… adjusting the other team's roster."

   "Then they send in their goonie bird."

   "Good. Most goons? Aren't good players. And I'm not intimidated anyways. Send in two goons, and other girls are trying knock me around? Great. Big, dumb, slow players on the field now. We can burn right around them. Other girls are more interested in getting close to me, and trying to knock me over. Instead of watching the ball. Yeah. I get beat up most of the rest of the game. I'm drawing penalties. That's shots on goal, free shots. That's a stopped play. Coach gets freebie player changes, without a time out or waiting for a chance. We get awarded possession. I spend the rest of a game like that? Getting the shit beat out of me, and I can't retaliate. But…"

   "But…"

   "Those three lazy whores you see dropping pizza boxes and throwing cups around, and hiding dirty dishes anywhere they drop them all around the townhouse? That's the main starting line. The best center, and the two best wings. They're fast, and they have the wind to keep it up all game. They have great ball control. They can pass fast, tight, and accurate. On the move, and stitch up the field in seconds. Now, they can burn around the goons sent out. They cut around those retards like race car drivers avoiding traffic cones. They're accurate when they take shots on goal. Also, they all one time it. Most people, have to stop the ball, then take their goal shot. They're ripping in on the move, and that last accurate pass? They're running full tilt, and take the shot on the fly. Accurate, it's no hail Mary goal shot."

   "You mean…"

   "While I'm getting the ever loving shit beat out of me, the rest of the game, during a game like that? Yeah. They're running the other team's backfield to death, and getting shots on goal left and right, and scoring. Those three, and the others like them? Their game, is to run and gun. I play fullback, and I move up and switch around. Give those three little breaks, get their sprint wind back. I can handle it for a short time, then I go back. I move up and take out their problems, their obstacles. Then I go back and let them do their thing. Those three? Are the… stars. They get their picture in the paper. One of them, gets the winning goal in a tight game the last minute. Me? I just get the shit kicked out of me the whole time."

   "I had no idea."

   "Just how it is. Coach has enough stars coming in. He wants a couple more like me. He says, I'm what's hard to find. I'm not really great at anything, but playing fullback. But, I'm pretty good at moving around. After games? Yeah. You'll see one of those three, the team carrying them on their shoulders off the field. They get their picture taken. They get interviewed. Me? I'm crawling home all beat up. I don't wanna go to the bar to celebrate. I want nothing more than to get home, get a hot shower, lay in the tub for an hour and get whirlpool-ed. Which, is where I'm starting to think you come in."

   "Hmm? Oh, sure. You can put your arm over my shoulder, and I'll get you home and tuck you into bed."

   "No. I have a fantasy running in my head about it."

   "Oh. You… want some special treat after a big game? Anything. Just ask."

   "Not that kind of fantasy, Boo Boo."

   "That's my nickname now?"

   I smiled.

   "Boo boo butt? Boo Boo. Will you blush when I call you that? I won't do it, if it'll embarrass you around the house."

   "Have fun. And what does this little fantasy after a big game have your little Boo Boo doing for you?"

   "Honestly? I could tell you. Like I said, its a fantasy. Not something I expect. But, if you're asking."

   "I am. Tell it like a story…"

   "Hmm. Not one of those naughty stories, sorry."

   "Tell me. You have a fantasy. Let me see if I can live up to it. You sure lived up to mine. I get… bored, millionaire playboy sex. For free, constantly. It would be the very least I could do for you. If I can. Come on. Tell the story."

   "Okay. I got the shit kicked out of me all game. Kinda my job. House is empty, blessing there. The lazy whores are out celebrating. House is quiet. You? Get my gear out and carry it all in for me. Help me out of the car. Get me in the house. Get me up the steps."

   "And…"

   "I'm sure I look sexy. I'm filthy. Pretty sure I smell like a farm animal. Covered in mud, dirt, blood. I'm all scratched up. Bruised. Legs all tore up. That's a normal game."

   "I'm getting a stiff one already."

   "Uh huh. You sit me down. You go down, and… get my soccer spikes off, my socks off. Undress me, you do it for me. I'm beat up to hell. You go and run the tub up. Too hot to touch. For later. You get the shower going. I wait. You get the towels, washrags… everything. Then, you take me and put me in that shower. I don't have to do a thing. You rinse me. Soap me up. Scrub me, loofah sponge me. Moisturize me. Wash and rinse my hair, moisturize it. Brush my oiled up hair back. Then? Help me into that whirlpool. After you check it, its just right. I lay there, you get the jets going."

   "Go on."

   "That… foot rub and leg rub you do in the tub? Its… fun for naughty time. But… after a game? Oh god. Then the shoulder rub, the neck rub. Ooh. When you finally brush my hair back that last time, and I know I'm about to get dried off? Oh god. Like in the shower. I don't have to do anything. I lift one foot up, then the other… then I just stand there, while you dry me off. Then comes Boo Boo's big moment."

   "Here we go. The good stuff."

   "You take me, and put me in the bed. The body rub, the front. Aah. Then the all over body massage, emphasis on the legs and back. Then? I fall asleep, and you let me sleep. If I have the next day off, like most home games are. God… if I woke up to breakfast in bed? More heaven. I'm so sore the next day, you can't imagine. If… not for naughty fun, mind you. If… all I had to do, to get up and moving around. You were to… dress me. Put me on the couch. God forbid, bring me a cold drink or a snack. There. That's my… fantasy."

   "Wow. Now that's hot."

   I smiled.

   "I know, right? If that happened for every weekend home game. Which there are a lot of. You, would have so many built up boyfriend brownie points? You could not believe. Mommy, would be so eager to please you? Do absolutely anything for you… you would not believe. That's my, what, ultimate fantasy running through my head? When you do those things for me, and not because its naughty fun time. Rich women, you see them on TV, getting their expensive day spa treatment? That, is how you make me feel when you do those things. I've never even heard of any other girl like me, getting that."

   "Hmm. Would you brag?"

   "Not like you think. Other women? My man knows what I like, he knows what to do when I come home, he knows better. Not like that at all. Bragging, I mean… a really laid back, big smile on my face, don't you wish you had this, keep dating losers and wondering why you don't get that. Go on, retards. Keep fucking those worthless losers that give you bad boy tingles. Keep making fun of a guy for being nice. And? You'll never get what I enjoy."

   "You really want that."

   "Want? We're talking fantasy level here."

   "I think your fantasy, is very doable. Anything else, and little things you could throw in there that you want?"

   "Oh, hell. When you're done with the rubdown and body massage? If you were to… go drop the towels and washrags in the washer, throw my game clothes you undressed me out of in there, run the washer. Remember to throw them in the dryer, before coming to bed? Your brownie points would go through the roof. If you wiped my gear off and put it back in my bags, threw my practice outfits in the washer and dryer after practices, they ended up back in my bags? Oh god. I'll cook you food, cut it up for you, and put it into your mouth for you, and the girls can giggle all they want. You'll want for nothing."

   "Those three, they really get carried off the field, pictures taken, scoring titles, interviews?"

   "Yeah. They basically major in basket weaving, with a dual minor in partying and trying to get laid."

   "You, they can't do that, if you don't do your job. Get the shit kicked out of you, so they can get the spotlight."

   "Yeah. You're catching on."

   "This routine doesn't get to you? Wear you down."

   I sighed. I smiled, and it was a little thin smile, but still it qualified as one.

   "We need to win games. Period. Nothing else matters. How are games won? That ball, ends up in that other teams net. It doesn't end up, in our net. We score one or more points over the other team? That's a win. Nothing else matters, simple fact of life. Now, if we win enough games… we go to the playoffs. We win there, we get into the championship finals. If we can win that one year? That's… our super bowl, basically. This, is all that matters."

   "I just heard, its not so simple."

   "All the recruiting. All the training. All the support. All the gear. All those practices. All that work. If those three, put that ball in the other teams net one time more than they do it to us? That, is all that matters in the end. Now. What gets us there? That's the coach's headache. When a successful coach at a big university like this, asks for your help? Its an honor. I'm willing to do it. Yeah, the coach wants to take me out to lunch. Talk about what he wants to do about this and that. Stuff off the field, as well as on the field."

   "Coach's pet."

   "Call it what you want. He says I'm the only other adult he has, except for his assistant coach and the other assistants. And no, its girls soccer. Its not boys football. So… he doesn't get what they get, in the way of support. Yeah, he has me over for dinner with his family, and after dinner? We don't watch TV. He wants to know what's going on, off the field. Any girls becoming full on drunks? Doing cocaine? Running around gonna get arrested? He can't be in the locker room and the showers. Any older girls putting the moves on new girls in the shower? Beating up the new girls, excluding them. He needs to know. I'm it. All he has."

   "And sport-fucking."

   "Yeah. Gotta love the goddamn internet. Instead of putting a tampon in the girl's beer bottle, ha ha. Picking on her, you won't do shit, ha ha. Whoever invented it? I'd like to strangle them. One girl did it, then made fun of the girl she did it to. Ha ha. Last weekend? I fucked your guy. I can prove it. Look in your sock drawer, left you a nice little note to prove it. Tee hee! She don't even like the guy, its a tampon in the beer bottle. Then? Some girl did it to another girl, hey, that's a fun game, me too. What you saw me do downstairs? Yeah. I'll put a stop to it. And if an older girl, does it to a young girl, just to do it and laugh? Yeah, I'll punch the girl that did it, right in the mouth for her."

   "You're the adult."

   "Yeah. I'm the big sister. The one that takes on responsibility, and doesn't just grab for the goodies because she can. Those three? Wanna go to parties and have fun. Me? I'm not majoring in basket weaving. And I have more to do, than they do. The adult. While they're out having fun, and hanging out… I come home to an empty townhouse. Study and do my schoolwork. When I come home, and you're here? Reading. On the computer. Wow. When I look over, and you're at your desk, and I'm at mine? Again. Wow. Then, you make me feel like a 9 instead of a 5? Holy shit. You seem like you really get off, playing my little game in bed? Good god. I finally found the adult boyfriend I want and need, and you're a… yin to my yang. You make me very, very happy."

   "I'm going to blush."

   "Just let me see, I love it. You've been here long enough now. Did you enjoy your, three days parking in the rear, because the main parking garage was closed for cleaning."

   "Oh god. I'm looking down at you, you're just…"

   "I know. Begging, pleading, squealing. And you're… very sweet about it. I'm getting to… like it. Couple weeks from your next one. I meant it, anything you want. You make me happy. Do I play games with you, outside of the bedroom? Like all the other girls do?"

   "No. I love it."

   "Good. Am I a star, like those three? Nope. I know it. Look where I am though. Big university. Getting a real degree. Coach already started recruiting me to stay for my masters. Wants me to be co captain my junior or senior year. Has to let prima donna stars have it till then, but after that… definitely as a senior. If I stay for my masters, I'll probably be captain. Its a secret, don't tell the girls. If you wanna get your masters here too? Look around you. Do you like the deal?"

   "Yeah. For me? Kind of a dream come true."

   "How's it compare to where you used to live."

   "Oh. Light years ahead."

   "I know. We live where only the rich kids live. Do you… enjoy your leg show you seem to get every day, around the townhouse?"

   "Now, this sounds like a perfect trap, to get me in some serious trouble, right there."

   "Hmm. Its fine. The other girls admitted. You don't stare. You don't make them feel uncomfortable. Make jokes. Find little excuses to rub against us squeezing past us."

   "Is that what most guys do, when they stay here?"

   "Oh yeah. In fact. One of the girls, was so starved of asshole attention, like she's used to getting. She started acting up, to try to get to be the attention whore she's used to being. Guess which one?"

   "I could never guess."

   "I know. And remember? I get to watch. When its time. I want my… little show."

   "Aw. You want your little groupie to perform for you. How sweet."

   "Hmm. You like it. A few more weeks, another couple months. The girls, and the team. Are going to figure out, that you're no groupie. You're not my flavor of the week, flavor of the month. You're just… mine. Do you feel like… you're my slave? My servant. My maid. I don't think of you like that."

   "Well, in the bedroom… I like being your little groupie. And getting used like one."

   "I know, I know. Besides that."

   "No. Couple minutes a day, and… look what I get."

   "Yeah. Luxury accommodations. In college, no less. When even kids with money, are lucky to live in a cheese box. So, its not so bad, then. You… could be taken for happy."

   "Happy? I'm doing my happy dance. I kinda can't wait for school to start. Am I allowed to have one or two of my friends over, to watch a movie?"

   "Oh. I forgot about that. Your… computer friends? Sure."

   "I'm gonna become a legend, in the computer labs."

   "Its fine. Those three? Have their friends over. Evenings, weekends. Such as they are, I might add. And don't worry. Them and their… whatever they bring around. They won't be picking on your friends and making them leave. I put up with their choice of companions, I'll make sure they put up with yours. I'm kinda curious. What are you and your… computer buddies going to do, if they come over."

   "Oh. We raise hell, you just wait."

   "Such as…"

   "Everyone brings their laptop. We all play in the same games. Gaming nights are a big thing."

   I smiled.

   "Sounds like more my speed, than what those three want. They just want a frat party every weekend. You? Will get even more brownie points, that you can trade in on… anything you want."

   "Well, I won't let it interfere, with my… after game care duties."

   "Hmm. If you give me my… after game care, then put me to bed? You have my blessing to play internet games all night and all weekend. The girls, wanted me to ask you about something."

   "What?"

   "Well. Apparently, they've noticed you hanging out at the gym a lot. Like you do."

   "Kinda my thing. What?"

   "Apparently, a few of the guys they see you with? Curiosity, if you know what I mean."

   "Oh. I'm not fucking those guys. We just hang out at the gym. They're open season. Tell the girls thanks for asking my permission."

   "Hmm. Funny. Uh, apparently you hang out at the gym with…"

   "Guys. At the gym. Yeah, they go there to work out."

   "Uh, they want to know, how big a deal it would be, for you to get a couple of them over for a BBQ. Like that."

   "Oh. Eye candy. They want one or two ripped guys, one or two guys all jacked up. Right?"

   "Uh… yeah."

   "Even my weight room buddies. Not sure they'll like them. Way too nice. They'll hate them."

   "If you thought we could try it. Its what they want. Not me. I have my own."

   "Why didn't they just ask me?"

   "They blew you off. The one you saw me tune up tonight? Has been making too many smart ass jokes you're nice enough to ignore. They know they're defined by that company they're keeping. They now feel like they can't ask you for a favor like that."

   "Actually? Turning down the groupie trying to date them, that's fine. Those other two? Haven't been giving me the raspberries. They're just quiet about the whole situation the way it is now. The one you tuned up? She's the only one I don't really like."

   "So, it's a possibility?"

   "It could be. If you, the townhouse den mother of course, were to authorize me bringing in some fresh meat. Sure."

   "Hmm. What about… them going shopping?"

   "Shopping? Am I taking them to buy tampons?"

   "Shopping. Man shopping. The weight room? Is like a trip to the shoe store, for a girl. Its the meat market."

   "Oh. I'll see what I can do. If they stop in, and look around. They'll see which one's I'm buddies with. Might be able to manage a meat order like that."

   "Oh. Your stock quote? Is about to take a jump shortly with the girls. I can tell."

   "I'll see what can be arranged. Its summer. Now, the two of them? Sure. That third one… I'm not filling any orders for her. In fact, I might even warn them, that there's used condoms laying around in her room, like some kind of wacko. If one of the guys wants to give her a pity fuck, whatever. The other two? I'll see what I can do for them."

   "Hmm. That's fine. The third one, as you refer to her. She'll no doubt be getting drunk, and forgetting to put her pants on. Putting her little show on."

   He sighed.

   "Yeah. Like I said, I'll warn them, how pathetic that whole shit show really is. If they're that bored and desperate, that's on them."

   "Big difference, isn't it?"

   "What."

   "The girls. They went from turning down you so much as walking them to class, now they're embarrassed and don't know how to ask you that they want you to bring them a meat show. Not to mention, you did ask number three out, but… now that you meet her…"

   He made a gagging sound and face.

   "Urp."

   I smiled.

   "Told you. Its all only going to get better. Wait till school starts."

   "Why."

   "When you first got here. What was it like? Be honest."

   "The two of them, more or less ignored me. Which is fine. Number three… if you aren't in the room…"

   "I know. I tuned up her mouth tonight, as well as her little show. What I'm getting at, is… no one's allowed to kick my dirt bike over."

   "Yes. I noticed. Your pet groupie? Gets talked nice to, when you're around. Then, it ends up that way even when you're not around. Except for number three…"

   "Of course. Everything? Is except for number three. That's normal, dear."

   "So what happens when school's back in?"

   "I was hoping you might wanna come see me practice. Come to home games, see me play. You… naturally get a special pass, like the team gets. We each get one to give out. That one's yours. Sit down on the field. All access where regular people can't go. Free concession stand orders. You know, the works, the perks."

   "Of course I wanna watch you practice and play. Just like any good groupie, while they're still the flavor of the week."

   "Funny. But… I have to make an appearance, if only for a little while… at team functions. Parties. Mixers with the other female teams. You… won't get the same treatment you were getting, dear."

   "Oh, right. See, I almost forgot. How silly of me. People that literally wouldn't piss on me if I was on fire? Aw, they have to smile and talk nice to me now. Wow. That's great. All my dreams are slowly turning true. I always dreamed of having a big circle of fake friends, that had to pretend to like me. Count me in for every single one of those functions. Sign me right up."

   "Hmm. I'm detecting a teeny bit of sarcasm."

   "And you are. I know most people are different. They can't get in, to some… click. Soon as they have the right friend, the right date? Wow, I arrived. I'm in. These people have to accept me now, they have to talk to me. How wonderful. Yeah… that's not me. I don't have a whole lot of use for the whole crowd. Just you. That's it. I like to go and work out. I do my computer things. I have my own life. I don't sit around, wishing I could go to all these places, and have a way in. I just don't care."

   "Hmm. I guess I could understand that. I have to go to some of these things. I'm tired of going alone, always the girl without a date. Now? Not only do I have a date, I have a guy that's into me. We don't have to stay all night, I never do. A couple hours, tops. Then we can leave."

   "Oh. I could do that."

   "Amen. Am I allowed to go to… a computer get together with you?"

   "Sure. I wasn't going to make you suffer like that, but. You should see a difference."

   "What difference."

   "If you don't do what football players do, when they're in computer and math classes? Get frustrated, and make fun of everyone else? Everyone will come up and talk to you. You don't even need me there, to make them be nice to you. Once they see you're not an asshole jock? What kind of laptop do you have. You have a dirt bike? What kind. Where did you ride. Real people. Not… fake people. That you need some special pass, to be allowed to get talked nice to, by the cool kids."

   "Really?"

   "Honey. You ever walk through the computer lab? The big one… you see a lot of girls there? Hanging out because they like computers, not for school classes."

   "Not a lot."

   "You would get treated, like a little bit of a celebrity, almost. If you don't make fun of them and laugh at them, and put… tampons in their coffee cups? I'm sure everyone will want to talk to you."

   "I could go with you, when you guys all have one of your… computer game nights?"

   "Sure. You'll be the only girl there. I'm pretty sure, guys will be pushing and shoving, to see who's allowed to get you the next drink or snack."

   "Oh. I thought…"

   "Yeah. You'll, again my best guess, get waited on hand and foot, and all the guys will be taking tickets, to be allowed to sit next to you and talk to you. That's how you get treated, if you try to peek into my world. You don't have to be one of the beautiful people, or one of the popular kids. You don't need a sports car. You'll see that everyone goes out of their way to… be different. Its a computer thing. Guys all dressed alike, girls all dressed alike. Not here. One guy wears a funny hat, another one has a weird jacket he made himself. Looks like a room full of weirdos, to a newcomer, I'm sure. But… you'll see the difference."

   "Oh. And my group…"

   "Yeah. And just because you're my… ticket, the cool kids have to smile and talk to me? That's nice. You want me there? I'm there. I… will smile. Be polite. Laugh at their jokes, but… make no mistake, hun. I'm only there because you want me there. When you want to go? Don't think you're staying to let me have fun or anything."

   "What would I even do, if I went to one of your… computer get together things."

   "Well, like I said. Kind of a celebrity. A real, live girl and all. Lots of little tiny people. You're gonna be surrounded by… you're quite frankly? Going to scare most of the guys. You're a girl, so, I'm sure video games are stupid. I know the routine."

   "Oh. How little you know. Me and the guys I grew up riding dirt bikes with? When it was raining or snowing, the guys went over to each other's houses and garages. I sat around and played video games with the boys, hun. Am I great at it? No. No matter how much I practiced, the boys tended to smoke me. I played, though. I just didn't win a lot."

   "Oh, shit. You're going to get labeled a gamer girl. That's like being called a unicorn. A unicorn, as in… a gamer girl is considered the rarest and coolest thing in the world. Impossible to find. You? Will make me look like a god. If you can move around and play some? Christ. You'll be more popular than me, maybe. Not to mention. Once they see you in your shorts and sports bra you jog in with? Oh good god. All these little guys are going to be coming up and wanting you to make a muscle for them, I guess like you see girls make football players flex? That'll be you. They don't mean anything by it. You gotta remember. This is the comic book crowd. You look something like the girl super heroes are drawn like. You look like the girls that fight in the video games they play. I'm gonna be lucky to get invited back, if I don't promise to bring you once in a while for a cameo."

   "Wow. No, you didn't exactly get that reception in my crowd, did you."

   "Not really. The ice thawed slowly. And if you're not around? It grows colder, until you come back."

   "Wow. I'm not sure I'm going to be used to getting treated like that. Like you're describing."

   "Yeah. It'll be real rough on you, I'm sure. Everyone lining up to get to talk to you. Arguing who sits next to you. My crystal ball, says they give you a nickname. My money's on Princess, but, there's a few other ones you might get."

   "Princess?"

   "Old TV show. We all played games that had, warriors in them? We all grew up watching movies and shows like that, too. You ever hear of the old show, the big girl was the warrior? It was her show…"

   "Oh! I know the one you mean…"

   "Yeah. Mark my words. Don't get offended."

   "I think I could get used to it. See how it goes. Sounds… almost… I'm not the biggest fan, of the frat parties my girls want to go to, and host at our place. A couple hours, I wanna go to my room."

   "Yeah. You'll probably get treated, like I said, like a celebrity. You know. A cheer goes up when you show up. Hey! Princess is here! I'm sure you can try to make do, and suffer through it."

   "Wow. I didn't know. The couple of jocks that were around the computer lab… they…"

   "I know how they act, in general. Make fun of everyone, push people around. Then? Wonder why no one wants to talk to them, or help them. You think I can't… move, around your circle, if I wanted to? You think I'm not used to hanging out with all big guys, tough guys? You saw my video. You think I can't hold my own if I want to? Yeah. I can tune up a big guy, then everyone gets polite. Its fake. Oh, I can be scary if I feel like it, now people have to be friendly to me. Eh, fuck that puppy shit."

   "How did you ever… who the hell did you program computers in the Air Force with again?"

   "Oh. Not a big surprise that I grew up the… weird genius boy, right?"

   "Hard to believe, I know."

   "Yeah. My sports? I was a track star. The mile run, by the way, at a tiny double A school. That should have been single A, so… we got the shit kicked out of us, every sport. I owned the mile run. I ran long distance. I also played soccer. When I was little, then junior high and senior high were the same team."

   "Oh."

   "Yeah. I wasn't any good. My big job? I ran long distance, so… I seemed fast when the other team was worn out. No great skill, no blistering speed. My job was to rotate in and out, at full back and half back, to give the real players a time out rest. That's all. A scrub. Big games? I knew I didn't get to play at all. And being a track star? Really carries no… perks to it. Trust me. I might as well have went out for cheer-leading, for all the perks it got me to be good at track. You got picked on for running track at my school."

   "Then you went to the Air Force."

   "Yeah. Computer Programmer. In case you wondered? Not a lot of perks for that either. Same deal now, just in a uniform."

   "So… where did…"

   "Someone in housing, had a sense of humor. I was the only computer geek, housed with all the MPs. Military Police. These are the tough guys on a Chair Force base. They can hang out with Marines and Army guys, and don't get made fun of. They're one of them. When the Navy or the Marines, need an airbase guarded? They're the attack dogs that do it. The big football players back home? Were nothing on these guys. Trust me, the service? Is loaded with big football players. We're up to our ass in them. These MPs? Not only they ain't scared, they take these big guys out and down. All boxers, wrestlers, hand to hand combat guys. They practice it, for a job. Taking down big, strong, jacked up guys getting aggressive."

   "Aw. You fell in love…"

   "Funny. I was scared to death of these guys. Everyone knew, you don't fuck around with these boys. Marines knew to watch out for them at the bars, that should tell you something. When Airborne came around, they trained some classes at my airbase by the way, they were polite to these guys. I'm scared shit-less. My computer buddies at work? Won't come over my room a second time. They're scared. I'm like, how do you think I feel, I gotta live and eat mess, and do morning PT with these rabid attack dogs. I'm fucking terrified."

   I laughed. It was funny, and it was also refreshing. Hearing a guy that could so easily act tough? Didn't. He's telling the truth, how he used to be a shrinking violet. I found it… cute? And very honest. He wasn't ashamed of it, it was the truth, and he told it like it was. I'm used to guys bragging, and hiding any secrets that made them look bad. He told it for a joke. The healthy self deprecation? Refreshing… and cute.

   "This changed. I saw the video…"

   "These guys, quickly decided to kind of kidnap me. They busted in my room, picked me up, and carried me off."

   "Where to?"

   "They were going to make me go out and drink beer and shoot handguns with them, they had the run of the range at night. Work perk for them, what MP is gonna roust them from drinking beer, and shooting the cans, you know? Hell, we could go anywhere we wanted, any time of the day or night, any MP would smile and give us the key. We could go where we wanted. We wanted something? We went and the other MPs held the back door open, we carted off whatever we wanted. They… actually kidnapped me, and made me hang out with them."

   "What did you want to do?"

   "Sit in my room, and read my computer manuals. Duh."

   "Someone got used to this."

   "I did. They made me… almost one of them, really. The mascot. I always was lifting weights and jogging long distance, that was my thing from home, and…"

   "Oh. You were in shape, you had wind… they taught you to fight."

   "These crazy, scary guys? That even the tough guys around were wary of? I followed them anywhere they went. Especially the gym. I learned to box, and kick-box, but… not for a sport. How to do it just to win. Fast. Dirty. No wrestling for points. You do all the illegal moves, and choke them out, or put them in dangerous holds, and if they won't quit? You rip things apart that weren't meant to come apart on human beings. No rounds, no rules, no time limits. You just… fight. Its no holds barred, you win or you die, if its real life. Remember, these guys will find themselves one on one, with some big, drunk, aggressive football player. They need to be able to just walk up, rip him off his feet, and choke his big dumb ass out cold, to slap cuffs on them."

   "Christ. You weren't scared, to…"

   "At first. But. You practice it. You don't shred joints, you lock up and make them tap out. You get the choke on? They tap out. Its… fairly safe, once you're taught the safety rules. Its safe to practice."

   "So, you had four years of…"

   "Yeah. A year in, I was driving along in a car I borrowed. MP vehicle, I was going to pick up one of the guys getting off work after dark for them. Saw an MP I knew, chasing a guy and losing him. Fuck, that's my buddy. I drove around the block, and got ahead of this guy. I jumped him and got him down, long enough for the guy I knew, lived the next building over, to take him in."

   "I'm afraid to ask who you…"

   "Oh. That. A year before that? I'd have been scared to death of some big, muscular, loud Marine. I found out later, he was drunk, tearing up a bar, hurt some guys. Got away from the MPs. Imagine my surprise, when they told me who I… uh… bagged and tagged for them."

   "Aw. You became the mascot."

   "Yeah. You have to understand. I grew up… well, the exact opposite of these guys. I wished for… let's say, one pound of something. These guys? Gave me a 50 pound sack of it. Before I left the service? I could walk in any bar, anywhere. Lot of people thought I was one of them. I used to freak my computer buddies out. I'd go into Marine bars, and they thought it was weird everyone was friendly. Most, uh, Chair Force guys? Don't exactly get that treatment."

   "They… gave you some great gift."

   "They did. Then, there was my fighting mentor I talked about. He was like a… finishing school for mixing it up. This is one of the guys that taught my MPs to fight better. You have your standard MP training guys, that's their job. To instruct. You also have the instructors for hand to hand combat classes. Then? There's very few advanced hand to hand combat instructors. And this guy? Was the head one of those. Probably one of the toughest guys on the biggest airbase in the country. They bring in tough guys from all four branches to train certain classes, at my airbase. Hand to hand, and advanced hand to hand? Among them. I mean, if a guy is going to be a basic hand to hand combat instructor for the Marines, back at his home base? He's here to learn his job. And this? Is the main instructor running that program."

   "So what did you do, for them? I've read, that every group member gets something from the group, and every group member gives the group something it needs."

   "Oh. This was Texas. Southern Texas. Speaking Spanish? Is a very useful thing. I had a couple years of Spanish in high school, to get ready for college. I was certified conversational when I got out of high school. I was… very useful to them, in this regard."

   "Someone, was very useful. They could now talk to all the pretty Latinas around town, huh?"

   "Yes. Mind you, I'm no expert Spanish translator, by any stretch. I can make myself understood, I know enough they can explain what words or verbs I need to understand something. And yes, I had ways of… I knew how to tell a girl I wanted to… crudely, but."

   "How do you tell a Latina, you want to fuck her?"

   "Oh. Now, I butcher verbs and tenses all up to hell and back, but people know what I mean. I would say… yo deseo, usted, en suelo. Then, the girl would blush, she knew what I was shooting for. I either got slapped, or she's sitting in my lap, and the MPs are laughing either way."

   I giggled, and decided to be a smart ass.

   "Oh my. I just realized something. You couldn't lose. Smacked across the face, or fucked. Either one worked for you, huh?"

   "Oh. Actually, the MPs had different opinions on handling that situation."

   "How to fuck? I thought that was pretty straightforward, but…"

   "Ha ha. No, seriously. How to handle a girl cracking you one. It happens. Some of the guys maintained you smack the girl back. Some of them even said Latinas expected that, it was part of the whole Latino experience or whatever. Most of them though, had the same rule I had. You were to take it, and act like nothing happened. You can't hit a girl. Then? Like everything else. There was my mentor. God rest his immortal soul."

   "What was his wisdom."

   "Well. If a guy hits you, you're supposed to just smile at him. We boxed. When one surprises you, you move your head back with it. Takes the steam out of it. No, he taught me. You take a sucker punch, and just smile at the guy? He'll shit himself. Works, too. Done it before. Guy actually ran away. Now… my mentor's right, I ain't hurt. Real tough guys don't hit women. He said, you just smile at her, and lean in. Hey, that turned me on. Would you give me another one? Try to put your hip into it this time."

   "And how did that work. You could just get cracked again. I mean, you're literally asking for it."

   "You know, never once. Every time, the girl got embarrassed. Everyone roared with laughter. Somehow, you win. See, my mentor was some kind of, wise sage. He knew how to handle anything. Always miss him."

   "Hmm. That is cute. Mind if I analyze it?"

   "Oh. I can't wait. Please."

   "On one level, girls that are spoiled and do that. The guy's embarrassed and can't do anything. Now, you're stuck. You smack her back? You hit a girl. You don't do anything? Ha, you're a sissy. Even a girl can hit you. You're fucked. But, his method? Now you're a tough guy that she can't hurt you. And, you turn it into a joke, and everyone's laughing. Classy move. Of course, then there's a possible deeper level."

   "Oh. I expect no less, from my chess master. Do tell."

   "Wouldn't that be, chess mistress? Now. Its you. You already had friendly birthday swats once or twice. You got naughty pictures popping in you don't quite understand, but they're there. I think its a win win. You just walked up and said something cute to a girl you just met. You could get a good reaction, from making a bold move. Or, you can get smacked one. Which, whether you realized it or not, was feeding your naughty thoughts. You just told her, that you liked being hit by a girl, technically. You smiled and asked for another one. Harder. I mean, think about it. You misbehaved, and said something naughty. You got a smack across the mouth for it. You got punished for misbehaving. You like it though, and you smile and ask for a harder punishment. I'm not saying you realize this, I think it could be working under the surface. How did this work, by the way?"

   "Oh. The girl don't know what to do now. They don't know what to say, they blush. They walk away, and everyone's laughing, the place is cracking up. Girl gets tossed out sometimes. Its sheer genius. One time, I made the joke. See? I don't get their number, they toss them out for me."

   "Hmm. That Spanish line. What did that line translate to?"

   "Literally… I want you, in the floor. I desire you, on the floor. Crude and straightforward? Yes. But I was amazed it worked as often as it did. I mean, no clever wordplay, no double entendre. No hints, no sly remarks. Just…"

   "Straight out, like a caveman. Atook, zug-zug, woman. There's a certain appeal to that, for a girl. It shows… confidence."

   "Well. I eventually picked up… let's call it real Spanish. Not the kinds of things they teach in high school espanol class."

   "And what was this highly refined wordplay."

   "Oh. Ustedes tiene, pesca micha. That's close. They knew what I was saying. I mean if a guy said pluck instead of fuck, it would come through loud and clear, right?"

   "Sure. And what was that little gem, translated."

   "Literally, do you have fish that are wet, do you have a wet fish."

   "Oh my. I want you in the floor, was much more subtle."

   "That was the… normal phrase to use."

   "So. Lets recap, for my little Boo Boo. You started out. Being used as the show boyfriend. You do all the work, all the favors, pay for everything… lucky to get a kiss on the cheek once a month. While she runs around going tee hee, I like bad boys. Then hands you off to the next one to get used."

   "Yeah."

   "And, you were the… nerd, the geek. You got picked on by football players."

   "Sure."

   "Now. You became one of the tough guys. Suddenly? You weren't the show boyfriend any more. You do realize, you were the bad boy she wanted it in every hole from now? She probably had a nice boyfriend for regular, and you were the fun side thing."

   "I know that now. I didn't know that then."

   "Question. Why did my little Boo Boo ever want to leave this wonderful place. It must have been like waking up in an entirely different body one day."

   "Yeah. I didn't even realize it was happening, to be honest. I thought I was just learning to… pass the bare minimum to be allowed to hang out with the MPs, next thing I know… bang. I wake up one day, and realize… holy shit."

   "Hmm. And did you like tan Latina girls?"

   "Yes. That part was… nice."

   "Again. Why did you ever want to leave this world. You could have signed up the next four years, and been an MP."

   "Yeah. The truth?"

   "Always."

   "Okay. Before, I had relationships, but no action."

   "Correction. They call that a relation-shit…"

   "Yeah. Now? I could get… action. But, I couldn't have a relationship. The Latina girls? Like to run around with us, but. They won't take us around the hometown crowd, the family. If they do? We get the business, and they get the business, too. Gringos, are discouraged. From poaching the limited pool of cute local talent."

   "Gotcha."

   "My situation? Was entirely reversed. My computer buddies? Were… they treated me different. People were always smiling, laughing at my jokes. It was fake. They were scared to tease me, mess with me. I didn't like that, only a little bit better than getting picked on growing up. I went in to get college money, so… while I didn't get homesick, I missed my computer world. So, when I came back… remember, I had my mentor. He took me out, and showed me how to be a great fighter, then, to be the quiet guy again. I wanted to show off my geek, not my… new found tough guy skills."

   "You poor thing. All this big adventure, just to come back around to where you basically started."

   "In most ways? Yes. With one big exception, though. This time around? I liked it. I didn't wish for anything else. I not only embraced my inner geek, I wallow in it now. I love it. The more I get called a spastic geek? The happier I am. My computer buddies here? They don't look at me funny. They tease me and haze me, and I enjoy it. My biggest fear now? Is that they find out I can rip some jacked up weightlifter off his feet by his neck, and shred his shoulder and it sounds like an apple being ripped in two."

   "And girls…"

   "I can have the relation-shit, and no action. Or, I can have all action, and no relationship, if I give in and take the easy way out. Which I don't allow myself to do. I remembered tomboys existed. Not like we didn't have a couple serious tomboys in the service, you know. So I started making the rounds. I wanted to try one of those out. Figured they would be different. Turns out? They're just like regular girls in high school were, and even worse now. And, if she doesn't want me because I don't cry when I have to touch a computer keyboard, or perform Calculus and integrate an equation… then she doesn't need me. Really? There's just you. You? Put my… two worlds that I knew… into one girl. Unless you're running some kind of, I don't know, long game con scam on me, and I don't think so… there's just you."

   "And you… finally get the girl on TV you used to drool over. The… Olympic athlete body. I mean, not that I can even try to do that, you know what I mean."

   "No, no. The… fantasy? Young. Wow. If I could only be this… big, tough scary guy. Then… maybe I could qualify to get one of those things. One of those girls."

   "Dear? You… could make just one example, out of one big jacked up guy, at some party… and… you do realize, you wouldn't have gotten turned down, going through all of us. I'm… when I think about it like that? I get scared, a little. A man, is only as loyal as his options. That's the conventional wisdom."

   "Dear? Conventional wisdom. The boys taught me. You don't tell a girl you're in love, you'll do anything for her, she's your whole world, you're fantasy come true. She'll run from you. Or even worse? No more respect, and she'll seek out the first, run down, illiterate, knuckle dragging drunken bum of a criminal that lives in his mother's basement, on parole from state prison… and let him use her like a fuck doll, and love every minute of it. To a lot of us guys, girls are very strange creatures."

   "Unfortunately? That's what the girls love to drag home. They're allergic to nice guys. The nicer they are to them? The less they like them. One day, when they need a man to pay the bills? I know what they're gonna do, sure as Christ ever once made little green apples. They're gonna play nice, and do to the husband, what those girls did to you. Running the game on you. They're just going to do it for years, not months. A 5 to 10 year… relation-shit. Then? They're gonna play nice girl again, and hook their little apple cart up to the next one. Or, try marrying some criminal."

   "I have no real options. I'm not supposed to ever admit that? But… there it is."

   "And? I feel the same way about you. I never wanted that kind of guy, I think its silly. I'm actually ashamed, that I didn't get the super hots for you, until I saw that video. You still took me. I don't feel like I have any better options, either. It's very safe. Like I told you, and you looked at me like I was nuts that night. I analyzed the chessboard? I call mate in 3."

   "You went from a third date, to before we fell asleep? You told me you would tell me, when it was time to get married. I can't picture a person, having that kind of confidence."

   "I called it. Has one thing not come true, that I predicted that night?"

   "No. It's… scary sometimes. But I love it, at the same time."

   "Hmm. That confidence you see me have? Yes. In the bedroom, that's me. On the soccer field? Yeah, again that's me. Other than that, the rest of life? I'm not… quite simply, it just ain't like that. You saw me as being confident, down there, tuning her up? Maybe that's how it comes off. I'm actually scared. I wish I was allowed to… lock a dog collar on you, with a name tag, says you belong to me. I can't obviously, so. Other girls have to know, no if and or but about it. That? Is mine. It belongs to me. That's my personal property. You touch it, you so much as shake your ass like that? I'll rag doll your ass. Can you even imagine what I can do to a regular girly girl? Its like an adult, beating up on a little toddler."

   "That? Is how I feel around guys that weren't taught how to fight like I was."

   "You're like me. You don't get off on personal power."

   He giggled.

   "What?"

   "That's funny, coming from you. Little miss, I take boys to the chair in the basement and do my thing to them."

   "Oh, yeah. That is funny. I meant… downstairs…"

   "I know what you meant. As soon as you were done? You were like… well, got that out of the way. Dishes are done now. No gloating. No bragging. I like that. Its what I was taught. I'm actually impressed. Not just that you can do it, but… the really impressed part? You don't want to gloat and brag. Been here over a month now, and you don't threaten the girls all the time."

   "Only over you."

   "You're just so… different."

   "Hmm. Tell me how I'm so different. I just love hearing it. Go on."

   "Aw, come on."

   "I can make you. You know I can. You know I will. You? Know you'll let me do it, too. Need me to count to three? Speak."

   "Girls. Are supposed to be, the ad campaign, anyways. All sugar and spice, and everything nice. Then? You get a peek behind the curtain, and… anything but. They're vicious. Cruel. Lying, cheating, scheming, vindictive. Always take the easy way out, no hard work. No morals, though they love to smile and play it all sweet. I'm such a nice girl, I'm saving myself… please. I want a nice guy, when now everyone knows, unless they didn't get the memo. Again, total bullshit. Also? Most girls are… in bed… you know."

   "Mm hmm. And moi?"

   "Christ. Complete opposite, in every way possible. How could I ever replace you."

   "So. We'll make it so you never have to. Have you been thinking about grad school? Doesn't cost us anything. I could sure use a masters. Would it hurt your career?"

   "Oh. Is there anything you're wrong about?"

   "I try, dear. I mean, if you want me to play dumb, it does something for you? I can pretend to be dumb as a box of rocks. Some guys like that."

   "No. I like smart girls. Same way I like tall, strong girls. Same way I like a girl like you in bed."

   "All things most guys don't want. And if they like one of those things, the odds of the others are slim to none, and slim just left town. I told you, I can't replace you either. The list of… shortcomings I have, in most guy's book? They're the very things you're looking for in your ideal woman."

   "Here I go again. Yeah, I'll pencil in a masters."

   "Great. You wanna know a secret?"

   "Sure. We got plenty. What's one more."

   "I'm probably only playing den mother like I am, till I graduate. I keep playing, to get my masters? You have options. You work for the school, to get your masters. You, would I suppose, teach a couple computer classes a week. Me? The writing on the wall, and this is a secret, but… coach would want me for the coach's assistant job. Team captain, another secret, I already told you. Wanna know what one of the perks of that would be?"

   "I'm all ears."

   "Housing. Graduate assistants, are considered staff, not students. Its very low pay, as compared to what we could make in the real world, so, there have to be perks. One of those, is housing. You like living here?"

   "Beats my old digs."

   "Now. Imagine one of these townhouses, to ourselves."

   "Holy shit. No rent, no utilities?"

   "Same as here, just… you know the two bedroom townhouses? One of those."

   "Wow. You still get the… health food package?"

   "A starting athlete dear. Yes. I can't believe you looked at the menu, and thought it was okay. Most people hate it. They want pizza and junk food."

   "I work out. Chicken and rice are mainstays of my diet. Chinese food, too."

   "All you want."

   "Smaller place though, only two bedrooms."

   "Not really. These four bedrooms? Are really two townhouse bedrooms, chopped into four, to fit more students in. Two, bigger bedrooms. Upstairs."

   "Same bath?"

   "Yep. I've been in one. The one coach's assistant? Lives there with his wife. He's getting ready to start his masters."

   "Kitchen…"

   "Same kitchen, same living room."

   "Now, the deal breaker. The basement?"

   "Same thing. Same little sub basement, like you just recently enjoyed my considerable attentions in, I might add."

   "Oh, gee. One bedroom for sleeping, like now. What's the other one?"

   "Either separate bedrooms, or… that's the study, or workout room. Or both. Whatever."

   "And will you have your same chair, in the sub basement?"

   "Oh. I'm quite sure."

   I started kissing his neck, sweetly.

   "Hmm. Someone sure liked their… talking to they got, didn't they."

   "That, has got to be… the hottest speech you ever did yet."

   "Yeah. I'm actually worried, I might never top that one. That might end up, our… sexual zenith, or whatever."

   "I can live with that."

   "Really? I was kidding. Your birthday, is actually in two weeks. You said, you wanted another talking to."

   "You said, for sass. And poor performance on chores. When I already know better."

   "Uh huh. I thought I told you. You need another talking to? Same deal, but… you know what happens to you, after we're done with the chair."

   "Hmm. The only crime, is that we burned our… reality aspect this time. The scary ride thing, was kind of… wow."

   "Told you. I couldn't pass that up, I just knew it was too good."

   "Wow. Are we staying for a doctorate? I'm never gonna wanna leave college, hun."

   "Hmm. You can't count your chickens before they hatch. But… I should graduate, oh, about 22? Masters. Team captain. Another two years. My last half a year would be working on my master's thesis, no classwork. Maybe a little longer. I would be 24 or so. Now, if the masters thesis has any relevancy in the field? Gets citations. You're allowed to apply for doctoral candidacy. I'm pretty sure, the coach would want another two years or so out of me. Team captain. Useful player. More experience than ever. Now, we all know that in reality, what's good for the sports programs, is what's good for the school, right?"

   "Oh yeah."

   "Right. It wouldn't hurt at all, if we just happened, to land one championship year. Just one. Two more years undergrad, that's two chances. Another two years, for masters. We're in the playoffs and finals every year. That's four more chances."

   "Four more chances to land it. Your team. Always a bridesmaid, never a bride."

   "Uh huh. I think that added incentive, pressure, call it what you want. Yeah, I could probably use it all, to land a doctoral candidacy position. That's assuming, my masters thesis was relevant and useful to the field at all. And if we could land a championship one year. I would end up… what. 26, 27… getting my doctor tacked onto my name. Hmm. But a geek like you? You wouldn't want to be a doctor of computer science, would you?"

   "No. I'd hate that."

   "I know."

   "I spent four years in the service, dear. I'd be about 30, 31 by the time I got done."

   "Horrible. What woman even likes a guy, 4 years older."

   "Hmm. About all of them."

   "Yes. And what educated woman, would even want to introduce her boyfriend, as a doctor. I mean, come on now."

   "Hey. I ain't got it any easier. What guy wants to introduce his girlfriend, as a doctor."

   "Horrible. What town, would ever let us live there. Why, we'd be run out, wherever we went."

   "Hun? Having doctor on our names, is no guarantee of high pay, let alone fame and fortune. Its no guarantee we would get published."

   "No. There are no guarantees in life. I have other possible career options. If I had trouble landing a job in my field. Assistant coach. Or even coach. With a championship under my belt? As a coaching assistant, and a team captain? That's relevant experience."

   "Hmm. I could end up, with the high school soccer coach for a girlfriend? Interesting. I'd never worry about having a cow for a wife."

   "Honey. High school? Would be slumming it. Assistant coach, maybe even coach, at some big university. A winning coach retires or gets recruited away? The winning assistant coach now looks like an excellent option. Maybe even this one. The university is big enough, a lot of staff has come from here. Or? With a doctorate, I could teach at the college or university level."

   "Hmm. Little miss options aplenty. My options would be limited. Teaching, if I'm not wanted for anything special in my field."

   "You forget so soon. I'm not anything like other girls. I land a decent career, would you hate having some free time to finish your work? Completing your own programming language, polishing it. Finish editing your textbook. A doctor could stand a better chance of being taken seriously, and getting published. And would you find it, let's say amusing, either way? As a girls soccer coach, mommy would almost certainly keep her body you seem to enjoy so much. The team respects a coach that can show them firsthand. And a teacher? Hmm. Teachers sometimes have to… discipline their students. You're living in my house, little boy. There's going to be some rules. Which means, there's going to be consequences when you break those rules."

   "That is hot. You left something out, dear."

   "What?"

   "You didn't pick a retirement date, or an old folks home. Try to be a little bit down to earth, and make some plans, would you? Gee. Like dating a barfly for me here."

   "Hmm. I can't believe you're making your own computer programming language. Writing and editing your own textbook for it, as you go. Its not my field, its all Greek to me, but… it looks impressive."

   "See? That's just it. It just has to look impressive, it doesn't have to actually be impressive. I just make it all up as I go along, you know."

   "Really. For what reason, I wonder."

   "Gets me laid. Hell, what woman with a body like a comic book super heroine, wouldn't be impressed by that bullshit. Gee. Pretty easy too. I just cut and paste random impressive gobbledygook, off the internet, and voila. I only do it for the chicks."

   "I can see I'll need to keep you on a short leash then. But seriously. If you're behind me, helping me perform on the field. Which makes me perform for my scholarship. Which pays for my degrees. I'd feel spoiled. The after game care. Having what I really want, instead of nothing. Or worse, what I don't want. No, I'd be very happy, for it to be your turn. Give you a chance to work on your projects. Pay you back in kind, for having shown me such loyalty. I keep telling you. If you show me loyalty, make me happy. There's nothing I won't do for you."

   "Wow. I've never even heard of a girl offering such a thing, let alone ever seen it. Most girls? They want the highest paid guy they can get. In return for… whatever they even feel like putting into it."

   "I know what guys hear. We all tell you we're different from all the other girls. And it always ends up being just words. Its another game. I told you, that I really am different. I told you, you'll see it. I learned from growing up hanging out with the guys riding dirt bikes, instead of hanging out with girly girls. Men expect promises to mean something. They expect the person to follow through on it. Its not just a bunch of words to me."

   "Wow."

   "Yeah. Wow. I told you, I don't want a guy to buy me things, or do things for me. I just want your time spent with me. We weren't poor growing up, I won't lie. It was a decent size farm. We didn't want for anything. But… growing up on a farm, and hanging out with boys playing tackle football? I don't want fine china and designer furniture. We were comfortable in a big old farmhouse, that daddy kept fixed up. Most of us lived like that. If we have a place to live, and we have food to eat, that's all I want and all I need. I don't think being a teacher, or being a coach would be exactly working in the salt mines. If you made me happy, helping me get that? I'd be very happy, knowing you were in your study. Working on your project. If it made you happy, too? That's perfect, for us."

   "You say that now. What about when the other… girl-bosses, are bragging about how much their man makes, how important of a job he has. You'll get teased, by those other girl-bosses."

   I hugged him, and kissed his shoulder.

   "I made my choice, a long time ago. I grew up being with the boys. Then, I got a good long taste of what it was like, to hang out with the girls. I made my choice. I went back. And decided I was going to stay there. If you haven't noticed yet? I don't care what the other girls say, and what the other girls do. They can call me whatever they feel like, as long as they don't touch my dirt bike. And you, don't seem like you care very much what a lot of the other guys have to say about stuff like that. We, can have our own deal. I already know you're different from other guys. That's why I worked the chess board, and called mate in 3. I also know, that the ball's on my side of the field now. That its on me now, to show you. I mean to. So. Can we have our own deal?"

   "Yes."

   "Thank you."

   "You're welcome."

   "Hmm. Manners. Mommy's actually getting somewhere. Good night."

   "If it ends up like that, and you get us a little farmhouse somewhere? That would be wonderful."

   I kissed the back of his neck.

   "I know. You better hope I don't get a basement, or worse."

   "Worse?"

   I kissed the back of his neck again.

   "A little barn, with a little bit of privacy? Oh my. I thought I told you, what can happen when you take a little boy down to the barn. To correct misbehavior. Just like now. You know when bedtime is. You're not listening. You're bothering mommy, and staying up past bedtime. I know exactly how to handle that sort of thing, and you won't like it. You wanna stay up past bedtime? Fine. We'll stay up past bedtime. Take you down to the barn, and show you what bedtime means. You wanna stay up late? That's just fine. Now you did it. Now, you asked for it. We're gonna stay up nice and late now. You can cry your little eyes out. Then? I'll give you something to cry for. Oh, you wanna go to bed now, huh? No way. We're staying up late now. Real late. After you get something to cry for? Then I'll really give it to you. Now, you wanna go to bed, don't you? Now, you know what bedtime means, hmm? Uh uh. You wanted to stay up past bedtime. You dared me. Now we're gonna stay up a little later yet. Now, it's time for the switch. I guarantee you, you're gonna learn what bedtime means, and what happens when you don't go to bed, when mommy says its bedtime. When we're finally all done? And believe me, it's going to take a while, trust me. You can sleep face down now, and cry yourself to sleep. And if you don't stop the crying? You'll get some more. I'll really give you something to cry for. Go on, test me. I dare you."

   I was kissing his neck, hugging him from behind in bed. Whispering in his ear, a very naughty bedtime story. It was the off season, it was summer break. We were falling asleep with some music playing softly, the Bluetooth speakers playing the collection of songs on repeat. I reached down the front of him and checked his interest meter. Interest was all the way up, and starting to leak. I rolled on top of him.

   "You're lucky its the off season, and you're lucky we're on summer break. Very lucky. I shouldn't spoil a little boy like this, but against my better judgment… mommy is going to be very nice to you. You get one more ride."

   I did it slow, and stopped and started, and teased the hell out of him with it. I went between wet, sloppy kisses and occasional doggy licks, to whispering in his ear, more naughty bedtime story. I finally stopped, and waited. Then a little flick to hear the noise from him, and waited again. I kept him like that for as long as I could. Stopping, waiting. Then a little flick, and back to waiting. Eventually, when clamping my hand over his mouth was barely enough to stop the noises, I gave a couple flicks and finished him off. He asked if I needed the mess cleaned up, and I told him he could handle it in the morning, but he was not to forget promising mommy that he would clean up his mess when we woke up. Or else.

   Then we finally fell asleep.

   In the morning, I at first thought I was having a good dream. A very good dream, if you can take my meaning and I'm sure you do. I wiggled and opened my eyes, to see it wasn't a dream. It was real life. My boyfriend had remembered his late night pledge to clean up his mess. I had woken up to his tongue licking the best part of me down there. No wonder I woke up wiggling. I smiled, and told him it was just something I said in the moment, part of his naughty bedtime story. It didn't stop him though. I blushed, and found myself wiggling around more. The music was still playing, too. Just soft enough to sleep to. Just loud enough to cover the occasional giggle, or the occasional noise. Like now, for instance.

   I closed my eyes and tried to lay back and enjoy it, which wasn't hard. Keeping still though, proved impossible. The more I tried to keep myself still, the more I quickly lost my attempt at it, and the little explosion of wriggling around got worse. I asked for the music turned up by pointing, and he shook his head no. He obviously didn't care if anyone heard my morning fun. I tried putting my hand over my own mouth, when biting the edge of my hand didn't help. It barely worked but hey, I tried. I ended up feeding myself a mouthful of the corner of the blanket. I ended up retaining my mouthful of blanket as best I could, and pushing at his head, but he just grabbed my wrists and held them firmly at either side of my waist from below. Oh god. I now had no choice but to let it go on, and enjoying it was an understatement.

   When he was finally done with me, I laid there breathing heavy, and still moving if much slower and softer now. When my little noises finally ended, he pulled the blanket out and smiled down at me. Content to watch and listen to my panting slow into heavy breathing, then eventually slow down to something passable for normal morning breath. The other girls weren't getting this. I would be hearing about it if they were. I asked if I was allowed to brag, and he nodded yes. My turn to just say wow.

   "I see you've had breakfast without me. Did you enjoy it?"

   "Oh yes."

   "And what did you have, if I may ask."

   "Bacon. Raw."

   "Ew. Sounds gross."

   "Its like sushi. Don't knock it till you tried it."

   "I don't like bacon. I'm more of a… sausage girl. Raw is okay? I heard it can give you something, to eat raw pork that wasn't thoroughly cooked."

   "Sushi. No one dies from it. Now, it is true, you have to have a better cut and grade of meat, to make sushi out of. You can trust it then, that it won't give you anything. Never, ever stick something in your mouth if you don't know where its been."

   "So. Can I have breakfast now?"

   "Actually. Don't you want me to watch your little movie you made for me? You said you expected your groupie, to put on a little show for you. I think we can have breakfast in peace, sounds like everyone's sleeping in. They were out late."

   I nodded yes, but suggested he wait.

   I'm in my own townhouse, and I have three girls for room mates. I just wear one of my extra supersized T shirts for a night shirt with panties underneath, and its fine. I'm ready for breakfast already. But him? Boxers might not exactly cut it. I don't mind at all showing him off a little, and lord knows the other girls will parade "whatever" they dragged home if they're the least bit proud of it to show off. Boxers would be fine, but I'm not showing off a case of morning wood if it comes. I explained my dilemma, and he reached for his jeans. I shook my head no, and compromised. I handed him a pair of my soccer shorts. Easy on, easy off. Also has my school colors. As well as a soccer ball on it, with my jersey number. I hugged him from behind when he took my suggestion and stepped into them.

   "There we go. I wanna show you off a little, just not too much. If I had some sausage for a quick breakfast, or you put your show on already? Boxers might be fine, but. We have that possibility… covered, now. Not to mention, if the other girls smell coffee and breakfast, they might come down because all the work's done, and they can just plop their lazy asses down and eat. Which is their style. All that leg show, is just more risk for that. I know what you like. And any shows like that are for me, not them. Now? You look like a proper sports groupie, staying over to provide entertainment for the player that wants to have some fun with you for a while. You wear my number. You show it off. Shows you like being my plaything. Is that alright?"

   He nodded.

   "Great. Let's sneak down and see if we can have breakfast, before the kids wake up, hmm?"

   I took him by the hand, and we padded down quietly to the kitchen. I started to ask him what he wanted for breakfast, and he shook his head.

   "If I'm going to be your little groupie this morning, you don't expect them to cook you breakfast to show some appreciation for getting picked to stay over, and entertain you? Sit."

   Another thing the other girls rarely if ever enjoyed. God, I'm going to be spoiled rotten. I'm getting really used to this, really quick. I'm hooked. I just sat down and watched. He made coffee, but he didn't use the drip coffee maker. I asked.

   "I spent four years in the service, remember? Coffee makers are for spoiled officers. Enlisted men? Some of us take a certain pride in doing things the old fashioned way. The way we would have to do them, if we were living in a tent for a while. I lived with all MPs. So, a lot of them didn't have coffee makers in our quarters. Not to mention, coffee makers drip 190 degree water down through coffee grinds. You boil a pot of water, and throw the coffee in it? You get stronger coffee. I thought I heard it said, that you were cranky sometimes till you got your coffee. A stronger cup of coffee will make you less cranky."

   "Sounds great. Am I being an insufferable cunt, if I don't want to spit out coffee grinds, like some Army guy eating in a tent in the bush?"

   "Well. That's how plebes do it. If you know what you're doing? When the boiling is done, and you've extracted all the coffee has to give? You simply top off the boiled water with some cold water. The boil stops, and the little grinds all fall down to the bottom. You pour carefully? The grinds stay at the bottom. A pinch, and I mean a little pinch? Of salt, takes the bitterness out of the boiled coffee. That's why coffee makers are set at 190. You want the coffee, not the oils that you bring out boiling. The oils are extra taste though, they're only bitter because the Ph is now slightly acidic. That pinch of salt? Is a base. It cancels out the acid, and you get stronger, more flavorful coffee."

   "By all means, I'll try it."

   He set it boiling, then got out eggs, bacon, and sausage, and bread and butter. We talked a little, and he added the coffee once it was boiling. He asked how I wanted my eggs, and I said over easy. One of the things athletes get on the "menu", is eggs out the ass. Eggs, the dietitian we had on staff said, has gobs of nutrients and minerals. And very little calories. We can have all the eggs we want, all the egg sandwiches we want, and boiled eggs for snacks. Low calorie protein. I watched him sizzle the bacon and sausage, then crack and make me four eggs over easy, not breaking a single yolk. He was able to flip them without breaking them either. Not bad at all for a guy.

   He made toast, and served my four easy eggs with each on their own piece of toast, then buttered four more before he placed the plate in front of me. Then he made his. Six eggs, scrambled. Buttered toast on the side. By the time he put his plate down, the coffee was done. He turned it down to the lowest simmer, and added cold water. Waited while he added a pinch of salt, then poured out two coffee mugs. He put the milk and sugar out for us. Then he sat down to eat. Again. Wow.

   We were eating, when one of the "kids" wandered down in her own nightshirt, and I hoped she had the good sense to wear panties. When she stretched and yawned, I caught the faintest sight of them. This wasn't the attention whore, this was one of the other two, the "good kids". I have three girls. Two are relatively good, if a little lazy. And one bad kid, that I'd love nothing more than to beat the ever loving shit out of, some days. There's more than a little irony to the coach calling me the adult. This good kid, gave another stretch and yawn, up on her tiptoes, before done and winging her arms around.

   We were eating, and while not ignoring her other than exchanging normal good morning's all around, she looked down at herself right before sitting down. She muttered softly.

   "Oh… shit. I'm sorry, do you want me to…"

   She was pointing back at the steps she had just come down. Like I said, this was one of the two good kids. The example I had just set last night was not lost on her, even though it wasn't directed at her.

   "Oh, you're fine. You don't plan on putting on a show, do you? Sit. You're not the bad one, trust me."

   I started to get up to get her a mug, and he looked at me, and I sat back down. He tossed her a mug, and poured her a cup of the strong coffee, without spilling any. He was practiced at this, he had obviously done this many times before. I doubted I could pour out of a pot without spilling some, and I cooked most of the time. There we go again, I'm the mom. I usually cook for the children.

   By the time she had milk and sugar in her coffee, and blew on it enough to sip it, she was eyeing up my plate of food. I knew what it was, she figured I made breakfast, like normal. I told her he made it, to ask him.

   "Can… I have a plate too?"

   "Sure. Scrambled work for you?"

   "Uhm… can I get it like hers?"

   "Sorry, no. She's very special to me, and she gets them any way she wants them. You, can have them any way you want them too, as long as you want them scrambled. Or, you can make your own, any way you please. Scrambled?"

   "Mm. Sure."

   "Excellent choice. Would you like the bacon and the sausage all through it like mine, or meat on the side."

   "Meat on the side."

   "Scrambled eggs dry, runny, or medium."

   "Oh. Medium, I guess."

   "Another excellent choice…"

   He did the bacon and sausage, then scrambled her eggs, and put it all on a plate in front of her, and toast on the side of the plate. Wow. He had his routine down pat. I was special, I got anything I wanted, just the way I wanted it. She could have scrambled, but still with choices. Or, she could be less lazy and make her own. Laziness won out over any real desire to get exactly what she wanted, and being served was fine. Holy shit, she even said thank you. But this is one of the two good kids, so it wasn't earth shattering.

   The coffee and bacon and sausage smells must have dragged down the other one of the good kids. Another stretching and yawning, followed by some bending over and cracking her back by pulling on her ankles and down, before a final stretch and she came up for another round of good mornings exchanged. I was looking at her smiling, and the other kid filled her in.

   "No. You don't have to go put pants on. Just don't put on a show. You might wanna watch the bending over, you might be lucky you only showed the empty steps your butt."

   "Oops. Sorry."

   "You're fine. Last night's little floor show, was directed at number three, not you two. You know you're the good kids out of the bunch. She does it to you guys too, any chance she gets. I'm just losing my cool."

   The first one giggled, and explained she gets scrambled or she can make her own breakfast. I'm the only one that's "special". Scrambled was fine. She went with dry scrambled, but with the meat chopped up in it. She sat down. She got her plate, and her coffee poured for her. Another thank you, will wonders never cease.

   "I didn't know we had a chef here now. I thought he was just here to take out the garbage and take the dishes outta the dishwasher and back into the cupboard. I could get used to this. If it comes to a vote? I'm voting yes for now. You?"

   "Hey. Whoever cooks as long as its not me, is fine. I'll vote yes too."

   He chuckled.

   "Don't either of you two cook?"

   "We weren't hired for our ability to cook. Free college? Is for putting the ball in the net, not cooking."

   "Same here. After I graduate? I want a decent job so I don't have to cook."

   "As you can see? I'm the adult in the house. I end up doing most of the cooking, and picking up. Their clothes stay in their room, that's their problem. When they run out of clean clothes? They either wear dirty clothes to practice, or push a button and have the machine do the work for them."

   "Wow. Modern living? Is killing you crazy kids. If I eat too much with what little the GI bill leaves me for some of the finer things in life, like eating, if I don't save enough for a trip to the laundromat? I do my own clothes where I was living. Five gallon bucket. A squirt of dish soap. You run a stick around, and soapy water magically washes the clothes. Takes about a whole minute. You throw them over a piece of string across the basement, after dumping out the soapy water and doing it with clean water once or twice? They're dry the next day. Amazing stuff."

   "Where the hell did you live, anyways?"

   "A basement, of all things. You see girls, I spent 4 years in the service, so I could get college money when I got out. I had a choice. Go to a smaller, shittier school. Where my GI bill money might actually cover a room in some house, like a normal human being. Or? I could try to get a much better degree, at a top of the line, big university like this one. I want the best degree I can get, and that means I had to get creative. I was pretty much the handyman, for a broken down, big old house. So I could live in the basement, in a little back room. Rent, was just the water bill. I shower at the gym every day, and I have to leave the house to go to the bathroom. Which obviously means, I'm paying the water bill, and fixing the old pipes, for water I don't even get to use. But? I can get my degree, from a famous name school. So, that's what I've been doing for the last two years. I'm just saying, you don't know how good you have it."

   "If you don't get to use the water, where did you get the water to wash your clothes?"

   "Excellent question, you obviously pay attention. Congratulations. Remember, I'm the handyman. When I was fixing a leaky pipe in the basement about a week after I got there? I fixed it, with a valve, like a hose faucet. So I can get a bucket of water. Because I'm obviously a thief as well as a handyman? I decided to fix the hot water pipe right next to it, to get hot water too. You will next ask why I didn't use that to shower, I'm sure. I lived in the back cubbyhole, with a dirt floor. I'd rather not live in mud, I prefer dry dirt, as it turns out."

   "What if you have a, you know… emergency to go to the bathroom?"

   "I'm pretty sure you don't want to know. Its a basement, I have a basement door. Number one is outside. Number two? Let's just say I try to plan number two bathroom trips. Two blocks to the convenience store, and I have to buy a pack of gum. So I'm technically a customer. So I'm allowed to use the customers only restroom. Can I interest you in a pack of gum? I have a whole jar upstairs, and I really don't chew gum."

   "Why don't you just use the bathroom and shower upstairs where you live?"

   "The basement door locks automatically, and you can only open it from upstairs. Because I don't pay rent, I'm not entitled to things like that, that the people paying rent get to have. I'm allowed to live in the little back cement room, with a dirt floor? So that paying renters, have someone they can go get any time of the day or night, if water or drains or electric switches don't do what they're supposed to. There's a big party three nights a week, as you can guess. I don't get much sleep those nights, and as the handyman? I hose out the basement, and sweep up the cans and butts, and take out the garbage. And if someone has an oops in the corner, drinking? I hose that out too. God forbid they could make it to the garbage can, god forbid they could use the back yard for the urinal, you know? On party nights, I'm lucky to get 3 or 4 hours by the time the party breaks up, and I get done cleaning up the mess. Any other questions, little one?"

   "You mean to tell me, the people that rent there, have the balls to wake you up at 4 in the morning, to unclog a drain or plunge a toilet? And won't even give you the common decency of letting you use the shower or the toilet? They need their ass kicked."

   "Be that as it may. The landlord, who by the way owns the rooming house? Doesn't allow it. Or else I might feel more like a real human being. The only reason I get to live in the dirt floor cubbyhole in the basement? Is so I'm there to handle little handyman chores, and he doesn't get a phone call in the middle of the night. I originally tried living in my car. My car broke down, it was a piece of shit anyways. When my plates and stickers ran out? The town towed it away. I answered an add for 'free room and board', in exchange for 'light handyman work, as needed'. Which led to my solution for my missing piece of shit car. This has been going on for the better part of two years here, I have two more to go. Things were on an even keel, and I had a way to live, while I get a good degree, like I want. Because I live in a dirt hole in the basement? My nickname was… wait for it… The Groundhog. Cute, huh? I've heard worse nicknames."

   The other one cut in.

   "You were in the Army or something, huh? I guess living in a tent, made it so you can get through that to finish school…"

   "Hmm. I was in the Air Force. We don't generally live in tents, unless we go overseas. You've seen one too many old war movies. Actually? My housing looked… well, more or less? Something like this. Four bedrooms per unit, shared tiny kitchen and living room and bathroom. Laundry room was in the basement. Not a nice place like this, mind you, this is living high on the hog. Think cement block walls all over. All smaller rooms."

   "What was your job in the Air Force?"

   "I was a computer programmer."

   "So, you didn't have to shoot guns and fight and stuff, like on TV."

   "For the most part, the Air Force isn't like the Marines, like I'm sure you're thinking of. We do have guys like that, just not that many. Everyone has to pass basic qualifications with an M-16, and since we're not the Marines? Trust me it's a couple day thing and that's it. Now, I was a computer programmer. If things were bad enough they thought they had to pass out guns to the computer programmers? We'd all be in a lot bigger mess by that point. So no, my job wasn't to be some kind of… commando, like I'm sure you see in the movies. I wore a military uniform, I had to jog and do calisthenics every morning, then my job was to sit in front of a computer all day."

   "Doesn't sound too bad."

   "It's not. The Air Force? Has the highest ASVAB requirements, which means the guys they take are technically smarter. The Marines? Have the lowest ASVAB requirements, you can take that as you see fit. The Navy is less than us, the Army is slightly higher than the Marines, but less than the Navy. The Air Force's reputation, is that we're the smartest. The Marines? Have the reputation of being the toughest. If you were wondering, all the other three branches like to make fun of the Air Force, and call us the Chair Force. Feel free to make the joke, that's why I told it to you. Personally, I pride myself on having a brain, so I don't feel like I'm being made fun of. In basic training? The drill instructors told us they wanted our brains, not our biceps. That the other branches would provide all the gorillas for that."

   "Do you have all the… jargon for everything?"

   "Oh. Yes. The apartment? Is called barracks, even though it's technically just housing. The kitchen? Was our mess. Appropriately named, if you can imagine four young men living together. The bathroom? The head. The living room? That's the day room. I also have quite a collection of acronyms. FUBAR for instance, is fucked up beyond all recognition. DITY, is do it yourself. FO? Is fuck off. We all make our own up, and they get around if they're cute. I like iggsy. I-G-S-Y. Stands for I'm gonna strangle you."

   "That is cute. Can… you do that… thing?"

   "Maybe, maybe not. It would entirely depend on exactly which thing you were referring to, little one. If you could be just a tad more specific."

   "You know. The… voice thing. Like in the movies…"

   "Oh. You probably mean the patented drill instructor voice. The Marines all do it, its kinda their thing. Most of the other branches? Only the actual drill instructors use it. Yes. Anyone in the service can give you a cute rendition of it. Would you like a sample? Me and the boys I lived with, you do it around the barracks and at work, as a joke. If you want."

   "Yeah."

   "Sure."

   "Here goes. Prepare yourself. I don't want to make a girl pee her pants. But if you insist."

   "Oh yeah."

   I was prepared for some funny yelling, but he had this one down pat, I was taken completely aback. The one who asked almost spilled her coffee, and the other one's eyes bugged out and she looked at me with a nervous smile. He turned around, and asked as politely as anything else that came out of his mouth that morning, would she like another cup of coffee. She did. Then the other one pushed her cup over, and he warmed that one up too. He put the coffee pot down, and it was like he forgot his promise. When he whirled around, though… he gave her what she had asked for.

   "I am sorry! I did not hear you! You?! Will have the common courtesy, the basic human dignity, to say thank you, when someone does something you ask!! And what are you smirking at? You lazy piece of shit! You're no better than the other one. Why do you think, we have higher ASVAB requirements, shit-stain! Because we expect you can speak, and not just point and grunt!! You expect the Air Force to trust you, to handle multi-million dollar pieces of equipment, when you can't even speak?!?! You have to be fucking shitting me!! This, is what they expect me to train, to be an airman?!?! I wouldn't trust you to wipe your own ass and expect the toilet to get flushed!! What moron sent you to me, and expected me to train you! You see that jar?!?! That's the feelings jar!! We all put our feelings in there, on day one! It is now day 23, and I don't give a single goddamn shit, about your feelings!! Are you going to cry, like a little bitch?!?! Because you look like you're going to cry!! How in the ever loving FUCK, are you going to keep your head, and operate a keyboard, when the enemy is dropping bombs?!?! You're not! You're another useless piece of human shit!! That the recruiters sent here to meet some GOD damned quota!! Pointing, and grunting? That is what we have the Marines for!! When I need a gorilla, to point and grunt, I'll go get one!! We need airmen that are able to effectively articulate human speech! If you have not evolved yet?!?! I will evolve you, you worthless, knuckle dragging troglodyte! When you are in public, you represent the Air Force! You will speak English! You will speak it clearly! You will treat every human being you meet, from now until the day you DIE, with respect, and courtesy! You will say please! You will say thank you! You will carry things for people, and demonstrate that you are trying to make your sorry ass of some service to humanity for the first time in your worthless goddamn existence!! We have no white! We have no black! We have no women! We have no men! We just have AIRMEN! And by god as my witness, you will speak and do it politely!! If you do not?!?! I will pull your eyeball out, and I will SKULL-FUCK you!! If you cry right now?!?! I'm going to pull the other eye out, and shove it up your goddamn ass!! You!! Are!!! DISMISSED!!!"

   We all three, had nervous smiles and giggles. We were in no way expecting that performance. It went on for far longer than we would have guessed it would. He was leaning down, and yelling in their faces, and if their hair would have blown back, it would have seemed appropriate. The coach yelling at us when he was supremely pissed, didn't even come close. Most likely, none of us had ever experienced that. He leaned on the table, and gave them his best crazy eyes. He wasn't screaming, but his forced speech sounded like screaming, even though it was slightly more subdued. He could keep it up for as long as he wanted.

   When he turned back around, the scary face and eyes were vanished again, and he was once again the polite and quiet man we had come to know. In the sweetest of lilts, he addressed them with one's mouth still hanging open, and the other still biting her lip like a little girl. Their own fathers had never spoken to them like this, I had to guess. They were shocked. Yet, it vanished as quick as it had developed, a sudden spring storm out of nowhere, now gone.

   "I'm sorry. Did you ladies want cream or sugar? Please, let me get that for you…"

   Which was when we all three burst out in laughter.

   "No, I'm really not that good at the drill instructor voice. I wasn't the best guy in barracks at it, I was kinda in the middle, when we voted on who won."

   He went about gathering up the plates and silverware, and rinsing them off and putting them in the dishwasher. Then he sat down with us, and asked politely and softly, what was on the agenda for today.

   I was first.

   "Oh, you have to teach me how to do that. I could use that some days, I'm sure."

   "Actually, drill instructors are taught, in a class, how to project their voice without damaging their vocal cords. All sergeants, learn to project their voice. So they can address large groups of men, and know their commands are heard, and there's no mistakes. All us regular enlisted guys, just along for the 4 year ride? We learn to imitate it, for fun."

   "That's pretty good. Thanks for that."

   "Same here. I thought it was just going to be her, then I got dragged into it. Glad I wasn't left out of the fun."

   "Wow. I can't believe the other one didn't get woken up and come down to see what was going on."

   I sipped my coffee and chuckled.

   "After last night? I'm sure she's perfectly happy to have someone else get yelled at, and not get it again. Besides. You know her. She'll sulk and hide in her room for the next couple days, embarrassed. She'll just let it blow over, so she can avoid apologizing."

   The one changed the subject.

   "I didn't know you had tattoos."

   "Why would you? I never had my shirt off in front of you before. But yeah, I do. Didn't think about it, I figured she would have mentioned it. But. There you go."

   "I wouldn't have guessed you had any tattoos. And if someone told me you did, I would have guessed some… computer tattoo."

   "Do you want the obligatory story what they mean?"

   "Sure."

   "Okay."

   "She already knows. We share everything. But since she never shared that I have ink on my back, I can only assume she didn't tell you that either. Because, little one. If she had told you the why? You would have already known I had some. If you're curious, and I wouldn't want to bore you, if you're not interested."

   "No. Go ahead."

   "Lots of guys in the military have ink. The biggest one, the grim reaper? Some joker in housing must have thought it was funny, to stick one computer geek, hey I resemble that remark, in to live with all the MPs. That's the military police. These guys made friends with the computer geek they were housed with, and took me with them anywhere they went. Whether I felt like it or not, actually. I played some sports, track and soccer, in high school. I also lifted weights, like a lot of guys do. I was a track star, and I lettered three times over, for so many first places at meets, winning the mile run. The only guy that could beat me? Was some kid who I found out was the one that won county every year, so I didn't feel so bad about that one loss every year. Soccer? I played, but I was a bench warmer and a scrub. I wasn't good enough, not like you girls. I'm quite sure, as I hear about you two from her regularly, that you would all three just smoke me, so I won't even embarrass myself playing for fun with you in the yard. Anyways, are you sure you want to hear about the tattoos?"

   He could tell a story. I already knew that, now they were seeing it.

   "No. Go on."

   "Okay. So. These MPs, were the toughest guys on any airbase, and everyone knows it. They come in and take down big, muscular, pissed off Marines when they act up in the bars. Nobody fucks with these guys, and I had to live with these scary lunatics. Anyways, these guys dragged me with them anywhere they went. I naturally went to the gym to work out with my new friends. They lifted weights and jogged, like I did. I also ran long distance, I ran 10K's and had decent times. But other than lifting weights? This is the military police. These guys were all doing kickboxing, and dirty wrestling, too. They dragged me to the range to learn how to shoot rifles and handguns with them. They dragged me to drink beer and they dragged me to chili cook offs, and rattle snake roundups. I prefer what I call snake mc nuggets, by the way, but I digress. Shall I continue?"

   "Yes!"

   "Okay, just checking. So, they wanted me to do kickboxing and dirty wrestling, too. The MPs practice what they call take-downs. Which is of course, ripping some big, jacked up, drunken Marine off his feet by his head, and wrestling him to the ground to slap cuffs on him. I practiced all this stuff for fun with them, because I wanted to impress my new boyfriends I was running around with every day and all weekend. Within a year or two, I was able to play with them at these fun games. When my boyfriends decided one day that I was one of the boys, at all these fun games. They took me out to get me drunk, and they all pitched in to get me my tattoo. I was told, I was an honorary member now, and that I could have the same tattoo they all had. Which was of course, they all had a grim reaper of one kind or another. Am I putting you to sleep, little one?"

   "No!"

   "Anyways. If you resist an airbase MP, trying to take you in? He will beat you senseless. If you insist on endangering his life? He will kill you with his bare hands. Marines and Airborne Rangers, who all trained for some classes on our base, by the way, will not fuck with these guys, that should tell you something. When they insisted, that their mascot, hey that's me… simply had to have their own patented tattoo they all had, and were all pitching in on it? I was touched. I picked the biggest grim reaper I could, of the design I liked the best, because hey, someone else is paying for it, and hey, I had a few drinks. Now. I am not an MP, but they said I was an honorary mascot, on account of passing muster at playing their fun games every night and weekend with my boyfriends. I was a computer programmer, if you remember. The wizard at the bottom of the grim reaper? My nickname in the computer department, was The Wizard. Everyone picks the programming assignments out, and grab for the easier and shorter ones they can handle. You don't wait, or you get the big, impossible one. I used to deliberately wait, and take the biggest, most impossible programming assignment they had, and got it done and working properly before everyone else could finish their scrub jobs, if they completed them at all. Hence, my nickname… The Wizard. And that, explains the whole left side of my back. If I have not bored you, I will explain the others."

   "Sure. You gotta finish now."

   "Since you insist. On the right hand side, you will see the electronics components. One of my hobbies? Is designing digital electronic circuits. Here at school, I hang out with not only the computer nerds, but also the Electronics Engineering students. It is not my major, yet I make side money, doing junior and senior projects for some of the EE students. I guarantee a B or better, and I have yet to fail to deliver. The EE students, all have electronics tattoos, many of them. So? Me too. You guessed I would have had a computer tattoo? And I do. What no doubt might look like random letters and numbers? That is ASCII code. It says, fuck you. In the code that computers and the internet use, to send text around and store it internally. My computer nerd friends, get quite a kick out of that one. The rest of lines of text you see over on that side? Is a bit of computer programming language. It is a core routine, that I was once told was impossible to program. I came back the next day, with a working example. I am, after all, nicknamed The Wizard."

   "Go on if there's more."

   "The left side? Was my military life. I was given the grim reaper, because I was told I was as good as they were, at playing the fun little games all the MPs play to train, and the wizard, because I was not an MP, I was a computer geek. The right side is all… geek and nerd stuff. The other half of my life. This leaves a space at the top and down the middle. Which is the big dragon you see. The dragon is actually not a symbol of evil, death, and destruction. Despite how they are often portrayed in books and movies. In fact, most dragons were able to talk, and were actually smarter than most human beings. Plus, I think dragons are just plan cool. As a geek and a nerd? I used to play Dungeons and Dragons. The dragon? Is wise, highly intelligent, and also very dangerous. And misunderstood. Plus? Dragons are just plain cool. This? Is yet another one, that my computer nerd friends think is cool, because we all used to play Dungeons and Dragons, and they know all this about dragons, too."

   "That leaves just the water at the bottom middle."

   "Ah. I always ran long distance. I am not fast, but I can run a lot farther than a lot of people. I also, for whatever reason, learned to swim long distance. Almost anyone can smoke me for speed, just like running. What very few people can do, is swim long distance. Its not about speed, its about being able to swim, literally forever. I can go for miles, and its not hard, its just plain fun. I love the open water. I can float on my back, and take as long of a break as I want. I can literally fall asleep on open water, and get as much of a nap as I need to keep going. The MP boyfriends? One had a Navy Seal buddy that would come around. One weekend, after we all were done playing at take-downs and other fun games, he bet me I was lying about swimming long distance in the open ocean, like Navy Seals claim only they know the secrets to do it. I took that bet. We took a little boat out, and I jumped in ten miles out. They stayed 100 yards from me, if I need it, and to ensure I did not get a ride in, to cheat on the bet. I took a nap a couple times, in the Gulf of Mexico, in 15 foot swells. I made it to shore, and won my bet. The MP boyfriends? Thought that was the coolest thing ever, for their little computer geek mascot, to win a bet with a Navy Seal. Once again, I was gotten drunk, and they pitched in so I could get my water tattoo. Since it is below the dragon? There's steam separating right from left side, and filling in the little spaces."

   "Wow. I wouldn't have guessed."

   "And why is that, little one."

   "You… spend all day with the computer guys…"

   "Ah. I see now, what you mean. You naturally assume, that because I am a spastic geek, and that I love being one, and am in fact proud of it? That I should not be… how would I say this. All boy. With my shirt off, because my girlfriend here said she wanted to… show me off… her words, not mine. Do I appear to be in any way feminine to your eye? Perhaps because I am quiet and polite, you might naturally assume I am not… all boy. My parents raised me to be polite, to say please and thank you. This was again taught to me, in the service. I actually like being called a spastic geek. If people actually stopped and thought about the words coming out of their mouths? Which most do not, by the by. Yet, if they did? The more a person attempts to make fun of me, for being a geek, a nerd, what have you. What they are really saying? Is that I am much more intelligent than they are. I'm flattered when they do it."

   The other one looked at me, with a quizzed look on her face.

   "Is this for real?"

   "I'm going on a month and a half, with my new steady boyfriend. I can tell you that I don't think he ever lied or even exaggerated to me before. If I had to guess, I would say I believed him."

   "We teased her, for… wanting to have a boyfriend… you know, from the computer department."

   "Okay. I take no offense. In the math and computer science department? We think many of the jocks… well, we have some jokes of our own."

   "Ha! Let me hear one."

   "Okay. Here goes. A basketball player, in a math class, was asked to count from 1 to 21. The basketball player, came to the correct answer. Which was quite amazing, naturally. Now. You were not there. How do you prove to me, mathematically… whether they were on the girls basketball team, or the boys basketball team."

   We were all looking at each other, and shrugging. He went about cleaning up, putting things away, then quickly wiped off the table and counter top. He left out only the sauce pot with the coffee left in it simmering on the stove top, the milk and the sugar. He then thought better of it, put the milk away, and left a small glass of milk out. He sat down.

   When we asked what the answer to the joke was, he smiled.

   "It was obviously, a member of the boys basketball team. Duh."

   We wanted to know why.

   "The girls basketball team? They can only count to 20."

   When we wanted to know why we didn't get the joke, he feigned an apologetic tone.

   "Oh, my. I thought you girls played soccer, that's my bad. I didn't know you girls once played basketball. My apologies. Oh lord, I would never want to offend such pretty ladies."

   He sat there, sipping his coffee. Obviously quite amused with himself. He obviously wasn't going to tell us the answer to the joke. We had to figure it out for ourselves. Then one of my girls ended up with a furrowed brow, and actually started counting to herself. On her fingers. She did this twice, and still had a furrowed brow, puzzled. The other one, did the same thing. She got to ten. Then asked if she could have a hint. He sipped his coffee, and pointed at her feet. She now stared at her bare feet, and counted to 10. On her fingers. Then because he gave her a hint, she counted off her toes as well. She arrived at, predictably, 20.

   I suddenly laughed. It started out as a chuckle, then a giggle. Then a few small laughs. It wasn't as much a joke about jocks, or even basketball players. It was as much a silly kids joke about the difference between little boys and little girls. When both girls looked at me for my explanation.

   "I just got it, and I'm not telling. I'm curious which one of you two, gets it first."

   Both of them counted on their fingers to ten, then looked at their toes and went from 11 to 20. They each did this twice, before the one made a "pfffft" sort of laugh. I was keeping score.

   "That's two of us."

   She finally gave up, and smiled and upended her palms. I looked at him.

   "I guess she should have gone out for the basketball team instead. You wanna give her another hint?"

   He counted off on his fingers, to 10. Then he dramatically looked at his own feet, and went 11 through 20. Then he stood up and pointed at just below his waist, and proudly announced, 21.

   "Great. We're both retards."

   "No. You, came in third. I came in second. So I'm only half retarded. You're the only retard at the table."

   "And my smart girlfriend came in first. I'm proud of you honey."

   "Thank you."

   "You're welcome."

   We sat there, finishing our coffee, divvying out the rest slowly. He spoke first.

   "So. What are you two girls majoring in?"

   I raised my hand. I pointed at the one, then the other.

   "Basket weaving, and, advanced basket weaving."

   "Is that even a real thing? Or just a euphemism. Seriously."

   The one that came in last, piped up.

   "What's a… yoo-fah-mizzim. Heard the word before."

   The other one, chided her.

   "That's why you're the retard, whereas I? Am only half a retard. Its… like an analogy. Tard."

   "Oh. Blow it out your twat. Because this tard? Has you by five goals last year. This year? I plan on ten. So tard that."

   "That's just because you can only cover left wing and center. Because only your right foot can do anything. I, can play left, right and center? Because both my feet work. Which means, once again… tard. You only have half a brain."

   "Ew. I can use both my feetsies, I'm so brilliant. How the fuck, does that mean I have half a brain? You don't even make any sense."

   "Well. Tard. The right side of the brain, controls the left side of the body. The left side of the brain, controls the right side of the body. Which clearly proves, that I, use my whole brain. Whereas you, only use half of yours. And, since only your right foot can do anything? Your clearly in your left mind. Now, people that can use their left foot? We're in our right mind. You, were obviously dropped on your head when you were little. I can tell, you landed on the right side."

   I sipped my coffee, and ignored it. Hell, I'm used to this. This is every day. Mildly amusing, but not much more. This was new to him, this was the first time he had actually sat and spoken with any of the girls for more than ten seconds. He sat and followed it as it went back and forth. When the one resorted to making retard talk to make fun of the other, he looked at me.

   "This is normal?"

   "It is."

   "What are their degrees again?"

   I pointed at advanced basket weaving first.

   "Human relations. Started out elementary education? If you can't pass enough math to be qualified to teach grade school kids math time? New major. Plus they have to hit a 2.5 to keep the scholarship active. Human relations, has much easier math requirements. She's almost up to a 3.0 now. I'm so proud."

   I pointed at basket weaving.

   "Women's Studies."

   "Oh."

   "Yeah. It wouldn't be half as tragic, if she didn't have trouble keeping the scholarship in that demanding course of study. I don't think they have to count above 20, so, she should be able to finish her degree."

   "What… exactly does a degree in Women's Studies qualify one to do for work, other than of course teach Women's Studies."

   I sipped my coffee, and gave him my best deadpan.

   "Oh. That genius? Will be qualified to work for some big technology company's human resources department. So that the big tech company, is being socially responsible enough, by hiring an expert in male female diversity."

   His look back without a word gave me all I needed to know we were on the same page here.

   "Yeah. Someone just like her? Is going to determine if someone like you, gets hired or not, at some big shot technology corporation, to program on the computers. Doesn't that inspire you with all the confidence in the world, how successful you're going to be one day."

   "Christ's throne. I'm a programmer. I'll be a software engineer. I have to get through her, to get hired?"

   "Human resources, has to approve all new hires. Because as we all know, if you have more men than women computer programmers… that's sexist, and it hurts the company's social credit score. Which means, they can't have the really big contracts, because diversity is a requirement."

   "Can she even turn on a computer?"

   "She can. But if it's unplugged? She once came running to tell me it was broken. True story."

   "What… do the papers for a course in Women's Studies, even look like? Color me curious."

   "Oh. Really high end stuff. I know, because I have to proof-read her papers, and make polite suggestions on things like what periods are for, what the whole concept of a paragraph is. Heavy lifting like that. Which is fine. She's a big concept thinker, you understand. Not a details person, which is stupid to be concerned with. That bullshit? Was invented by the patriarchy, to keep women out of the leadership roles in the workplace, where they clearly belong. The last paper? Was all about proving that not only were men and women equal in intelligence? But women are actually smarter. Because they have emotional IQ scores, which are higher than men's. And the ability in a technology environment, to connect emotionally to your coworkers? Is much more important than pesky stupid stuff, like… anything that you would recognize as… you know. Actual intelligence. You're looking at yet one more future girl-boss of America. As a senior? She'll be taking the class where they learn which shade of gray business pantsuit makes you dominate the men in the workplace, and I'll get to see her practicing her newscaster voice, and helping her pick out her fake reading glasses. So she can be smart, and compete with the men, on an equal footing. Has mommy scared you yet?"

   "Terrified. Is that offer still open?"

   "Which one…"

   "The one where you get the good career job first, and purchase the tiny farm house for the two of us. I get to have a bedroom for my study, where I finish my work on my programming language and edit my textbook."

   "I get to pick the property. I get some kind of barn, as well as a basement. Deal?"

   He watched the battle over who was smarter, and the retard voices seemed to be proving to be decisive blows. The other was getting frustrated at not being able to make her quit making the retard voice at her. He made a fake shudder, and looked back.

   "Deal."

   I sipped my coffee.

   "Shake on it."

   I extended my hand, and we shook on it.

   "So. Can you see my philosophical objections to feminism? I feel feminism, on the whole, actually makes a woman like me look bad. If you see my point."

   "Oh. Indeed, I do. I just realized something."

   "What's that, dear."

   "I'm embarrassed to admit it, now that it pops into my little pea brain. But. I just realized I know these two Rhodes scholar's courses of study here at our major university we all attend. What's yours? I seem to remember I was going to ask you, two different times, and both times… I, quite mysteriously I might add, ended up staring at your long, tan, muscular legs. And? Forgot all about what I was talking about. Now that I have my second coffee in me, and I have at least half my wits about me… please?"

   "Does it matter?"

   "I suppose it doesn't really. But… why wouldn't you want to answer me?"

   I sipped my coffee again.

   "I was holding off, for as long as I could. I was a little afraid you would… take it, somehow, some way, wrong. But since you cornered me finally, and my legs are hidden under the table, I don't have my secret weapons to hypnotize you out of it a third time. Promise me you won't be mad at mommy."

   "I promise."

   I sipped again.

   "Swear it."

   He swore he wouldn't be mad.

   "Psychology major, dear."

   "Oh…"

   "You okay with that, honey?"

   "Yeah. I guess that would explain a lot."

   "Are you mad?"

   "No, I'm not mad. Did you…"

   "Use any of it on you, at any point?"

   "I guess that goes without saying."

   "A few things, yes. I promised I wouldn't lie to you. I never lied, about anything. I never made anything up, to get my results. You have my word on that. So, you're not mad at mommy?"

   "Not at all."

   "Thank you. If you're curious. I probably used it more on myself, than on you. Understanding my… compulsions, for instance. Embracing who and what I am. Liking who and what I am. I used it, again mainly on myself? To set out… let's say criteria, on what I wanted, what I needed, and how to recognize it if and when I ever found it. I needed what's called, baseline attraction or better, initially. And baseline attraction, my ass. I've been noticing you, since the moment we shared a class. And I kept on noticing you, every time I saw you around campus. When you started… making your rounds, we'll say. I was waiting on you to get around to me. When my chance finally came around? I jumped on it. Literally, I might add."

   "And the criteria, beyond baseline, or better, initial attraction?"

   "My characteristics that my ideal man, that I was attracted to, would have. I discovered, that I have a… unique set of criteria. I kept being attracted to you, and I started crossing off on my little checklist, items as you met them. And when I chanced across, the thing I was embarrassed to admit worked on me, the same way it works on these two… Rhodes scholars you see before your very eyes. I realized that not only was I infatuated with you physically, you were… perfect for me. Lacking only one, teeny little check mark, which I was willing to overlook, because what the hell, you were otherwise… perfect. After meeting you at that party? We each made a little joke? And my heart skipped a beat. A second date, and again, more jokes back and forth. Shared innuendo. My knees melted. Not only did you meet all my criteria, not only was I physically attracted to you and couldn't shake it? I'm a yin, and you're a yang. So… the third date? Mommy had plans for her little boy. Before I closed on those plans, I had been asking little things, over the first two dates. Then more on that third date. I came to the conclusion, that if my own mind wasn't playing tricks on me, I would also be the perfect thing for you. I… didn't have to talk to you for more than five minutes, despite all my research into you I already knew… you're intelligent and logical. I laid out my… offer? With logic and reason. And you found my logic and line of reasoning… accurate. I then closed on my… let's say that in our own unique way, I sort of… consummated, our desire. If you take my meaning there."

   "I do."

   I sipped my coffee again.

   "I hate to use psychology, but do you realize that I just compared our… third bit of fun, the longer and harder fun, and I know you know what I mean… I jokingly called it consummation. And you, curiously responded with the words… I do. Was that another of your cute word plays, another pun? Or was that a Freudian slip."

   He sighed. And glanced over at those two. The argument had degenerated into complete silliness, and they were actually making faces at each other, and poking fun at each other in ways that had absolutely no bearing whatsoever, upon which was smarter.

   "Oh. Don't let the kids presence concern you in the slightest. We're using vocabulary and big people words. They couldn't discover the secret in this conversation, if they were even paying complete attention. Perhaps you now realize the coach's little joke. That I'm the adult. And I'm trusted to watch over what is arguably the most important three players on our team. And play den mother to these… absolute geniuses, conducting this scintillating conversation for our benefit."

   "Nice word. Scintillating. I haven't heard that one used in a while."

   "Thank you."

   "You're welcome."

   "I'd like to personally apologize, on behalf of our higher education system here in America, for a system where these two… obviously highly qualified scholars, get a free education at one of the top universities in America, and are completely wasting the opportunity by having difficulties completing courses in basket weaving, and advanced basket weaving, respectively. I'd like to further apologize, on behalf of this university, for putting these two up, free of any cost whatsoever, in luxury accommodations normally reserved only for the truly rich kids."

   "You don't have to apologize. But accepted."

   "It broke my heart, to know you were stuck in a literal dirt hole in a basement, with no heat and no water, and probably lucky to afford food. When I say I had to stand on my head naked, to get your attention, you know that's not just a phrase. I want you. I need you. Though I can live without you? I don't like the idea. Will you please stay here, in luxury accommodations, instead of going back to hosing out vomit and choosing between food and books. If you like me half as much as I seem to like you."

   He smiled, and this time it was a deliberate word play.

   "I do."

   "Mm. In two weeks or thereabouts, for your birthday? I plan on another… consummation, of our… vows of shared compulsion and hobby. Do you like this idea?"

   "I do."

   "Mm. That's two."

   "Now then. There are certain perks to you living here. Among them, is you get… a certain type of eye candy, that you uniquely appreciate. I want you to know, that you are free to look at what wanders across your field of vision, and that you're under no threats of any… real problems arising from that. I can't dress them in snowsuits. Will it be okay, if we were to derive, mutually, fun and amusement from pretending that such problems were being addressed?"

   He smiled at my wordplay.

   "Are you asking my permission, to derive little scenarios out of it?"

   "I am."

   "Then? I do."

   "Mm. Third time, is the charm. I already know the answer to the question, I'm fairly certain, but. A lot of guys like… well. The same way most men don't like tall or physically strong women, they have something against smart women. And I don't think I'm exactly brilliant or anything. For instance, your math and computer science stuff? I'm lost. But, am I correct in my assumption that you prefer your women to be…"

   "Its right up there with tall and strong. I prefer it. Two otherwise equal women, in every regard? The more intelligent one will always beat out the dimwit, everything else being equal. I… get made fun of by the boys, for wanting to talk to a girl. Oh, he's one of those, he has to be able to talk to them, ha ha ha. In fact, intelligence can help one girl, squeeze out the more attractive one, in my sliding scale."

   "Like I said, I was real sure of the answer. If only for me, could I get you to… tolerate, if not in some way appreciate… what you see before you? I give you, exhibit A…"

   We both looked over, and those two looked like little kids going at it.

   "I have no problems…"

   "Well, if a bigger guy pushed around a littler guy, that's rude without a good reason to do it. What I'm asking, is if you could find it in your heart, to… not lord it over them? And, if you could ignore any… jokes that came your way about it. They're like my kids."

   "I had no plans on… making fun of children, and when children make fun of me, I think its cute. Deal."

   "Thank you. And it is a pleasure, to finally have another adult in the house, to talk to. Want a little leg show? On me, my treat. This isn't a trick. Scenario fun only. But, I explained to you, how my scholarship is getting me something I couldn't afford myself, and I'm not wasting my opportunity like some other people might. Want a little demonstration, on what these two can do? I just love them for it."

   "Sure."

   "Girls!"

   I clapped my hands, like a mother getting two young children's attention. They stopped and looked over.

   "Hey. I've been bragging you two up for so long. He just asked me, when does he get to see it. He's begging me, he doesn't wanna wait till the off season ends."

   "Does… this in any way help our chances, of… what we talked about?"

   "It certainly couldn't hurt. We'll bring that up afterwards. We have all day."

   "I'm in. Both of us?"

   "Yeah. Me too. I wanna wow him."

   They shrugged, and both nodded and said okay and sure thing, respectively.

   "Front yard?"

   I smiled.

   "Sure. Come on honey, you gotta see this."

   The girls and me hit the living room. All three of us pulled soccer shorts out of our gear bags, piled up in a far corner, and pulled them up and laced the bow that finished what the elastic waistband started. We all pulled on thick crew socks that were practice issue, and had soccer balls emblazoned on them with our numbers. We all took our balls with us, and he followed us out and sat on the cement wall while we stretched out.

   He sipped his coffee, watching us give a quick stretch. I got called a show off, because I always do standing splits, whereas they did their splits the traditional way, on the ground. We all ended up pulling our feet up behind our backs and holding them, bending over to exacerbate the stretches. After running in place a little, I smiled.

   "Watch the magic…"

   We all "picked up" our balls, by stepping on them and rolling them up on top of our strong feet, and tapping the ball up, and keeping it up. Juggling. We were all showing off how long we could go without the ball ever once hitting the ground. Little miss both feet, was showing her cohort that she could kick the ball exclusively up and never drop it with just her left foot only. Smiling and sticking her tongue out. She sweetly called her "tardfoot".

   The girls started showing off, because they now had an audience member that was new. One kicked the ball straight up unexpectedly, and head bounced the ball several times, before letting fall back to juggling it with her feet again. The other did it, not to be outdone, and used her shoulders to bop it at will from shoulder to head, then the other shoulder and back, before returning to her feet as well.

   I did it some, but I don't have nearly the ball control these two have. So I concentrated on my feet, and was happy to get up to the head bounces, and back to feet without dropping the ball. Those two, now warmed up? Were really showing off. Knees, thighs, catching the ball on feet and thighs, before resuming juggling. The other responded by catching the ball on her head, before going back to her feet again. The other came back with dropping it off a shoulder bounce to behind her back, and lifted her feet a couple times to bounce the ball behind her, before sending it back over her shoulder to her knees and then her feet again.

   I smiled and winked, to let him know it was fine to enjoy the leg and flexibility show and I knew he was enjoying it in a way that he uniquely would appreciate. They weren't as tall as me, but still, they were anything but short. Maybe an inch less for the one, and maybe an inch and a half for the other. I had obvious size on them both, but their legs are nothing short of spectacular in the muscle department either. Their leg muscles are a lot more streamlined and compact, I have the thicker thighs and calves.

   "You're watching two thirds, of one of the top starting front lines in our division, which just happens to be one of the most competitive for women's soccer. I'm a rotating utility player, but my specialty is fullback. I'm the last thing between the other teams starting line coming in, and our goalie. These two are basically freaks of nature, hun. You don't see ball control like this every day. I can't do what they do, I mean I can and I do, but, not as good as they can. We warmed up enough? Or you two wanna make me look bad some more…"

   We got into a tight triangle, and juggled back and forth between the three of us. We slowly opened the triangle up, and the game was to keep the ball in the air, passing back and forth. I sometimes had to juggle a few times before sending it to one or the other, they could just one-time it around. By the time the triangle has opened up to a fair distance, it became painfully obvious I was now a liability.

   "Last one for me. You girls are on your own. Come on… show him the magic…"

   I came over smiling, and sat on the wall with him appreciating the show. Those two started backing up a little more every so often, increasing the distance between them constantly in little increments. They were able to continue one-timing the ball, back and forth now warmed up sufficiently to really show off. Head, knees, feet didn't really seem to matter. These two could bounce a ball with nearly any part of their body, to exactly the spot they needed to, to make a perfect pass to a waiting player who was in position to make a fast break. They finally were each backed up to their own practice net near them now, little practice goals. I explained that to him.

   "They're as far apart now, as they can about go and guarantee perfect one times back and forth. If you wondered? They're some of the best in the business at this level of control. When they get done, they're gonna start gun practice. One will feed the other a still ball, and the other is going to one time it, out of the air, into a goal shot. They get a point for every time they hit that little goal, and it bounces back. They get two points though, for it going in that little net hole in the middle."

   Bitching at each other was a lot more in fun now. Once they had balls on their feet, they were team mates and not room mates now, on instinct.

   "Come on! Feed my strong foot, bitch! You do that in a game? You're gonna cost us the game!"

   "Aw, shut up, tardfoot! I know, I know!"

   "So quit doing it! Before I come over there and send my spikes up your ass!"

   "I'm not the one who takes it up the ass, you whore!"

   "You know you wish you had him! You know he's hot as fuck!"

   "Hes a faggot! How can you brag, you fucked a faggot!"

   "He's bisexual, and you know it! You'd have fucked him too, if I hadn't of snagged him up first!"

   "That was before I knew he has a boyfriend! You're bragging, that a faggot cheated on his boyfriend with you! You got one pity-fuck, from a faggot!"

   "You know you wish you washed your panties on that 8 pack, bitch!"

   "Why do you think he stuck it up your ass?!?! Hello! He has a boyfriend!!"

   "Not that night, he didn't…!"

   "Please tell me you made him wear protection!"

   "Yeah!"

   "Good! Because I love you, and I don't want you getting AIDS!!"

   "Fuck you!!"

   "No thanks! I know where your ass has been!!"

   I'm hiding my face in my hands, because I'm quite frankly embarrassed at this. I finally shook my head at him and said… I'm sorry about that… then I cupped my hands and yelled.

   "Ladies! Please! We have company!!"

   "Sorry mom!"

   "Thank you!"

   Now to him…

   "Another reason, I'm considered such an insufferable cunt. Really though, they're no different than the boys on the football team, honestly. They'll fuck anything that moves, that gives them vaginal tingles. God, I hope I can trust you. Please, for the love of god… I swear. I'll do anything you want, if you just promise me…"

   My face must have showed, what my somewhat uncharacteristically pleading voice, was displaying. All but begging. He smiled, and touched my cheek, and drew my face in and put his lips on my ear.

   "I promise. Not only do I like your tan muscles better, honey? You have a brain, and that makes you twice as hot to me, as these two. I swear by all that's holy, if I would have heard this conversation here, before I asked little miss two feet out? I never would have, please believe me. I want a girlfriend, not just a fuck. And remember, hun. You? Give me special treats, that these two never could. I swear. I won't make fun of your kids, for being…"

   "You can say it. Something less than brilliant."

   "Yeah. And… I'll ignore any nerd jokes, and not retaliate with retard jokes. God help me, it's not fair to engage an unarmed person in a battle of wits. And you have my word… I will not… diddle your kids."

   "Thank you. Can you see though, these things don't just grow on trees, hun. Look at that control…"

   "I admit. It's… impressive, spectacular even. And, thank you for this little…"

   "Leg show?"

   "Yeah. You promise I'm not in trouble for…"

   "Looking? No. Enjoy. But, as far as scenario goes?"

   "Yeah…"

   "We're going to have a long talk, every now and then, just to make sure we have ongoing and mutual understanding, how some things are just to be looked at, and never, ever touched. I think you know exactly what position you will be in, while we have these little talks, right?"

   "Not only do I know? I can guess where these talks will be held at, and what piece of furniture will be involved."

   "Nice. An ongoing scenario, to have my naughty fun with. Now… if you continue to be good, like you have been? Mommy will see to you getting a leg show around the townhouse. If you like seeing those long, bare legs on these two? Dressed in nothing but a T shirt and panties? Enjoy. But remember, and don't you ever forget, mister. You, are my personal property. You belong to me."

   "I won't forget. I promise. I like being owned by you."

   "Good. But, if you ever, set one pinkie toe over the threshold to any of those other three bedrooms. And I don't care how innocent the situation or reason is. They don't even have to be in the room, for this to happen. I swear to god. You can't imagine what I will do to you, and for how long. If you break my heart like that? I swear to god, I will break you. That's not just a phrase, that's no scenario. That's real life. I will do practically anything you want, to try to make you happy and keep you. That? Is off limits. If any of them makes the slightest hint, and you even wonder? You'll come straight to me with it. Even if you're sure you're mistaken, you'll still come to me. Immediately. Is that clear?"

   "Yes. I promise."

   "All right. Now. Watch this…"

   "Girls!"

   "Yeah…?"

   "You look warmed up to me, come over here a minute!"

   They came jogging over, and it turned into a race. My god, its easy to forget what greased lightning looks like, slicing over ground horizontally. I'm no slowpoke, but these two can smoke me in the 100 yard dash, and everyone knows it. They can both turn on the jets, and just when you think you're watching a fast sprint, they still have bursts of speed that leave you speechless. He was clearly enjoying the show, and half entranced.

   They both had perspiration on them now, and their legs were warmed up and displayed their long, lithe muscles even better. They had stopped on a dime coming in full tilt, and little miss two feet was smiling impishly. She knew she had given him a start, stopping impossibly close to what had surely seemed as if she would crash into him and take him off the wall.

   "Well dear? Ever see anything like that before?"

   "Ladies? I'm not just being polite. That… was one of the most incredible things I've ever seen. Its like watching circus jugglers perform, I've never seen anything like that."

   "Mom said you played soccer. You can juggle a little bit."

   "Not… like that. I'm lucky to get ten taps, and that was when I still played. And I still can't believe how fast you two are. Its unreal."

   Little Lightning smiled.

   "Hey… speed kills."

   "Is… mom older than you?"

   She smiled and tossed her hair to extricate an errant fly.

   "No, silly. That's our momma bear."

   "Momma bear?"

   "Look at her, would you? You ever hear how you never, ever get between a momma bear and one of her cubs? If you're lucky enough to live, you'll never do it again in the woods, right? That's our momma bear. We're fast, we're accurate. But… we're vulnerable out there. Someone starts playing dirty, starts knocking us around? They get to meet… momma bear. She's a great fullback, she makes the goalie feel safe, but… she can play our positions, just good enough to go up and make sure we're safe. Then, she gets all the attention, from half the team coming after her. Which then means? We can run and gun around the goons they send out to get her. Momma bear protects us, and draws all the heat. Which lets us do our thing the rest of the game."

   "Momma bear was just explaining to me, how protective she is of her… cute little cubs."

   "She is. We wouldn't be on the division scoring charts, if she wasn't out there doing her thing."

   The other one elbowed her.

   "Go on, tell him already."

   "All right. Look. You've been here, what, going on six weeks now? We're all allowed to have anyone over for the night we want. If a girl wants the same guy over every single night? That's her business. When… guys are around a lot? Its fine for a weekend here and there, but… we all vote on if a guy can stay like you are. Momma's head of household on the lease, she's been here the longest. She's got a year on us, being here. Head of household gets two votes, and we already know she casts those two votes yes. We both vote yes, too. Out of 5 possible votes, and 5 is an odd number, so there's no ties to break. That's 4 to 1, or 5 to zip, that you can stay."

   "Thanks. I appreciate that."

   The other one elbowed her again, to keep going.

   "All right, I know. Gee whiz already. Hey. I know this is awkward. I'll just say it. You… asked out a lot of the girls that play sports. Some guys dig it. Most don't. No hard feelings, I shut you done the couple times you wanted to walk me to class, get coffee, whatever. Don't get mad, I don't mean anything by it, but… a computer guy? Just isn't my thing. We all know who you are, you work in the math lab. You… have saved a couple of girls on the teams, tutoring them. They had to pass math classes and stuff, or risk losing their scholarships. You saved them. We owe you. The one was on our team. She don't live here, you'll meet her eventually. I mean it. Thanks. All… geek jokes aside? We'd be down a player if you hadn't got her through her trig class."

   Another elbow.

   "All right! Keep yer panties on. Anyways. Momma really really likes you. Most of us? Date too much, and she almost never dates. Its nice seeing her… happy. I swear, we've been joking for over six months now, that if someone would just… well, she'd be in a better mood. Whatever it is you're doing to her? Please keep it up. She's cranky till she gets her morning coffee? And ever since you got here, she's a little more fun to live with. And she wakes up in a good mood, even before the coffee. The joke is, if someone would start railing momma bear proper hard and regular, she'd be in a better mood, so… thanks for taking one for the team."

   The other one elbowed her.

   "Light! Momma's gonna smack you!"

   "Aw, he knows I'm making a joke, but seriously. The running gag is, whoever handles that, gets a pizza on us. You like pepperoni?"

   "Light…"

   "What? Look. We like you fine. I see you're wearing her number now. To us? That's like wearing a class ring. I know, it's like high school again, but you two are going steady. Just don't get her pregnant, she's slow enough as it is, okay? Christ! You elbow me one more time? I swear I'm gonna shove this ball up your ass! Sorry about… the other one up there, sleeping it off. She's an asshole. But, she's our asshole, and if she's a pain in the ass off the field, and a bigger pain in the ass to live with? You should see her play. We don't all put up with her shit for nothing. Just… pretend she doesn't exist, that's how we deal with her half the time. She… must have some kinda… issues? But, she can fucking play. Until momma strangles her one day, like you saw last night."

   "Light…"

   "I'm telling you, bitch. One more elbow? This ball's getting kicked farther up your ass, then that faggot's cock made it last semester! Jesus. Some people's kids. Momma's a homebody, Momma's always studying, because she's getting a… you know, a real degree. She likes quiet smart guys like you, and there's nothing wrong with that. All the computer jokes aside, no hard feelings?"

   "None, little one. Thanks. I wasn't kidding. I like the jokes. To me? Its a compliment."

   "All right. No hard feelings. There's no reason this has to be awkward. We like you just fine. And by the way?"

   "Yes…"

   "You ain't the first guy stayed here some. You're… not weird to have around. Guys get over here, they start to get… weird. Staring at the girls other than the one they're supposed to be here with. Trying to catch a look of us coming out of the bathroom to our room, after a shower. Always trying to… accidentally squeeze past us in the hallway? Its… a little creepy. That's what the voting is for, so a girl that likes some creepy guy, can't make us feel all weird-ed out, every time we're stuck here in our own place with the guy. You? You don't do any of that. Thanks. God help me, the weirdest thing you ever did? You kinda throw yourself out of the way when I try to walk past you, or you stand still and put your hands in the air. Just cause I didn't wanna go out with you, doesn't mean I'm gonna stab you or something."

   "Oh. The truth? In the service, we have to work with girls in uniform. They read us the riot act about… not… look. The class on it, and they make us take the class once a year. Some guys like to, you know, find any excuse they can, to rub up against a girl? You know, on accident, but. They're trying to get little jollies about it. We were told to get out of a girl's way when we're in a tight space walking past each other, or its our ass. Also, if touching each other in a tight hallway, or in a vehicle, is unavoidable? The man is to freeze, and put his hands in the air. The woman will move past you. That way, she's in charge of the little brush up, and it makes her more comfortable about it. That's what I do to you girls. I move out of the way, or I put my hands in the air and freeze, so you can move past me. I don't believe in putting my hands on a girl, just to see if I can. I wasn't raised like that, the service drilled it into my head again. I'm not… afraid of you, I'm not weird-ed out because you wouldn't take free coffee and talk to me. That's what you've been seeing."

   "Really? Holy shit. Momma's right, you really are a real gentleman. She really likes that. Actually, you're the least creepy guy, ever stayed over, I think. You never stare, you don't make… little jokes, you never pat us on the ass, nothing. Thanks. Remember if it ain't 5 to nothing, it's 4 to 1. You? Are in. Just promise me and her, you won't be shy about putting your hands on momma bear. Before you guys went away for a couple days? She wouldn't shut up about you for three days straight. Its sweet. And god help me, she's less cranky now. Lot less of an insufferable…"

   The one behind her made a dramatic fake cough into her fist, that was clearly a joke pronunciation of "cunt".

   "I promise, to do my best, giving it to your momma as hard as she wants. And for the record? If I ever did start… staring, making creepy jokes, laying a single finger on you, smacking your butt even joking? Its my ass, she said she'll kill me. You ain't gotta worry about that, that ain't my style."

   I reminded him sweetly.

   "Get it right. I won't kill you? I'll hurt you, until you wish you were dead. And, as we all saw last night? These three are under orders from me, if anyone starts… making you uncomfortable, teasing you just to have fun? Well, you can see how that goes."

   "I ain't stupid enough to touch momma bear's new guy, uh uh. I'm brave, I ain't that brave. How about you?"

   "My left foot might not work right, but I ain't that dumb."

   "The only one known for that shit, is the other one. Look. Sport-fucking? Its a thing. You probably got more to worry about in that department? From girls that don't live here, or really the girls on the other teams. That said… I see she's got you wearing her number. You're going steady. You wear her number around every once in a while. Her shorts, her practice T shirt, one of her wristbands? Everyone knows, she hits like a man. We all know each other, even on the other teams. We know what team your steady girl plays on, and who she is by that number. I honestly don't think any girl on campus, will touch any guy that wears anything with her number like that. Bitch will spit teeth. Hurry is sweet and polite, and she stays home studying instead of going out like we do… but… no one wants to put a hair up her ass. You're tapping one of the alpha girls on campus, trust me. If that's your thing? I'm happy for the both of you."

   "Good god, I thought Hurry was her real name. Hurry? That's your nickname? Like… hurry up?"

   "No. The announcers call her that, and the name stuck. Hurry, is the short version of The Hurricane."

   "So. I'm being banged silly, by The Hurricane. The guys in the math lab are gonna have a field day with that one, when school starts. What's your nickname, little one."

   "I'm Light. Short for The Little Lightning. I got the fastest 100 yard dash in the team's history until they find something quicker one day. I ran track too in high school, but I was a sprinter, not a distance runner. I obviously also played soccer. You can see which one I'm better at. As fast as I am, I can't place in our division running the 100 for the track team. This thing elbowing me every fifteen seconds? That's Right. Every girl has a strong foot and a weak foot. Her right foot is slightly more accurate than mine. But I'm almost as good with my weak foot as my strong foot."

   "You girls going to have a contest? You might as well finish letting me show you two off."

   "Right? How about to 20?"

   "If you don't feed my strong foot, I get it over."

   "Yeah, I know… I promise, I'll feed your strong side, and starve your tardfoot, okay? Christ, you could get that left foot cut off, and it wouldn't affect your game much, you know that?"

   "Blow it out your twat. What's the bet? I ain't kicking your ass for nothing."

   "We were planning on watching a movie, girls. Winner picks the movie?"

   "Right, you on?"

   "I'm on. Let's do it."

   Right and Light raced back to their positions, each near their own practice goal in the yard. Right had a head start, and Light kept up fine, but at the last moment her jets turned on. She could do that sprinter's trick where their stride lengthened and it gave the impression they floated on air between footfalls. By the time they hit the center point of both goals to the one ball they left there, Light had passed her and edged her out by a step or two. I smiled and glanced over to see how he was enjoying the show.

   "Is it the legs? Or… you're actually impressed."

   "Both. They're both faster than anything I ever saw, but Light? Jesus H. Christ, honey…"

   "I know, right. Watch the scoring game. You never saw anything like this, unless you watch the girls soccer team for the Olympics, I swear. Especially Light."

   "Does she have a chance to…"

   "Believe it or not? Probably not. I bet by the time she's a senior, though, she gets invited to the Olympic tryouts. She might not make it, but, even getting picked to try out, as a remote possibility? Is an honor few girls will ever see. Just watch…"

   "Hey Hurry. These two at it again?"

   Another girl had come up behind us.

   "Hey Boot. Yeah. We were just showing them off to my friend here."

   "Friend, huh? I see your cheerleader, got promoted to first string, unless he stole your clothes. When's the wedding?"

   "When we graduate, unless something happens, Bootsie."

   "Best of luck, Hurry."

   "Thank you. You still…"

   "Yep."

   "This is a new record for you."

   "I try. What's the bet?"

   "Winner picks our movie."

   "Right. I pick Right."

   "Light gets her enough. Boot? This is…"

   "I know who he is. Everyone knows Toot. Plus? You never shut up, who could forget. I guess you finally stuck your number on him, after last night, eh?"

   "You know about that already? Christ."

   "First off, we live right next door. Second? You rattled the dishes about a dozen times. You guys were all either fucking elephants? Or someone got trimmed up. Plus? I got the video already. I'd like to congratulate you? On some fine work there, girl. Top notch stuff."

   "Whats a Toot? Is that another nickname for a groupie?"

   I explained.

   "No. You, are Toot. You, are a tutor. In the math lab. Any athlete gets sent for a tutor on our team? You, are recommended by name. Our coach already knows you by name. He calls you, the Scholarship Saver. SS for short."

   "Thanks Toot."

   "For?"

   "You got my girlfriend through her math class. She kept her scholarship. That makes up for asking my last girlfriend out, so it evens out. Don't worry, Hurry, that was before you had your first date. You can rest easy."

   "Bootsie? Man to man, I didn't know I was asking out your girl. My apologies."

   "No problem. No need to be a bitch about it. No way you'd have known about it anyways. She was one of the shy ones, wouldn't wear my number around."

   "Bootsie, be nice."

   "Aw, just yanking your chain, Toot."

   "Hey, man. Guys haze each other. Do your thing, dude."

   Boot started laughing.

   "You're all right, Toot. I ain't the first one of me you been around, am I?"

   "Spent 4 years in the service, Bootsie. We had a few. No biggie. I was actually kind of best friends with a girl I worked around, that uh… you'd have probably liked to hang out with."

   "How'd that go."

   "The service? Or being around a chick that pulled better ass than I did. You're going to have to clarify."

   Bootsie was giving a hearty laugh now, and I knew her. It was genuine.

   "Both."

   "What can I say. Once I got over the initial shock, and you gotta forgive me, I grew up in a small town, kind of a sheltered upbringing. Whatever. The one I knew? We used to have a few beers down at the local watering hole. We'd sit there, and rate the chicks coming through. Hey. She had a good eye. God help me? She usually had a cuter girl than I had. I didn't have my game down pat back then, you understand."

   Boot was threatening to go into stitches.

   "Hurry, we okay?"

   "We're good, Boot."

   "Toot? Your girl's gotta be the toughest straight girl I ever met. You're a lucky man."

   "Coming from an expert like you? Thanks. I take that as a serious compliment."

   She, and I use that term very loosely, giggled some more.

   "All right Hurry. I ain't looking to make you sore, I ain't gonna stand here and watch Light too much. You kids have fun."

   "Bye, Bootsie."

   He couldn't help a parting shot.

   "Bye, Boot. We ever have a beer at one of the team things? Boot 'n Toot, we sound like a goddamn country western act, eh?"

   "You're all right, Toot. Hurry? Let me know who won. And you guys if you hear loud music, just come over. You don't need invited we have a few people over. With you on my left, I know I got my flank covered. Bye kids."

   We both said bye again.

   Two or more of our starting players were watching Light and Right go at it. These girls were serious assets, and it generated interest to see them taking their practice shots. Only a couple shots each in. Light had a 1 point advantage, but that could change quick this early in. He was watching with keen interest now. I also knew why. These two were not passing on the ground, and one timing their shots on their small and therefore harder to hit practice nets.

   They were launching their passes, and were kicking it out of the air, and hitting their marks. Their air passes were inching higher, and each was trying to show off more, seeing who could get more ooh's and ahh's out of the team spectators. They were both picking their shots at or above their head levels now. It was impressive to see them starting to leave the ground, and still kicking high enough to wrap their instep around the edge of the ball to deflect it into their little nets. Right finally blinked, metaphorically speaking. She tried a bicycle kick, where your first kick just set up a bigger, longer faster one, and she just missed the net, making for a dull clank off of the metal frame.

   Pissed but keeping her cool, Light went for a big bicycle kick now as well. She had to take 2 or 3 running steps to get the speed to get up far enough to attempt it, and she managed to hit the very edge of the net. Seeing her appear to walk on air, still rising, really was something. Making contact was enough of a feat, let alone hitting the edge of the target. The first real applause from the onlookers had her beaming and raising her fist for her audience. It got her blood moving to have an audience. Cheers or boos would each set her off, and she would ratchet her performance up. That last shot had been impressive even after she scored. The way she contorted and twisted in the air to come down on some semblance of her spikes and not landing badly and getting the wind knocked out of her or worse was as impressive as the shot itself.

   Right got up with some vertical height off the ground, and headed the ball in. By hitting the tiny inside net, she scored extra and brought it close again. A good bit of these townhouses all in a row, were all our first string players. More were coming out to see it near the end. Light was up by one point, and didn't even have to go up for her last, high pass. She could just let it sail by, do nothing, and still win. Not a girl like her or Right, neither one.

   These were our prized stars, top recruiting picks that coaches move heaven and earth to get. These girls weren't just local news, they were repeat state players in Quad A leagues they hailed from in their own states. They had been standouts even there, and each were on opposing sides for the big national all-star year end series. For a Quad A high school, this takes a hometown star, puts them on the map for statewide attention, then on to national attention. The eastern all-star team would play the final series against the western all-star team, to determine the… basically the Quad A high school girls soccer super bowl, to put it into everyday terms easily understood.

   There's no real winner and loser by that point. All those girls, on both sides, win or lose… are recruited by every major college and university across the country. Big schools, with serious budgets, competing for these luminaries to agree to pick their school to get a free scholarship. Any legal perk that can be offered, is on the table to land one of these hope diamonds of the sport. The parents get their asses kissed and polished, in an effort to influence them to entice their sway over their daughters.

   Light's team won, but only by it coming down to the wire for the final game in the series. What national coverage is even devoted to girls college soccer? Interviews, takes pictures, and writes about these top picks before, during, and after an event this big. Right's team had tied it up with a couple minutes left in the final series, game numbers tied. Light had bolted out of nowhere, streaking up through the crowd, ahead of anything resembling backup when the ball got cleared nearly goal to goal, and was on it after the second bounce from its landing. On one of her infamous dead runs, she had nicked it with her knee without slowing, sending it down and had gotten her shot off before it left the corner sideline.

   When you're on that bad of an angle, its the exact polar opposite of shooting straight at the goal. The wider your angle, the skinnier your net is. She was at that point when you're watching the replay, shooting at perhaps a target down to… two balls wide, maybe three at best. The goalie had to make a snap decision, if this was going to be a ground pass shot, or a little up on a rising angle. The goalie chose ground and dove face first with hands out, trying to cut the angle off. Her shot rose on a slight angle and the goalie managed to scrape fingertips off and that was it.

   She didn't even get a chance to realize her shot had gone in, coming up and hitting the far corner top, and ricocheting in off the far side post. She never remembered her winning goal in the game of her life at that point in her young career, because she was in a bad spot. That late in a tight game, adrenaline is running high. This streak of greased lightning that was able to actually pace a ball cleared from end to end, and get on it, was moving fast. Too fast as it turned out. The fullback, a big one, was coming with everything she had to try to get to her. The shot was no sooner off her spikes when she got leveled. With her feet off the ground at the moment she took her impact, blind to the incoming freight train? She went flying. She did a catty-wumpus 360 airborne and landed with her face and shoulder on a big water jug, and careened off to take out a garbage can.

   Poor thing never remembered anything, going back many minutes from the impact. She didn't remember the ball being cleared, her blurred streak pacing it and catching it, her amazing knee control that set her shot up on the move, none of it. It was just something she had to read about, and watch replays to see what had happened. Our coach accurately figured out that her academics were not a driving force in her choice, she was no standout academic student. For her, four years of college would likely be the high point of her life, and nothing else would ever come close.

   To her, the Coach kept pointing out how top rated our school and team was. How much coverage was possible in our sport, by attending here. What her chances were, pretty good, at getting a title. To her parents, he emphasized things parents like to hear. How closely he watches over his players, how safe the campus is, how safe the town is. And, how much help she would receive, to aid her in her quest for a college degree, artfully navigating the minefield of basically telling parents she would "get" a degree of some kind. Whatever it was, at least she would have one, and that it would cost them nothing. You can't come right out and say, hey look, your daughter isn't the sharpest knife in any drawer looking at her grades, but I'll see she gets a paper with her name on it in something, okay? But you can't emphasize the high academic standards for a lackluster student, either. He tap danced on this latticework of eggshells and pulled it off.

   Another thing he emphasized to Little Lightning, was her safety on the field, under his careful ministrations. She would be paired with other girls almost as fast as she was; she would have support when she was that far behind enemy lines, people would be there to block and provide interference for her. She had gotten hurt essentially, for just being too goddamn fast for anyone else to have the slightest chance of getting up there anywhere near her.

   The coach's hard work and good luck paid off, and he landed his Lightning and got her to sign firm commitment papers. Showing both the parents and the star daughter the luxury townhouses, and how nice they were, was not a thing that hurt his cause. He had done his research and knew what kind of zip code they came from. The parents were not poor, but not really well off, low middle class but solid blue collar concerned parents. The only weird thing the coach related to me? He had been courting Right, and heavily. Little Lightning, just kind of showed up one day, interested. When he recognized who she was, he naturally fell all over himself. When he was all smiles reporting his recruiting success? He joked casually, that stars were on sale this year. He got two for the price of one. Buy one, get one.

   The coach had every player dressed like… I don't even know what. The players were all but posed on their porches and stoops. Barbecues, playing board games, classical music coming out of one townhouse… oh god, it was like living in a commercial that day. Soft drinks only, players dressed like they were attending a church social to meet their team mates for a BBQ. A girl dressed up like… a parent's wet dream out of the late 50s ran up and giggled and was excited to meet her, she had seen her big game and couldn't wait to meet her. The parents were given a tour of a "randomly" chosen townhouse to see the health food stocked, and no doubt the lack of alcohol.

   He landed her. It was the equivalent of a pro football coach landing the top draft pick. He got his picture in a college coach's national journal, and an article on how to pull these things off. He also got the double whammy of landing the other side's biggest star, Right. There was only one flaw in his plan, which was otherwise perfect.

   Over half the team was jealous of her before they ever met her. The safety and luxury of the townhouse apartments only recently acquired for starting players? Meant that no matter what, he was committed to her starting as a freshman, and playing every game. She had to start from day one, to get the townhouse digs, as committed in writing to the parents. Jealousy and its twin sister Resentment were running things. Players that had worked up to start, were pissed. The other half of the team was ambivalent, with only a few players excited to get such a gem.

   Right was in pretty much the same boat, and also not terribly excited to be on the same team as her rival that had snatched her super bowl victory out of her grasp with minutes to go in the final game. "Little Lightning" got the lions share of what coverage was devoted to girls soccer's biggest series of the year. Her dramatic win and also her cringe inducing flight and crash landing, as well as the dramatic coverage of her seeing what she would never remember, was played up as bittersweet victory defeat tear jerking emotional coverage. She was just cute enough the cameras all picked her to focus on too.

   Right got the same shits as Light received from half the team. Almost the entire rest of the team could care less either way, and only a tiny sliver of players, like me, were excited to have this on our side. Starting my second year, the Coach discovered the problems. These problems were the kinds of problems a male coach of a girls team could not see to. Locker rooms and showers, off field hostility, downtown situations off campus.

   When I went to him with the list of problems, he was beside himself. He ended up asking me, would I shadow her. Would I live with her, practice with her, hold her hand in the locker room, and off the record… be her personal bodyguard and confidant. Right was in the same boat, and in the end me and the coach got her to understand that her and Light were both in the same pickle. Would she do a 180 on her rivalry with Light, and join up with her, and live with me too, so I could get them through this? Fear beat out rivalry by a slim nose on a photo finish. As quiet as I normally had been known to be around all the other girls, despite my size and strength… it was a shock when I started body slamming tall strong girls who were starting upperclassmen.

   When I finally had no choice but to corner a co captain alone, and put a real job on her, that was about the end of the shit. Honestly the co captain should not only know better, she was supposed to be preventing exactly this sort of shit.

   We had almost made it to the finals my first year. This year? These two standouts were going to tip things in our favor. I even arranged for a couple of sympathetic football players, to carry her books for her. So as to have some muscle seeing her to and from classes, just in case. Explaining the situation, and letting them know if there was a cat-fight developing, they were to grab the other girl and haul her off, and protect Light. Right got the same treatment as well.

   Just seeing these two pitch in and make friends, and team up to see what they could do together in practice was a real wow. Scrimmages were even more inspiring. With the first preseason games coming up, me and the coach and both girls thought we were over the worst. No such luck. Out of nowhere, Light was sullen, withdrawn, and refusing to practice or anything. I finally dragged the problem out of her, after a weekend long marathon of cajoling.

   An older girl, had been intimidating her gently, and went from "protecting" the poor new girl, to smoothly putting romantic moves on her. In the locker room, and now in the shower. This was going on right under my nose, literally. Me and the coach were frantic. Safety? If the parents got wind of this shit, our goose was cooked. The publicity alone would doom our program for years to come. No parents of a sweet girl soccer player would ever let them come here, no matter what. By the time the story got around, it would sound like older girls were raping the newcomers in the shower, like some sort of B-grade women's prison action story.

   I had thought the other big girl, was actually protecting her. I didn't realize she was trying some smooth version of "prison protection". A girl that had since graduated had thought she was going to try similar with me. Yet another had mistaken my size and strength for something it wasn't. Both had unfortunate slip and falls in the shower, that resulted in broken noses and split lips, and a shower room full of girls that had somehow, all had their backs to us.

   I handled that battle royale, right in front of the entire team watching.

   Little Lightning and Right on either wing, were an absolute sensation in our preseason games, we didn't lose a one. That was a first for all of us. For the first time in her life, Lightning had someone that could keep up with her, and she had someone up with her when she streaked up field and darted in a blur to get those spectacular behind enemy lines shots on goal out of nowhere. Not many can cover her, nor her rival turned ally. Right got the same thing, the first experience with someone keeping up with her, protecting her as well. Light's double foot abilities allowed her to switch positions and create huge mismatches, both their speed's allowed for man to man coverage thrown out the window, it was a serious monkey wrench tossed into zone defense teams, it became hell on earth trying to stop these zippy little highly skilled ball handlers and shooters.

   When we started winning as many real season games in a row as preseason games, the writing was on the wall. Already on the map as a solid program for years, that year was our coming out party. Everyone knew who these new girls were in our league and division. The enemy's only choice was to play hard, and start playing dirty. These girls were targeted for "roster adjustments". Which is where a player like me comes in, and a few others. I had to quit playing solid, clean ball and start being the bad guy. I rotated up and started leveling girls. I did to them, what had been done to poor Lightning. There's a two step rule. You have two steps after the player with ball control shoots, during which you can still run into them, because you are legally going for the ball. After two steps, you are hunting the player, and you are legally obligated to slide, dive, or otherwise avoid incidental contact.

   I abused the ever loving shit out of the two step rule, and turned into "The Hurricane". A big, strong, fast moving girl with just enough ball handling and skill to play up front in patches to give me access to taking out the intimidating fullbacks, and to level the other team's versions of Light and Right. I basically was forced to turn into the bad guy pro wrestler, in girls soccer terms. I sent girls flying over their own team mate's benches, and when their hometown booed me? I stood and waved, like I was enjoying applause.

   This drew all the heat onto me. I sent the stars out of the game, or got legal hits and checks on them enough times, that they were looking over their shoulders instead of watching the ball. They were gun shy and rattled. The second half of these games saw me get battered, but I had to stay in and take it. Because if I wasn't there drawing the punishment, it all got directed at the two newest stars. Who could now spend the entire second half running rings around tired out back fielders, rattled and gun shy front lines, also tired, as well as low skilled goons that they zipped around like they weren't even there. Little Lightning can turn on a dime and spin and go off like a shot, and if you try to keep up with it, you fall on your ass and look like a drunken fool.

   Normally your biggest star is your starting center. That changed, she now had to support the wings instead of the other way around. It was more important to switch back and forth with Lightning, than to try to carry the ball up and dump off for shots like normal. I'm pretty sure this was where the already issue-laden "number three" went over the tipping point. She continued to do her job, and was as good as ever on the field, and even in practice. Off the field? Constant acting out and buried resentment.

   Hell's bells, I was willing to play the bad guy, and take a beating every game or every other game, to do my part to get these extra wins. She had to play her best and adapt to the younger girls being the new stars, and she fell back into a support role. She got added to my "den mother" townhouse, so I could try to keep an eye on her, and keep her out of trouble, and prolong her serviceable life as long as I could for the coach.

   The life of a college athlete seemed enviable, but its an illusion. Its a shitload of hard work, hours, sweat pain blood and torture. All for no pay, while the school rakes in gazillions at a major school like this. Yeah, we get a free education and housing and in our case, food and luxury accommodations for starting players. Its even harder for a girl like me, taking a serious degree course, and all that work on top of it. You add in my den-mothering and my extra on field abuse? Its excruciating in every way. Physically, emotionally, and even sexually. Finding my boyfriend somewhat saved me. I don't have to choose between one niter-s and nothing any more. If I get exactly what I want in bed and in my relationship, I feel so spoiled its not even funny. If the guy doesn't live with me? There's no other way. My schedule is hell during the season.

   So few of us will ever go on to turn pro, and for us female stars? Its even less of a possibility. We don't get the exposure of the men's football and the men's basketball, soccer isn't a big thing in America. Practically no "pro" to graduate into. For me and mine? Its the Olympic team or bust. Little Lightning and Right, might luck into a sponsorship for some soccer products, some high school speaking tours, but that's maybe and not a career. Neither one has an academic career nor the ability to pursue one like me, so even less to look forward to. Four years of being the big star, then off into obscurity you go. Both fell into the sports star trap of quickies and the temporary fun and excitement it brings, saddled with the prototypical female traits now rampant in our society. Hyper promiscuity encouraged, "real" quality men frowned upon, bad boy chasing bullshit a given, and the newest blow to women's lives… you can put off marriage and a quality home life until whenever you feel like it. You can't. Its an ad campaign. It's as "real" as a beer commercial. Here, drink this cheap beer? Gorgeous women will flock to you and kick their legs in the air! The best men will flock to be at your side! Yeah, right.

   I'm playing the chess game for the long strategy. Solid degrees, using my sports stardom to aid, influence, and cajole my academic career further. God help me, it brought me a man that likes what I like, feels how I feel, and our goals and desires mesh perfect. I couldn't have been any luckier, I couldn't have worked harder, and all circumstances couldn't have coalesced any better.

   My heart's in my mouth now. There's Little Lightning, risking a broken neck or a destroyed shoulder, for nothing more than a few claps from onlookers. Its all she knows. Be the star, enjoy it, always go for it at any cost. Right is like me. Her former rival, now her closest friend and confidant, is worried she won't come down like a cat this time from another of these spectacular and gut wrenching shots. Each needs the other, their fates are intertwined now. Neither one is as effective without the other speedster to keep up with them, for those precious seconds until us mere mortals can get there, up in the thick of it, up near the big girls, the fullbacks. Goons out hunting them. If one takes an injury and is out for any length of time? The other will soon follow without their mate able to be there.

   Right bitches and fights, but it fades into a hug and a genuine concern for her safety, relief she's okay, and then runs around with her. Next time? Light will do it for Right when she wins the little game for the half dozen onlookers.

   The best they can look forward to after school is landing "girl-boss" jobs, with their lightweight degrees, and I pray one or both land something soccer related. Some assistant of some kind to some team, working for a sports equipment sales company, anything. They can then hold onto some shred of the meteor ride they are on now, another couple years until it burns out. Pray you land on Terra Firma, girls

   "Oh, thank god. Her feet caught."

   My boyfriend doesn't know how close a call Light just had. He sees it as little different than any of her airborne acrobatics she put through herself in her little demonstration. I know best, or I should say worst. My limited tumbling and gymnastics, let me know she was "this close" to breaking her neck or a hip or a shoulder or a spine; she pulled it off like a cat twisting for its feet and made it. This time. Again.

   "That's dangerous. She can break her neck or spine. Don't you… boys throwing each other around fighting have to be careful?"

   "Oh. Yeah. We practice on mats."

   "You see any mats out here?"

   "I see what you mean. Tell her to be more cautious."

   "She won't. She's addicted to the clapping, the cheering. Big game? A few of us saying woo hoo? She'll go for it, every time. Its all she knows. Her… private life, we'll call it? Too similar."

   "Its another reason, you won't see me fighting like in that video. I just work out now, help show a few new guys the basics."

   "You have something else in your life. Your academic prowess. Its as important and even more important. She doesn't have that something else. When the four years are over? That's probably all she gets."

   "Question?"

   "Shoot."

   "What was the slight tension?"

   "Poor Lightning almost broke her neck…?"

   "No. I hate to sound like some… comic book character with special empath powers, or like I'm trying to imitate some sage monk, but… I picked up a slight tension. With little Bootsie."

   "I thought I had the psych major. You read minds now?"

   "I was a fighter, dear. I know something's coming, before it happens. After a string of situations? You notice, there was always something in the air, you feel it… before anything happened. Once you notice it? You realize, you feel it once in a while. Something doesn't go down every time you feel it? But every time something does go down, that feeling always came before. That feeling? Its the clouds before a storm. The storm doesn't always hit, but, with no clouds, no storm can hit."

   "Hmm. Your… mentor you miss. That's him talking, isn't it?"

   "Yeah."

   "Well, mister crystal ball. What do you empath sense it is?"

   "I couldn't say. I felt it… it stabbed at me, when you said be nice to me. Then, I felt it when she said she didn't want to watch Lightning."

   "Wow. You really do have a crystal ball."

   "What's her and Lightning have to do with the creepy vibe rolled in and out."

   "Go back, in your memory banks. Older girls. Lesbians. Putting the moves on young girls in the showers. Coaches have to deal with this shit, and it's a minefield."

   "Oh. That was her. Shower moves girl."

   "Its an open secret. We don't talk about certain subjects. Except with mommy, remember?"

   "All coming back now. Lightning was…"

   "Yeah. I put a stop to it."

   "So, you, and Bootsie. Not really friends."

   "If I didn't have my moderate speed, my moderate ball handling? I'd basically be Boot. She's my other starting fullback. She's left handed, which makes her left-footed. Which makes her particularly effective on the right side of the field. She's kind of a permanent goon. She's a great fullback, but only on her side, and no other utility. We need each other, the team needs her."

   "Lightning does not need her."

   "No. Lightning wasn't raped, but she was being… its hard to explain. She doesn't force herself on them. But she's kinda creepily moving in. Its hard to put into words. I told you how I had to take a young girl under my wing, the older girls were gonna run the new girl out of town?"

   "Yeah."

   "Lightning. I was her big sister, I fought her battles. I… made it so she could stay, until she could be so important, she is what she is now."

   "You didn't see…"

   "Boot? Slick operator. She read the situation, like, some kind of professional criminal. She played big sister. Protection. Arm around the shoulder. The kiss on the cheek. Next thing you know… the hug in the shower is feeling creepy… Little Lightning is, she has no experience dealing with this shit. She was already traumatized by the older girls and their abuse, physical and verbal and emotional. Were close to first game, we got me fixed the other girls, now she won't come out of her room, she's too ashamed to tell anyone. Took me all weekend to pry it out of her, so I could handle that. Not to mention… she's now looking at me. The big sister protecting her? Questioning my motives now too. When am I gonna get creepy. I'm living with her."

   "You don't hear about this shit on TV."

   "No. You can't say boo about gays. Everyone's hands are tied. Bootsie had to find out she's not the toughest girl on the cell block, contrary to both popular opinion and her own. While Bootsie's ad campaign is that she hits like a man? I actually do."

   "Violence just solves everything on this team, doesn't it? Christ don't that beat all."

   "It was complicated. Bootsie, went from hero, to smirking she's gonna play the victim card. Boo hoo, some mean straight girl beat me up? Just for being gay."

   "What headed that off at the pass? That's an effective strategy on her part. Smarter than I gave her credit for. Slick."

   "I went to the coach. He can't do shit. I said new strategy. Call me in, when she says this. My story will be? No no. Lightning is my girlfriend, and this one was moving in on my girl. Forcibly. I was protecting my, ahem, gay young friend, from being molested against her will. Since I am now gay as well? No more victim card. Victim cards cancel out… we are left, with two against one, accusations of attempted strong arm molesty touchy feely… which, no administration wants to hear a word of. They will cover their ears like little kids and say la la la la la, until it just goes away."

   "Aha. This is how rumors of your… "

   "Bingo. One more pinch of violence? Solved that. Done!"

   "Now?"

   "Bootsie knows her place. Me and a couple other girls? Keep an eye on her in the locker rooms, in the showers, and at parties if a young girl gets tipsy and she's around… she'll try to lead them into a bedroom to let them rest and be helpful, she's so noble."

   "She's a creepy… girls call a guy like that, a creeper? She's a girl creeper."

   "More of a creepy guy with tits, really."

   "Pffft."

   "This conversation never officially happened, dear."

   "Light is… really comfortable around me now?"

   "Yeah. She… if something seems weird to her? She backs off. You putting your hands in the air, jumping away from her, freezing… but once you explained it? You saw, she immediately was like, okay, I see. He's not creepy, he's the exact opposite of creepy. Honey?"

   "Yeah…"

   "I know that look she gave. That looking up, smiling, the innocent kid look. Remember I was the big sister? I put my arm around her, I protected her, and I didn't want anything from her… I just, I know that look."

   "What are you saying?"

   "I'm the big sister. I think…"

   "Oh. I'm… being sized up to be the big brother?"

   "My guess. Mommy can trust you with her vulnerable little sister, right?"

   "I am scared shit-less of what mommy would do to me. If you want to label my abject fear, as trustworthiness? Sure."

   "You're being funny, or silly. You? Are not scared of me. Not really."

   "Yeah. I'm using my comedy? To cover being uncomfortable."

   "Lightning makes you uncomfortable?"

   "Not exactly. You come home, we're watching a movie on the couch. You pick up some vibe… far better rule? Men and women can't be friends. Lovers or nothing. Anything else is… weird, and leads to at best nothing, and at worst, to some kind of issue."

   "I, actually understand that rule. If I'm the big sister, can't you be the big brother? Once school is back in session, there's gonna be days and times I'm not around. You? Just… do what you think I would do. Use your best judgment. Mommy trusts you."

   "Little sisters, can't hug their big brothers, or kiss them on the cheek, or hold their hands. They can do those things with the big sister."

   "Oh. Light and Right are both scared of mommy's example I set. Example. Boot is at the door. Lightning comes to you spastic. What do you do?"

   "Oh. She's not coming in."

   "Right. Another example. I'm at a night class. Then at the coaches house a couple more hours. Happens. The girls have a couple guys over. Things are okay… Lightning comes and says she was taking a shower, she's just walking from the bathroom door to her door, its only a couple steps. She says nothing happened, but… the guy says he was just waiting for the restroom. Then she says she didn't like how he was standing and smiling, and she had to brush past him, with just a towel, to get to her room. What do you do."

   "Hey, guys? We have this house rule. No guys, are allowed upstairs when any girl is showering. Period."

   "Aha. Number three? Will loudly explain how that's not a rule, she lives here, you're just staying with someone else, you have no authority… etc. I seen this a million times."

   "She's mistaken, she forgot. My rule stands. When mommy gets home? She can decide. You'll handle number three, when you get home. Until then, she can get ignored and pout to her room or leave. I don't care. I'm not real big on criminals and creepy guys, coming over in the first place."

   "Join the club. Problem is? All the girls, like bad boys. Right up until the problem occurs. This scenario happens over and over. As is so often repeated. I am simply an insufferable cunt, I exist solely to keep the girls from having any fun. I'm the mom. Welcome to my world."

   "This is little kid shit. These are goddamn adults."

   "What does the coach call me? I'm the adult… you call me the den mother. They call me the momma bear. Hun? This stuff is comparatively uncommon and somewhat rare. I can't forbid the girls to go out and do things. They're over 18. I just put out the little fires as they happen. We only have to hold the fort down, and wing it as each thing crops up, again not often… another two years. Then? We'll be in our own townhouse."

   "Wait a minute. You? Are 20. The girls? How old?"

   "19ish."

   "How the fuck are they going out to the bars, and closing the bars down? Parties, I understand. Bar hopping and cruising the meat markets? I don't."

   "Oh. You're a boy. You? Needed either fake ID, a bartender or bouncer friend, a cook to let you in the back door. You needed a strategy to get in, and stay in and not get carded."

   "Right."

   "They have tits. No bar will card any girl, in a college town. Why? simple equation. For every girl in any bar? There are ten guys come in. What's a bar called, that has no girls in it?"

   "Oh. A sausage palace, we called it. Old man's bar."

   "And where did you go instead?"

   "Oh… wherever, uh, the girls were at. Huh."

   "See? The fun and freedom you didn't have till you were 21, and hopefully were a tad more experienced and mature enough to handle it? They get thrown out of nowhere at 18. I'm an adult! I can do what I want! The bars let any girl in, I swear a 12 year old can get in if she wears makeup, its ridiculous."

   "Where are those guys, you know the ones. They drive those painted cars, the funny lights on top, they dress like the mailman, but with a gun? What do you call those again? Where the fuck are they at."

   "Dear? The men's magazines put out those top 20 lists of the best party schools. If you're not on that list? You don't attract the best football players out of high school. Proven fact."

   "Is this a top university, offering the most expensive, hardest to get degrees? Or… is it a giant beer commercial, in between almost-pro sports. What am I missing here. What the fuck. Are we the only two people in this whole townhouse pursuing a degree? Or is there something wrong with me. God. I'm only 24, hun. I'm too young, to sound like my dad when he was late middle aged. Christ almighty."

   I laughed and couldn't help it. I kissed him and smiled.

   "What was that for."

   "For being an insufferable cunt, and the sole purpose of your existence, is to get in between kids and fun."

   He sighed. He got quieter. More reserved. A sort of half defeated sense about him.

   "Wait a second… where is all the money coming from. How do they just go out to the bar to all hours whenever they feel like it. Are they dealing drugs? Are they hookers? What."

   "Oh. Girls don't need anything but a cover charge, dear. Guys just take turns coming up to talk to them, and they each buy them a drink, then send chips over if the girls smile and wave for the chip. This goes on all night. Then, they dance some. They make out with a few guys. The cycle repeats. All night. They keep going into the restroom together, to talk about all the boys, who wants who, who gets who, all that. Eventually, they all come home, or… one or more grab one of the boys, point at them, and off they go."

   "18. No ID, no money. Just walk into any bar, free drinks all night, we just take turns making out with whoever. Then either come home, or go out and turn tricks for free in the backseat of a car or some apartment."

   "Yeah. Where you been. This is SOP. That means…"

   "I know what it means. And they all do this, so, it seems normal."

   "Pretty much. I think I'm the only one, who doesn't think this is what you do anytime you can't find a movie to watch and the sun is down."

   "Does this shit quit, or at least go down to a dull roar, when classes are in?"

   "Yes and no. Practice the next day? Stops it, for the most part. Games, and other stuff too. Weekends, if its not a game weekend? Pffft."

   "Why is everyone going to college then? Whatever happened to going to college to get a goddamn degree."

   "The parents are convinced the kids will get an education, and it leads to a better career and life. So, they want them to go. The kids? Want number one, out of the house. College is for fun, when you're majoring in basket weaving and advanced basket weaving. Me? You? We're doing real work. Them? Not so much."

   "You? Got it worse than me. You have your scholarship and the sports to worry about. That's your job right now. Plus? You got all these other responsibilities associated with it on top of that. Then, you add the actual real degree work in."

   "We're actually the same. I'm doing the scholarship sports, while simultaneously doing the degree. You separated it. First 4 years in the service. You changed and matured. You worked and had structure and rules and guidelines and examples to see and try. Then, you came here and focus on the degree. Athletes on scholarship? We don't get to separate it."

   "They substituted the basket weaving for the real degree… all of a sudden, they play sports and its four more years of high school all over again. With all adult privileges, usually reserved for people over 21."

   "I knew we were compatible. I was where you are in this right now? Oh, a year and a half ago."

   We were all going in now. People watching the goal scoring one time contest, were filtering off. The girls were all smiles. They were hyped up. They felt ready for the season, and they hadn't even been through preseason torture camp, and into the grind of early season over-training. They felt raring to go now, and they knew that after that preparation, they would be up into their next level of play. Which excited me and both of them equally.

   Every player gains experience and ability and instincts and timing, each year. Last year's freshman stars were about to step up and impress more as sophomores, and by the time they were seniors? They could be supernovas, and there was no telling. Hello, championship. Dare I dream of back to backs? It could happen. Seniors would move on and retire for all purposes to our world. New recruits would be funneled in. But now? We were building. These two, were going to attract more of themselves to them. Girls that knew they were just like them or close? They existed around the country. These two freshmen starting so hot had made a splash. Most importantly, they did it at our school, in our program. If you were at this level or even close, and you wanted to see if you could make a splash, where would you go? Easy. Here.

   There could be a dynasty in the making, beginning now. You never knew when it would start, maybe this was it? Maybe it would fizzle. We all couldn't wait to find out. Me? I must be a masochist, I'm eagerly looking forward to getting the ever loving shit knocked out of me every game. I'm volunteering for this abuse. It reminded me somehow of my boyfriend. My own willing victim. I'm dominant, he's submissive, right? Then I was volunteering to be victimized, and called it fun and hard work. That's a dominant person? Gee. It doesn't feel like it. Like I keep telling you, him and everyone else. I'm only "dominant" in the bedroom. My boyfriend? The so called submissive? Only in the bedroom.

   He didn't get knocked around in his sport. His sport was academics, and he was the 350 pound gorilla. He was the wizard. The guy that performed degree level work in other fields, as a hobby. Now, that's "dominant". Then I remembered, he had separated things. When he was supposed to be a computer programmer in a uniform for four years, he had added learning to fight as his hobby. He said it wasn't like people thought. He swore, you got knocked around at first and that it was fairly constant. The knocks slowly subsided, and were slowly replaced by competency and finally if not mastery of it, something that passed in your personal estimation of it. You had gotten what you wanted out of it, you had hit the level you wanted or needed. There. That was his… what the hell was that even?

   It started out kind of submissive. You get abused voluntarily, but it slowly changed to dominant. Or something like it. Weird. Everything in life wasn't either one or the other. There were grades and shades and ramps and plateaus and valleys, and everything in between.

   Few things in life are so cut and dried. Maybe that's why people like me and him? Both had a craving for something that was so cut and dried. I will decide what to do and when. You? Will do it. We were both happy with that. It was definitely a hobby as well. We were on some sort of adult naughty fun trip, and the destination clearly wasn't the point. It was the hike. If we knew exactly where we would end up? Wouldn't that take half the mystery and fun out of it. That was for regular people, and their regular sex. This is boink night. That? Is blowjob night. Hey, this article says we need new positions? Okay. Yeah, that one. Okay, pencil in you on top on Tuesdays. Should this be before or after yoga, dear?

   That's not adventure and excitement, that's a part time job. If you're reading this? I know what you're thinking right now. What the fuck. How did this… exciting, spontaneous, wild… thing. Turn, over X number of pages, into such a fuddy duddy right at this moment. Listening to me and my boyfriend's conversations play back in my head, he had been sage-like and right. We did sound like thirty somethings, wondering what in the hell was wrong, and wondering what the hell to do, what even could be done, with the new breed of out of control 18 year old kids. I realized he was far too right. We were that at the moment, if only temporarily, fuddy-duddied. Is that even a word? It is now. You, just read it. Sue me, see what you get.

   But I knew how to cure this rut I felt I was in, didn't I? Sure I did. I'm not 36, I'm 20 turning 21. I don't even drink enough to be excited to turn 21. When I want some? I just ask someone, they go to the store and pick mine up with theirs. Cheap apricot brandy. Maybe one day, I would get the better apricot brandy, but whatever. It was sweet, it was flavorful, it was strong enough… but it wasn't by any stretch 80 or 100 proof liquor. I never stocked regular cases of beer. Hey, the case is low, pick two more up on your way back. He didn't have that system either. Another reason I liked him, I had learned this about him through gossiping and investigating about my crush before I closed on him as a deal.

   We just had to go somewhere, like our third date. Or? Something in the basement. I know, maybe a new toy. The willow twigs had been a blast, as good as any expensive naughty toy at any price. Come on, its a stick you smack a boy's ass with, how expensive does it need to be. Willow I thought I had heard was the best, the most feared, whatever. Maybe try hickory? No. It was a new length I needed. Wow, I felt my mood changing already. Short ones, were too short. The thin short was all but useless. The thick short was… too thud producing. It would be all damage and too little surface mark and burn-sting.

   Long was the shit, but you needed to be standing to use it. You needed a certain dimensions to use it. You're swinging something fairly long around, after all. There's geometry involved. The chair was hot. Whoever said that the over the knee was the gold standard position, the most intimate? Had certainly hit the nail on the head. Before chair activities, were whatever and designed to produce primarily burn-sting. It merely set up the whole chair, which was the intimate centerpiece of the whole operation.

   The suddenly powerful hand. Hot. Then the belt, that had been genius. Then, talking about the switch had been hot. Threatening it, using the word a lot, had been something spicy to add. Was using it going to be though? It would be the long one, of whatever thickness or thicknesses. Threatening that switch's use was hot, but… off the chair was required. Sure, I could have him kneel on the chair, and when he wouldn't sit still, I knew how to make him sit still.

   We'll try that, but ultimately I wanted switch and the over the knee on the chair. That, would be smoking hot. I needed some medium length, to combine switch and over the knee and chair into one. I had handcuffs cross my mind several times too many, so I simply had to try them. See if handiness and speed, would win out over the intimacy and ritual of the tying. Ritual and intimacy are not to be underrated, but I had to find out. Just the right medium length was going to be the way to go. I could go slightly longer than closet use length, car length. Just not full length. Then I had to figure out the thickness. Simply to try them all, was how we did it originally. Okay, my blood was racing now, and I had a plan. This felt just like the plan around the third date. Rope and riding crop in the trunk, because jokes and innuendo would come up, so it would be time to talk about what was certainly no statistical accident. Namely, it came up every time, it was uncanny.

   Now, I could go back into my grind… for now.

   We were back in the living room, and talking about the girl's performance. I was proud, and definitely showing them off. I sat back and noticed the two star girls all happy, they hadn't lost "it" over the off season break. Whatever "it" was? They still had it. They would be cheered, they would be marveled at.

   Light wanted to know what my boyfriend thought. He looked at me. I smiled, and waved my hand dismissively. Go on, its fine. He smiled, shrugged and gave a mild rave. How he hadn't seen anything like it, how he felt that as the non professional observer that was so duly impressed, it had to be really something.

   "No. Your man on the street view is what I want. Its good?"

   He assured her, that he was no expert, and it was impressive. I saw the look on her face. I knew her for the last year intimately as a big sister, she valued this. Ever since she had his hands in the air, freezing up, and throwing himself away from her explained? She had been a whole different person. I waited an appropriate length of time, to point out to him. Honey? Off season. She's an off season porker right now, she's out of shape. Her body is recovering from the season's over training and rigid control and use.

   "What?"

   "Just wait till you see her out of the gate after preseason camp. But then hell, wait till you see me. Hun, we're just fooling around right now."

   His face showed the mild shock of wondering what could be better and more impressive. He asked idly, what were the differences between me and her, playing the same positions. Me and her both laughed. We knew, he didn't. Out of nowhere, Right elbowed Light, who pretended to be irritated, then smiled and drove her face in close to smile and ask what. They shared some look and some whisper, then they seemed to decide Light was to ask.

   "So. Earlier. Before the contest outside happened. You asked what was on for today. Did… anyone ask him anything…?"

   That was my cue.

   "Honey?"

   "Yes dear."

   "The girls were wondering what was up with what we talked about earlier."

   "Can I get a clue?"

   "Meat market ring a bell."

   "Oh. I told you my thoughts. These two? I'll see what I can do. I'm not particularly interested in… the third point of view…"

   He pointed upstairs. Where a sleeping it off and sulking lazy whore number three could hide all she wanted and no one would demand her presence. So now, naturally Light, and Right, and even me? All were sitting and staring at him.

   "What?"

   "Its summer. What can be done."

   "What do you girls think? We just drive down to the gym. Yeah. I'll take one of those, one of those… not that one, and… two of those. Bathe them, and have them sent up to this address. Oil the ripped guys up, please. That one? Spray tan. Yes, yes… I know that's an extra twenty bucks. Money's no option, for my Little Lightning and her wing girl, I want only the best for my room mates."

   We all exploded into well entertained laughter. Light and Right both did high five and smiled, and said that it should work like that.

   "What the hell? I'm not a pimp!"

   More laughter.

   "Do… you girls have any money? Just saying…"

   More laughter.

   "The hell. Like I remember the last time, a couple of us guys were sitting around. Hey, female friend of mine… call up several girls. March them up here. We'll all pick one. When's that shit ever happened once."

   Lightning came over to her big sister, and we talked in brief little spurts, Some giggling, some looking, some pointing. Now nodding and hand waving.

   My boyfriend just sat there, still in comedian mode.

   "Oh. Now I just know I'm fucked somehow. This can't be good."

   Lightning went and sat down next to him. He glanced over, and ignored her. She laid her head on his shoulder, or more accurately tried to, and I laughed as he jumped up and acted like a spider was on him.

   "Why are you touching me? Honey. She touched me."

   I giggled and shrugged and the two young girls laughed. She did it again.

   "Stop that!"

   She did it again.

   "Honey? She did it again. She touched me! Take her outside, and shit stomp her. Its a rule. Little one? Rules are rules. You touched me, you get beat up."

   Now she started running her fingers up his arm. Walking them, the annoying little girl trick, giggling and laughing. It was sometimes hard to remember, she was turning 19. She was little more than some small town teenager, from a lower middle class existence. She could kick a ball like no one's business though, and her little town had been in the middle of a big, conglomerated, mess of schools brought in to create a big quad A setup. She, was the highest female product of that, in the soccer world. She was probably little different in most ways from anyone who had known her at 14 or 15.

   "Why aren't you beating her up? You beat everyone up! For everything! Violence? Solves it! Doesn't matter what it is!"

   The more he pretended to be mad, the more the little girls laughed. Somehow and some way, that was what they were now. Two young girls. Giggling and being silly. I realized the grim truth, that it was most likely all or mostly number three's influence that produced the drunken bar whoring around. Maybe even the bad boy older guy shit as well. Looking at this display, I was becoming more certain of it.

   "Am I allowed to beat her up?"

   I shook my head, giggling.

   "Then I'm gonna pull your eyeballs out and skull fuck you!!"

   His yelling scary voice that they had already heard produced no more than peals of laughter now from both… well, they were just little girls now and nothing more.

   He feigned sighing, and resignation. He palmed his face, and peeked out through spread fingers.

   "I don't believe this shit…"

   She finally laid her head on his shoulder, and walked her fingers up his arm. He was all out of gas.

   "Pwease, papa bear… pwease."

   This was entertainment.

   "The fuck is a papa bear."

   The girls giggled. One pointed, the other covered her mouth, giggling.

   "Papa bear?"

   I nodded.

   "I'm called the momma bear. You, have been staying in my… den. Apparently? You are now papa bear."

   "This sounds like some cutesy shit to get what they want. I ain't buying it."

    The walking fingers, the head on the shoulder, the papa bear pwease… followed now by her new weapon. A cute little pout and the puppy dog eyes.

   "All right… all right… I can see it now. I'm expected to whore out my little sister. Am I supposed to get her drunk and help hold her legs open too? Christ almighty… you have a video of the contest?"

   "Hmm. Actually, I set my phone out, and I have all of it."

   "From when to when?"

   "Uh, they start stretching, to… she almost broke her neck if she didn't land like a cat."

   "That'll work…"

   "For what?"

   "You want me to whore her out? I need ad copy. Christ, we're trying to sell a product here…"

   The girls giggled. He finally grabbed his phone, and started texting. Then he got a call.

   "Yeah. Its me. Huh? No, its not for me. Send me a gym pic, if you have one… huh?… because I'm gay now, and I wanna bone you in the ass. That's why… just send the motherfucker, would you? Good god. I'm sending you a video. Watch it first, then call me back. After you send me the gym pic… what? Watch the video. You'll figure it out… huh? Oh, yeah. Its a video of me sticking a hot dog up my ass. Just shut up and watch it. Bye."

   They eyed him, and both were now doing their best pouts and puppy dog eyes.

   "Yes. Bachelor number one picture? On the way."

   The girls clapped and giggled. Eventually, the phone beeped.

   "Here girls. Bachelor number one."

   The two girls passed the phone back and forth, looking and swiping at the couple of pictures he had been sent. There was the now somewhat requisite giggling, smiling, and whispering back and forth.

   "So. What do you think?"

   "Light likes."

   "Well. And bachelorette number two?"

   "That's not half bad."

   "And which one of you likes him more?"

   The girls looked at each other, and Right flicked her hand. Go on, it said. Little Lightning raised her hand, smiling sheepishly.

   "Yeah. I can get that here, directly. He's doing what we're doing right here, right now. Sitting around his apartment. Would you two young ladies like me to get him here, for you to check him out, huh?"

   They both smiled, and nodded.

   "We got a problem."

   Light wanted to know what the problem was.

   "You two might not like him."

   They wanted to know why.

   "Oh. He has a job. He's getting a real degree. He's not a bum. Not to mention, he's a nice guy. He was in the Army for four years, to get money for college. We're taught to say yes sir, no sir. Yes ma'am, no ma'am. When you meet him? He's going to ask you your name? And call you Miss so and so. If you hand him a cup of coffee? He's going to say… why thank you ma'am."

   Light asked if he was single.

   "Yes. He's single. He dumped his last girlfriend."

   Light asked why.

   "The truth? She was running around like a complete whore. He doesn't put up with that shit. He's like me. He's serious about school, we didn't spend four years in the service to get college money, just to waste our time and get a piece of paper we might as well wipe our ass with. He works Saturdays and Sundays as a mechanic on the big rigs. It's a decent paying side job. Not everyone can work on big rigs. One of his wrenches? Weighs half of what you weigh, Light. He has a wrench in each hand, he's carrying your body weight around, like he's carrying a cup of coffee in one hand, and a sandwich in the other. He makes decent money per hour doing that, and it's just enough he can rent a room in a house with a couple other Army guys, and afford to eat. He has a decent used work truck, because he works at a garage. Going to the bar every night? Ain't his priority. And like I said. He won't go out with a girl that wants to run around like a turbo-whore."

   "But he's coming over?"

   "Yes. Boys like girls, you know. Apparently the video generated some interest with him and his room mates, who were sitting around watching movies, and having a sausage party. Apparently, the boys thought the scenery up here might be a fun way to spend a few hours. I might have happened to mention, that I'm living with a bunch of girls, and that all the apartments on either side of me, are filled with girls that work out, and don't look like fat, lazy, typical American girls. We all work out together in the gym. So Right? You'll get a couple guys to check out too. Wouldn't want you to feel left out."

   "What are we all gonna do? Sit around watch movies?"

   "Right? Light? You wanna check the boys out? My girl sitting right there, made a joke about calling the gym the meat market. You girls wanted to go shopping. Thought you girls might enjoy a little show."

   "Male strippers? Sounds like fun."

   My boyfriend laughed.

   "No, hun. These aren't a bunch of prancing faggots. They were all Army, they nicknamed their house the barracks. Took them a year, to get all Army guys renting the rooms. So they don't have to live with a bunch of jack offs. The boys, are all guys I work out with. They got some old wrestling mats in the basement. Figured you girls might enjoy seeing the boys work out for fun. Boys are bringing up stuff for the little BBQ they were gonna have, and I had them bring up some headgear and pads."

   "What's that stuff for?"

   "You'll see. Honey? I assume its all right with you. You suggested a meat show. Best I could give you on such short notice."

   "Are you asking my permission?"

   "Yes. You're head of household, aren't you?"

   "Then yes, dear. I asked you. Sounds like fun."

   It didn't take too long, then there was a knock at the door. The girls were smiling and looking around. My boyfriend looked at me. Wow. I had a warm feeling rush over me. I had asked him for this, and he still explicitly asked my permission. Now he was seeing if I wanted to answer my own front door. He was deferring to me. I felt spoiled.

   "Its probably your friends, dear. Go say hello."

   He answered the door.

   "Wiz. I found you."

   "Come on in, Jay."

   He stepped in. He nodded politely in my direction, then in the direction of the other two girls. He wasn't a little guy, he was almost as tall as my boyfriend. Short neat hair, like he had. I realized they both had kept their military crew cuts. Mine always had 5 o'clock shadow, this one was clean shaven. Not ugly, not a pretty boy. Fairly handsome. As he stepped in after nodding to everyone, he scanned around. He glanced towards the kitchen, then came back to rest on the room a final time. He waved at me, then the girls.

   "Ma'am… and ladies. Nice to meet you. Wiz, you live here?"

   "Sure do."

   "Damn, son. You weren't kidding. Look at you. Officer's quarters now. You gonna get soft."

   "I might. Ladies? This is Jay. Jay, that's Hurry, that's my girlfriend. And over here… that's Light, and the other one's Right. You might recognize those two, they're the girls you saw in the movie."

   He walked over to me and held his hand out. I took it, and shook his hand.

   "Nice to meet you, ma'am. You have a very nice place."

   "Thank you."

   He nodded, then went over to the two girls seated on the couch, who were smiling like idiots. He went through the same routine with each of them. Shaking their hands, telling them it was nice to meet them.

   "All right Wiz. Playtime, then some cookout was the plan, right?"

   "Sure."

   "Well, I got the right LZ, I'm just gonna fetch the boys. Ma'am, ladies… excuse me a second… be right back."

   He went out the front, and me and my boyfriend followed him out. There was a pick up truck down in the parking lot. Older one, but painted like new. Three other guys looked much like the first in general appearance. They all had some style of Army T shirt on, and all had some kind of Army gym shorts on as well. He yelled down to the guys around the truck.

   "Right place boys! Come on! Bring the gear up!"

   One guy brought a big military bag up, that matched the two my boyfriend had a pair of. One brought up two cases of soda and some packs of food items. The third brought up a cooler. These guys were all somewhat muscular, to more so. One was taller than mine, one was about the same, and the third was a hair shorter. They all worked out. One was bigger, one was smaller but more ripped, one was sort of in between. They looked like hell on wheels, but they all had quiet manners with the ladies. They all went through the ritual of shaking hands, and saying hello. They all called us ma'am and miss.

   Jay spoke for them, and asked where they could set up at. I asked what they needed, and he said just some yard. I suggested the front yard. Other than some soft drinks loaded up in the cooler, the boys opened up the gear bag, and passed out what looked to me like wrestling head gear with a little extra to them. Everyone had their own mouthpiece in a little container. The bag had gloves and pads the boys passed around, made sure their felt marker names were on them, and geared up. Mine disappeared to our room and was back with his own little kit I hadn't known he had.

   Me and the girls got to sit on the wall and watch the guys stretch out, and run in place, and shadow kick and box a little while. Then, they paired off and warmed up. Throwing soft punches, soft kicks, and what seemed to be planned moves where they took each other down. They switched around, and over time they warmed up. And started getting faster and harder and rougher. Everyone was smiling and laughing, this was their fun workout. This obviously went on in their basement. They had gotten their buddies to room with them, until they were all living together and going to school together, and working out in the basement together as well.

   Then, they started pairing up and going at it, which looked much more serious. After a while they all took a break, had soft drinks and talked to us, before saying it was "time". Two at a time would square off and go at it. It looked like they beat the hell out of each other, because they did. When one got knocked down, the other would offer his hand to them, and they would bat it away and stand up on their own. Some could leap up to their feet dramatically, by putting their hands behind their head laying there, and shove and twist upright to be ready to go again.

   Mine wasn't in on these matches. He would pair up off to the side, with one of the resting ones. He would spend time covered up, letting them take shots. Then, he would point, and take shots at them. Planned. He would offer advice on doing it better. Eventually, it was time for another break. More soft drinks. It was a longer break. Then they started with their next thing. Wrestling. They kept the head gear but lost most of the pads. It was the same routine again. They paired off and rotated around, going through softer and slower moves, and slowly increasing speed and delivery.

   I've watched wrestlers before, when they were practicing. This wasn't wrestling. This was dirty wrestling. They were choking each other out, and tapping to get let go. They were putting moves on arms and legs stretched out, and tapping to get released. Taking each other down and capitalizing on it. Once again, mine wasn't in on the final matches they stood around to watch. He would pair up off to the side and work with a guy taking a break, yet rested enough to play around. Once again, he was pointing and letting him do it again, telling him something before trying it again.

   It took me a while to realize it. Mine was some kind of leader. He was working with them, and they were taking advice. He didn't pair up for the harder matches. These were some kind of… students. These were his freshman soccer players, asking for advice from the more experienced player.

   I could see it on Little Lightning's face, and Right's face as well. This was a fun meat market show. Tough guys. But they were all sweet and polite to women. Mannerly. They all came up to me, having been told this was "my" place, and asked to use the bathroom.

   Eventually, they took another break, and it was more lengthy. This had been going on a while. Soft drinks in the cooler were starting to get cooled off. Then it was time to do the kickboxing and the dirty wrestling together. They paired up and went at it. One guy got all but knocked out. One guy got swept off his feet and body slammed hard enough he got the wind knocked out of him.

   And once again, mine was off to the side, pairing up with a guy that hadn't taken his turn yet.

   Eventually, they were done, and were talking about food time. He was standing next to me, sitting on the cement wall like I was.

   "I don't get to see you fight, honey?"

   He shrugged.

   "I guess. If you really want."

   "My girl wants to see me get beat up. I need a volunteer."

   Everyone laughed like it was a joke. Finally someone razzed Jay.

   "Jay? That's all you, buddy."

   Jay shook his head.

   "Fuck it…"

   They squared off. Jay wasn't getting close to him. He had to tell him to.

   "You gotta come in on me sometime. Just do it."

   When he tried to tackle him, he got a hand behind his head that tossed him onto the ground. He backed off and let him try again.

   "Keep your head up…"

   He landed most of his punches on air. Then he got tapped back for missing. He finally got a hard kick stopped by having his ankle grabbed, and he got tossed down.

   My boyfriend backed up and addressed him.

   "Come on. Give me some love…"

   Jay came in on him, and mine covered up. He protected his ribs with his arms, his face with his gloved hands. He let Jay unload on him for a while, until he started to get winded. Then he started taking shots back finally. Holy shit. He staggered him with a few, then covered back up and asked for "more love". They went through it again, until he came out of covering up and staggered him with a few shots again. Jay got frustrated and tried to take his head off with a hard, fast kick, and he simply kicked his standing leg out from under him. He started to come in on him on the ground.

   "You were telegraphing it, Jay. Now you better protect yourself…"

   Jay scooted away, and got his feet up, half on his side. When mine came too close, he kicked at him, to keep him back. He rotated, to keep him at bay. He finally got a heel grabbed, and he got reeled in, and he suddenly had my boyfriend clinching him. They rolled around on the ground. Jay didn't seem to be able get him off of him. He rolled Jay around, and tossed him around, until he was completely wore out and panting. Finally he ended up with arms wrapped around his neck from behind. He tried to avoid it, but finally tapped the forearm choking him out several times and got let go.

   Jay batted his hand away, and got to his feet.

   "Good job, Jay. Good job."

   Far from being ashamed he lost, the other guys sort of mildly cheered him. Apparently, he was their "tough guy" for playing around with my boyfriend. They teased each other for none of them wanting to do it. My boyfriend had two of the others take turns taking shots at him, while he covered up and let them go. They occasionally got a hard shot back, or tossed down. Eventually, he let the other three all go at once for a while.

   The show over, the boys all drank some cold drinks out of the cooler. They asked if they could use the kitchen, and I led them in. The cooler had packs of meat down in the ice. They made burgers and steaks, and everyone ate as they made them. One of the guys remarked it was nice to meet girls that ate deer meat. Lightning suddenly looked at her second little steak suspiciously. Wiz chuckled.

   "Light? You liked the first one. You wanted a second one. What's wrong with low fat meat?"

   "Hmm. I didn't know I was eating Bambi."

   The guys laughed. My boyfriend asked where the hell she thought steak and hamburger came from.

   "Someone killed that cow. This deer? At least had a chance."

   "But… someone shot it."

   "They shoot the cows, honey. They line them up in a tight hallway. They know its coming. They know they're next. They're all mooing and bellowing. This deer? Didn't have to go through that. It was just there one minute, and gone with no warning. At least it got to live its life first. It didn't have to live its entire life in jail. Force fed only what it was given. Never allowed to roam around and do what it wanted to do. This deer? Lived its life. Ate what it wanted. Had a mate. Maybe fathered children. And when its end came? It was quick and painless, and never knew it was coming. If it was you, which one would you pick? Live your life in jail, never getting anything to eat you wanted. Then you had to stand in a line to get slaughtered, knowing it was coming. Terrified. No… you'd want to run around, eat what you wanted, live your life. Then when it happened, you'd never know. You already ate a burger, then that's your second chop. You already like it. Why's it okay to eat a cow, and not okay to eat a deer? Same animal, really. The deer is just a smaller cow that jogs a lot."

   She thought about it, and the smell got her to finish it.

   My boyfriend took a bath before eating, then asked if the other guys could shower. I said sure. They had a change of clothes in their little bags, and I told them to throw their sweaty clothes in the washer, and I ran them through and handed them back out. After eating, they took turns getting a quick shower and changing. They had their own towels.

   We all sat around and watched movies and talked. Those not on the couch or one of the easy chairs, sat on the floor with their backs up against the couch. Lightning kept sitting next to Jay, and talking to him. The other three gravitated and took turns sitting with or talking to Right. When we were outside, other girls that had been watching them practice, were stopping by and talking to the boys.

   Fresh meat.

   One of the girls asked where these "bad boys" had been hiding out at.

   The boys all looked at her, and started chuckling. Shaking their heads. One rolled his eyes. One turned away and hid his face so as not to laugh at her, he was being polite. Jay asked my boyfriend.

   "Wiz. I thought we were going to hang out, meet some nice girls for a change. You didn't tell us we were brought up to get insulted."

   My boyfriend had taken to sitting in front of me on the floor, in front of my easy chair I was in. I had my knees over his shoulders most of the time, and my lower legs down over his chest. He would kiss my leg or rub one idly. Sometimes resting his hands on my ankles. He let everyone know I was his without saying a word. No other guy would sit or stand near me. He sighed.

   "Little Lightning?"

   "Yeah."

   "Its not my house. Its her house. But… its not polite to insult company to their face, when they're being nice to you. They brought over food, cold drinks. They shared it with us. Why insult them."

   "How did I insult them? Bad boys are cool."

   Right agreed, and the girls gave a high five. The guys all laughed.

   "Girls? Watch this. Hey guys? What do we think of bad boys?"

   "I'd rather not be called a pussy."

   "Bad boys can't fight their way out of a wet paper bag."

   "They make nice punching bags, if you're bored."

   "Oh look at me. I never had an honest day's work in my life. I'm on probation. I've been to county. I'm so cool."

   "I can read and write, you know."

   "I don't have herpes!"

   "Wow. I'm so cool. I live in my single mom's basement, and I hit on high school girls."

   "I slap girls, because I'm scared to hit a real man."

   "I fight like a girl, but if I work out some, I can pretend I'm really tough!"

   "If I carry a stolen gun I don't even know how to shoot, maybe people will be scared of me."

   "Look how many shots I can do, then pick on someone smaller than my girlfriend, to pretend I'm tough."

   My boyfriend summed it up for the girls.

   "There you go, ladies. Bad boys? Are useless pieces of shit. Real men? Think that shit's retarded. Full grown men, acting like six year old kids. They ain't worth a limp fuck. Where do these boys hide? Right in plain sight. They have j-o-b-s. They want to pass their classes. They don't hang out in the bars all night and every weekend."

   Talk turned to other topics. These boys were all very polite. They asked mine if he was playing soccer now.

   "I live with a starting player. She wants me to wear her number, so the other girls know I belong to her. No other girl is allowed to look at me twice. Tell them what I am to you honey."

   I tousled his hair, sitting in front of me.

   "This is my dirt bike. No one else is allowed to ride it."

   "Thank you, honey."

   The guy that asked? Just said "nice", and he said it approvingly. The girls wanted to know if we were going to get beer. Jay said he was driving, he couldn't. He asked if the other guys wanted any beer. They did. Jay went to go pick beer up, and took both Light and Right with him to get it. While they were gone, the guy that had been sitting the most with Right, came over and sat next to my boyfriend.

   "Hey Wiz. You mind if I ask Right to go out with me? She seems nice."

   "Ask Hurry. Those girls are kind of her little sisters."

   I smiled. I felt like the parent, being asked permission to date one of my daughters. When I told him he had to ask her, he continued talking to "Wiz", who wouldn't leave sitting in front of me, or let me take my knees off his shoulders.

   "That's not the urinal, right?"

   He smiled.

   "No. The urinal is upstairs, hiding. She got tuned up by this one recently. For acting like a whore."

   "Okay, good. I was wondering about that. Thanks."

   He went back over to sit and wait for Right, and wouldn't leave her side after she got back. I leaned over far enough to ask him privately.

   "And what, is a urinal?"

   "A whore. Public urinal. Anyone can piss on them if they feel like it. I told the guys when I asked them over. There's two nice girls here, and one… urinal. If anyone's bored and desperate enough for that, fine. The other guys would probably make fun of him for it."

   Jay came back, and repeated the sitting and more or less asking if it was okay to ask Lightning out. He once again told him to ask me if I thought it was okay, that it was like my little sister. I once again told him, to ask her, I thought it was fine. He was already sitting next to Light just about exclusively. The girls ended up getting texts from their guys asking them out which gave them phone numbers, and texting them back so they had theirs. I'm not sure I can ever recall these two not meeting a guy at some kind of party, or out at a night at the bar.

   The boys came back with a case of beer, and a bottle of apricot brandy. I'm pretty sure my boyfriend told them what I liked, and they just figured getting me what I wanted, was a way of saying thanks for having them over. Me and mine had a beer each, we weren't big beer drinkers. Jay wouldn't drink and drive. The boys had two or three beers apiece, but none of the hollering, drinking and chugging games I was used to seeing. The girls did what the boys did. A couple of beers. Then they started smiling a lot and hanging on their guy more.

   I had a glass of apricot brandy on ice, and when I handed it down to Wiz, I smacked his hands, and made him let me hold it and sip out of my glass. I leaned over once and whispered to him that I intended to get him tipsy, then take advantage of him later. I eventually got him up into my easy chair, and sat in his lap. He was mine and everyone knew it. Sitting close with him, and kissing him when I wanted, was part of the bargain of being my property.

   When number three made an appearance at the entrance to the kitchen, I looked back and saw her in her T shirt and nothing else, she had come down to get a snack.

   "If you wanna come out here, go put some clothes on. We have company."

   She ended up upstairs and didn't come back down again.

   One of the boys asked who that was. I motioned him to come over, and when he bent down to hear what I had to say, I said that was the urinal he had heard about. He just said "oh", and didn't ask further.

   Wiz had to ask the guys if they thought I looked okay, and they were very polite about it. No one would stare at me, or dare touch me, even in passing. No teasing about being a big girl. If anything, they complimented me on it. As it got dark, we sat outside. Other girls that had seen the show earlier, were stopping by. No one would do much more than talk to mine. He was wearing my soccer shorts with my jersey number on it. They knew what that meant. Jay and the one that ended up liking Right sat with each other on the wall. The other girls that stopped by, more or less took turns talking to those two. I'm pretty sure they got a few cell phone numbers exchanged. Fresh meat doesn't sit out long.

   The boys thanked me and the girls before packing up and leaving. They wouldn't take their bottle of apricot brandy, but I made them. I had figured on guys here late or even staying over, but they were gone what to me was fairly early for a "party" around here. The girls stayed in the living room on the couch to watch movies. I led mine by the hand to come up to bed. I didn't ask him. I just gave him my hand and he took it without asking. Its our thing. Its my polite way of telling him I want him now. He's never once questioned me when I do it. I saw as I led him upstairs, that the boys had left the bottle of brandy on the kitchen counter. I led him back down. I poured a small glass and took it with us, then handed it to him to carry it up, trailing behind me as I led him to our room.