The Slumber Party

Julia woke up early. Looking over to see Rod snoring his head off, his bare shoulder peeking out from the blanket, she felt a strange agitation and quickly got up. Maybe if she got cracking on a big breakfast for everyone, a certain modicum of normalcy might return to what had become a very peculiar household.

She was busy at work on omelets for the three of them when, behind her back, Melissa strolled in and said brightly, "Hi, Mom."

Julia nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Omigod, Melissa!" she cried, whirling around. "You scared the bejesus out of me!"

"Sorry, Mom," her daughter said.

Julia looked at Melissa closely. There was a broad smile on her face, but Julia wasn't entirely sure everything was peachy keen between them.

Good Lord, I've just had a night of crazy sex with her boyfriend. She can't possibly be pleased with that.

But Melissa really didn't seem to care. Or rather, she actually seemed to welcome the development. Melissa was looking at her mother benevolently as if

she

were the mother and Julia the daughter—a daughter who had just demonstrated her burgeoning womanhood by demonstrating her skill in physical intimacy of every possible sort with a man.

"You wanna help me?" Julia said shakily.

"Sure, Mom," Melissa said, and promptly got to work getting toast ready and pulling out a package of sausage links from the refrigerator. These she would leave for Rod to cook, since he claimed to be such an expert at cooking breakfast meats of all sorts.

Rod stumbled nervously into the kitchen a few minutes later. Melissa, looking over her shoulder from the counter, said cheerfully, "Hi, guy! Sleep well?"

Rod didn't know what to say to that.

There has to be a double entendre there.

He looked over to Julia, who couldn't seem to meet his gaze. She was maniacally fixated on the two separate omelets she was cooking at the same time, like some alchemist mixing a complex formula for eternal life.

Breakfast was a quiet affair—or would have been if Melissa didn't keep up a nearly constant stream of harmless banter while the other two were focused on the food in front of them. Almost as soon as they were finished, Rod said quickly, "I guess I'll get in the shower," and fled the premises.

Julia seemed utterly unnerved by being alone in the presence of her daughter. As she was about to get up and stalk out of the dining room, Melissa said:

"Mom, we need to talk."

Julia stopped short. "I should clean up in here," she said desperately.

"Later, Mom." She walked over to her mother and led her to the couch in the living room. "Sit there. Let's talk this out."

As Julia sat down, filled with conflicting emotions—excitement, agitation, apprehension, and a bit of remorse—Melissa positioned herself a foot or two away. She had never had a great deal of success having "heart-to-heart" talks with her mom, but this one couldn't be avoided.

"So . . . you had a nice time?" she began.

"I don't know what you mean," Julia said with a rising inflection.

"Oh, come on, Mom. I have ears, you know."

Julia turned beet red and was unable to say anything.

Melissa took pity on her mother and said in the kindliest manner possible, "I'm telling you it's okay. In fact, I'm glad this has happened. In some ways it makes things simpler."

"I—I can't imagine how that could be!" Julia exploded, seemingly on the verge of tears.

"Mom, just relax. This is nothing new for Rod. I mean, he's doing Audrey too."

Julia thought she was going to faint.

"What?"

she exploded. "He—he's sleeping with Audrey?"

"Yes, Mom."

"And you don't mind?"

"No, not in the slightest."

Well, that's not exactly true—but it's close enough for government work.

"Omigod!" Julia cried, laughing almost hysterically. "That's some mother-daughter harem he has going here!"

Melissa cocked her head reflectively. "I never thought of it like that, but I guess that's about right."

Julia covered her face with her hands. "Oh, Melissa, this is so—so incredible! How can this really be happening?"

"Settle down, Mom. It's no big deal." Anticipating her mother's protests, she held up a hand. "Look, if it works for us, then why should anyone care? I don't really have a problem sharing him—and he certainly seems up to the task." She giggled naughtily at that.

More color came to Julia's face. "Melissa, you mustn't speak so flippantly. And this

is

a 'big deal.'"

"Okay, okay, but if we just stay calm and not freak out, I think it will be all right." She now became as serious as she could possibly be. "Look, here's the story. I have no doubt at all that Rod loves me. He's proven that over and over again—and not just between the sheets either. I don't know if he loves Audrey, but I think he's close; and she's totally smitten with him, mostly because he's one of the few guys who hasn't treated her like—well, you know."

Like a whore—but Mom wouldn't like to hear that.

"And as for you—well, it's obvious you're pretty lonely without Dad, and in the short term it's probably best if we can work out an arrangement where you aren't left alone."

"Meaning what, exactly?" Julia said nervously.

"Meaning," Melissa said, as if talking to a child, "you come live with us."

Now the color drained from Julia's face. "I couldn't do that," she said in a low voice.

"Why not? It's the only thing that makes sense. Rod, Audrey, and I are already sharing living space. I'm not sure there would be room for you, but maybe we should find a house we can rent for a while until we sort things out."

Julia just gaped at her daughter.

"Mom," Melissa pressed on, "I think it's not good for you to stay in this house anymore. It probably has a lot of bad memories for you, especially given how you and Dad haven't really gotten along over the last few years. Don't think Audrey and I don't know about that—it was pretty hard for us not to notice. And it wouldn't be such a good idea for us to come back here. I'm still in school and need to be near campus, and Audrey is looking for work in Seattle and has to be close to whatever job she finds. So the obvious thing for you to do is to move up to our part of town. You don't have to sell this house right away, although in the end I think it's probably best if you did that. Just put it in mothballs for a while and rent someplace."

Julia pondered this proposal long and hard. She really felt as if she had renounced her role as head of the family, giving it up to this twenty-year-old girl.

"And what," she said hesitantly, "are . . .?"

"What are what?"

"You know," Julia said, coloring again. "The—the sleeping arrangements."

Again Melissa gave her mother a look that an impatient teacher gives to a particularly dull-witted student. "Well, there's three of us and one of him, so we each get him two nights a week. As for the seventh day of the week, well, we can decide on that somehow. Maybe we'll draw straws."

"Melissa Waters," Julia said sternly in a desperate effort to regain her authority, "will you stop being so flippant?"

"Sorry," Melissa said with a smile. "Sometimes it's hard not to be."

And that, in the end, was how it went down.

Melissa and Rod stayed with Julia for another week, and they already started practicing the "sharing" they had talked about. Julia and Rod became more comfortable with each other with each passing day, both in bed and out of it. Julia felt liberated in some sense, starting a new relationship with a man with whom she had no past history. During their nightly sessions, she became less and less repressed, taking to heart her husband's complaints that she was not very imaginative between the sheets; and as she found ever more creative ways to please Rod and herself, she also felt a growing bond with the caring, sensitive, earnest young man, who seemed far older than his years. At least, she liked to think so.

The housing situation worked out fortuitously well. Initially Julia was going to follow Melissa's advice and rent a house in the university district, but when by chance a reasonably nice house opened up—it was being foreclosed—Julia made the decision to snap it up before anyone else could get to it. She put her own house on the market and good a fine price for it. Within six weeks, she was in the new house.

Along with Audrey, Melissa, and of course Rod.

*

Angela was ashen-faced when she put down the phone that Thursday afternoon in July. She marched zombie-like to the couch, sat down, and burst into tears.

That's how Jessica found her when she came back from running errands. No one else was in the house: Grant was already having to attend football practice, and Marcia had gone shopping for clothes for the school year that would start in little more than a month.

"Omigod, Angela," Jessica said, throwing down her packages on the floor and rushing over to the couch to drape an arm around the girl, "what's the matter?"

Angela continued to cry, keening loudly and burying her head in Jessica's chest.

"Please tell me what it is, dear," Grant's mother said.

Choking back tears, Angela managed to croak, "My sister . . ."

Jessica shuddered. She didn't know much about Sara, aside from the fact that she was two years older than Angela and, after a fine college career at UC Berkeley, had settled down to a well-paying job in the Bay Area—Mountain View, if she recalled correctly. The anguish distorting Angela's face suggested that something very serious had happened to the young woman.

"Angela, you can tell me," Jessica coaxed.

Without warning Angela burst out with, "She was raped and beaten up by her boyfriend!" Then she plunged into a further paroxysm of tears.

Jessica's own face crumpled with sympathetic pain.

What a horrible thing to have happened to the poor girl! Okay, at least she's not dead—but I don't know if I could deal with something like this, or if this happened to Carrie or Marcia or Angela herself.

"Oh, that's horrible!" Jessica said feebly. What do you say at a time like this?

But Angela once again belied her superficial appearance of meekness and timidity. Getting a grip on herself with surprising speed, she stood up strongly, brushed the tears from her face, and stalked off in the direction of her room.

"Angela, where are you going?" Jessica cried to her back.

"I'm going to her," she said decisively. "What else can I do?"

Jessica followed her like a dog being left behind by its beloved owner.

"But—but," she sputtered, "what about your parents?"

"They're already there," Angela said shortly. "That was my mom calling from the hospital. But they're really not going to be of much use." She was now settling down in front of her desk, turning on the computer and immediately logging on to a travel website. "My dad is one of these old-fashioned guys who still can't get used to the fact that his 'little girls' are all grown up, so the idea of having to deal with anything relating to sex is way beyond his job description." It was no surprise that Angela hadn't told him or her mother about her current living situation. "And as for Mom, well, she basically flutters around you like a bird and ends up being more of a hindrance than a help.

"I'm really close to my sister," Angela said, looking up plaintively at Jessica. "We haven't seen much of each other lately, but that doesn't make any difference. I just have to be with her at a time like this."

And in fact, with summer vacation in full swing and Angela not having much on her plate, it certainly did seem a good time to re-establish her bonds with Sara. Jessica just wished that it didn't have to happen under such dreadful circumstances.

Within minutes, Angela had reserved a flight for San Francisco that left that very evening. She bought an open ticket, as she realized she might need to stay for an indefinite period. Jessica promised to take her to the airport after dinner.

Once the other members of the household came home, the turmoil convulsing this unorthodox family only increased. Marcia also burst into tears when she heard the news, for what Sara had gone through was just about the most awful thing that could happen to a woman. (She had long ago forgiven Grant for his manhandling her at that slumber party, which she felt was a very different situation.) Marcia even offered to go with Angela; but Angela, although grateful beyond words, gently declined.

When Grant came home later that afternoon, he was not pleased. Of course, he felt sorry for Angela and for Sara; but as he saw Angela's packed bags resting ominously near the front door, he selfishly imagined the loneliness he would feel at the departure of his "best girl." And the loss would be the more painful because one of his girls had already flown the coop.

Carrie, his sister, had developed an acquaintance with a classmate named Lionel, a bisexual man who was involved in an unusual relationship with another bisexual man, Gary, and a bisexual woman, Donna. Lionel frankly said to Carrie that they were on the lookout for another bisexual woman who could fill up their quartet. Carrie, who had done a bit of fooling around with Angela and Marcia at random moments, felt that she was ready to move on to full-fledged bisexuality. She spent a fair amount of time with Lionel and his partners over the past several months, found them all smart, charming, and engaging, and so she made the bold decision to move into their apartment. They welcomed her with open arms, and they all seemed very happy.

But with his sister gone, and Angela about to leave for an unspecified period, Grant was facing the prospect of having only two women to cuddle with. And now that it was summer, the stream of virgins had also dried up: many prospective candidates were away on vacation, and Carrie wasn't exactly being diligent in directing the few available ones in his direction.

Of course, he chided himself on being so self-centered. But the loss of Angela for days, perhaps weeks, was something he was having trouble contemplating.

After dinner, Jessica said to him, "Do you want to take her to the airport, Grant?"

He glared at his mother, then looked down at his hands. "I'd rather not."

Jessica was expecting that answer, so she didn't make much of it. "Okay, fine. Angela, we'd best be going."

Grant did put all her bags into the car. As he stood irresolutely outside next to the vehicle, Angela hesitantly approached him. Jessica was already in the driver's seat.

"You'll be all right, won't you, dear?" she said, stroking his cheek.

"Sure," he said in a tight voice. "You just take care of your sister."

"I'll call every day," she promised.

"I just wish I could help," he said.

"You'll help by taking care of your mom and Marcia."

Grant nodded absently, then suddenly grabbed his beloved and held her so tightly that she protested. "Grant, you big lug, I can't breathe!"

He instantly let up on his grip, but didn't release her. Then he pasted a long, deep kiss on her face.

Jessica was getting impatient—there wasn't a lot of time to spare if Angela hoped to get to the airport on time—but didn't feel it prudent to intervene.

But Angela pulled herself away and got into the car, gazing at Grant the whole time. He in turn stood for minutes on the sidewalk, remaining frozen there long after the car had passed out of view.

Then he shuffled back inside.

*

With every day that Angela was absent, Grant seemed to deteriorate more and more.

By the fourth day, he was pacing the house like a caged tiger. His mood had become foul, and he was pretty rough with the two women who remained in the house. Football practice hadn't begun yet, so he had few ways of burning off his excess energy. His phone conversations with Angela didn't seem to be going well either, as he uncharacteristically spoke sharply, and even at times harshly, to her.

Then all hell broke loose on the fifth day.

Jessica came home a little after 5 p.m., as usual. When he heard her entering the house, he thundered down the stairs from his bedroom, grabbed her unceremoniously, and dragged her in the direction of the dining room.

"Grant, for God's sake what are you doing?" she cried.

He said nothing—and Jessica thought he actually let out a kind of snarl.

Grant plumped her on a spare area of the dining table, away from the three place settings that Marcia had already put there. The table was just at the level of his groin, and so it was well suited to Grant's current purpose. When Jessica saw what his son was about to do, she protested:

"Oh, Grant, really! Can't I change into a nightgown or something?"

"No time for that," he growled.

He parted her legs, pulled up her dress to her hips, and peeled off her underwear.

"What about Marcia?" she said.

"He's already done me," Marcia called out from the kitchen as she continued to prepare dinner.

He plunged into his mother. She wasn't very wet, but became so as he pummeled her. He all but tore her dress off as he unzipped it in the back, pulled it down from her shoulders, and threw off her bra over her head without unclasping it. Clutching her breasts like a man squeezing oranges, he pounded her so hard that she winced, then began grunting in rhythm with his thrusts. When he came, he himself grunted like an animal.

"Grant," she said breathlessly, "you have to stop this."

But he had other things in mind. As soon as he was finished, he pulled out of her, then at once flipped her over and placed her flat on her stomach, her legs dangling over the edge of the table. Jessica knew what was coming next.

"Grant, no, you mustn't!"

But he did. Having nothing handy to act as lubricant, he used his own come—and Jessica's juices—for the purpose and then forced himself into her anus. As often as Jessica had endured this act, she was unprepared for the violence of his motions. He gripped her hips hard as he pumped her relentlessly, and his second climax seemed to cause him nearly as much pain as it did her.

For the time being Grant's passion seemed slaked. He stuck his penis back into his sweat pants and fell heavily on the couch in the living room.

Jessica remained motionless on the dining table. Then she stiffly and sorely got up, readjusted her clothes as best she could, and stalked upstairs without a word.

After dinner, she felt a talk with her son was essential.

"Grant, you have to get a grip on yourself," she said as they sat on the couch. Marcia had made herself scarce.

Grant initially glared at his mother, as if outraged that she was chiding him. Then, unexpectedly, he covered his face with his hands and let out some harsh sobs.

"Oh, God, Mom," he whined, "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you!"

"I know you didn't, dear," she said softly.

"I just miss Angela so much! I'm—I'm lost without her! I didn't realize how much she—she

tamed

me." He dropped his hands and gazed despairingly at his mother. "It's only because of her that I'm a human being."

"Oh, Grant, you're exaggerating," she said. "I know you love her, and she loves you. But she has serious work to do tending to her sister. You can't expect to be the center of her world all the time."

"I know that," Grant said impatiently. "But I just wasn't expecting her to leave me in the lurch like this."

"Grant, you're just being selfish."

"Of course I am! Don't you think I'm trying to understand? I'm so—so

dependent

on her! God, it frightens me! My life is in her hands."

"She'll come back soon."

"When? It may still be weeks."

"It probably won't be that long."

"Why can't I go to her?" Grant whined. "I mean, I can help take care of Sara also."