Chapter 1 - Meet the Mitchells
I didn't know it at the time, but my life changed the day I met Clay Mitchell.
Clay ran the finance department at Sinclair Land Rover in Fairview. I recalled hovering just outside his office, eavesdropping as he pitted four finance companies against one another, switching between the four blinking lines on his desk phone as if negotiating a deal for a star second baseman. A master hustler of the highest order, he schmoozed and charmed his counterparts, pouring on equal measures of promise and threat, and turned each new concession against the others until one finally cried uncle and gave up the two-point-something rate he'd demanded.
As I sat with him inside his office later, repeatedly scribbling signatures on an endless conveyor of paperwork to complete the sale, I asked about the framed photo of his family sitting on the edge of his desk.
"That sexy lady right there is my wife, Erin, and those are our two girls," he said. He pointed to a blonde girl who looked like a younger version of his wife. "Chelsea's starting her...wow, I guess second year of college now."
The photo must have been a few years old, because Clay looked fitter, with a smaller gut and a little more sandy-colored hair on his head. Erin, an attractive woman in her mid-forties with a voluptuous form, had a head of thick, luxurious honey-blonde hair, and their eldest daughter, Chelsea, had inherited her mother's wavy golden locks, curvy physique, and overall good looks.
Their younger daughter, on the other hand. Well, let's just say she must have dropped from a different side of the family tree and struck a few branches on the way down. A homely, gangly, dark-haired girl with prominent buck teeth and dark-rimmed glasses, she stood awkwardly off to the side in a cringe-inducing superhero pose.
"And who's that?"
"Oh, that's Ashley," he said, but elaborated no further.
Easy going and personable, Clay and I got along like old pals during the hours-long process of purchasing the SUV, and by the time he handed over the keys, it felt like we'd known each other for years. Clay mentioned that he owned the same model Range Rover I'd just bought, which he and his wife took to the river most weekends.
"You should join us," he suggested, and I could tell it hadn't been an empty offer. He seemed a genuine kind of guy. I agreed that it sounded like a good idea, without making any specific commitments, and forgot about it almost as soon as I drove off the lot.
A few days later, I received a text message from Clay asking if I had plans that weekend. They were going to float the river with a few friends. I recalled the picture of Erin I'd seen on his desk, and I had to admit that the prospect of seeing her in something form fitting intrigued me, so I agreed to go.
We met mid-morning on a cool, clear day at a small, dirt parking lot adjacent to a narrow dirt road. When we exited our vehicles, the Mitchells greeted me like we were old friends. Despite my excitement to finally lay eyes on Erin, however, I couldn't help but feel disappointed. She'd put on a lot of weight since the photo, and it really showed on her short frame. Her hourglass figure and narrow waist had been replaced by bulging love handles and a pronounced belly. Her face had changed as well. Fuller cheeks, almost jowly, and puffy bags under her eyes. Her impressive bustline, however, had swelled with her weight gain and stood out, even under a loose t-shirt.
The parking lot would be our end point. We left two cars behind for the return trip and loaded everyone into the two Rovers to drive upriver. As we unloaded our gear and prepared for a day on the water, Erin removed her shorts and t-shirt to reveal a daring two piece bathing suit. She may have been overweight, but she didn't appear to be self-conscious about it, nor shy about showing off her plump body.
I removed my shirt and threw it into the back of the SUV, taking a moment to apply sunblock to my face and torso. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Erin checking me out from behind her dark sunglasses. When I turned my head, she pulled her glasses down and lifted her lips in a playful smile. I kept myself in decent shape, lifting and running several times a week and, as a result, looked and felt better than men half my age, and Erin seemed to appreciate the effort.
I got to know the Mitchells and their friends as we drifted down the lazy twists and turns of the slow-moving river in a small flotilla of innertubes and coolers. Along the way, we swapped stories and shared beers and a variety of potent edibles. Clay proved to be a mellow, fun-loving alcoholic who sported the broken blood vessels and pregnant gut one earns from a lifetime of binge drinking, and in no time he'd polished off a six pack and a small hip flask of Fireball. Erin, on the other hand, was a flirtatious and uninhibited blonde with a fondness for illicit drugs, who became louder and more gregarious the more fucked up she got.
Clay and Erin had been high school sweethearts, and their story sounded like something from a movie. He'd been a four-letter varsity athlete, she the head of the cheerleading squad, and they'd been voted the king and queen at their senior prom. They'd been, by their own account, the two most popular kids at their school. Clay went on to earn a finance degree on a football scholarship and started work at Erin's father's Land Rover dealership immediately after college.
Their eldest, Chelsea, had followed in her mother's footsteps. She'd led the cheerleading squad at the same high school, dated the quarterback, though she hadn't married him, and now attended State where she'd pledged as a legacy at her mother's former sorority. Clay and Erin spoke of her in glowing terms, their pride for her obvious.
When I asked about their other daughter, Ashley, they shared a look and changed the subject.
As the day progressed, the tone of conversation turned overtly sexual. Erin carried on about how often she and Clay fucked, their favorite positions, her love of porn, and the thrill she got from dominating men. She also bragged about the swinger's parties and orgies they'd hosted and attended. After a while, I got the sense that she was either trying to impress me or probing to see if I might be a potential guest for one of their adult functions.
From the reaction of her friends, it became clear that Erin's boisterous and bawdy talk wasn't all that unusual. A few appeared embarrassed by her outbursts, while others simply rolled their eyes, as if they'd heard it all before. From muttered comments, scoffing laughter, and hushed side conversations, I gathered that Erin's legend had become more myth than reality, and that she'd long passed her prime. She was a fat, aging, former homecoming queen whose best days were largely behind her.
More than once, Erin complimented my physique or commented on the contents of my shorts. She touched me often, stroking my arm or leg as we drifted past one another, and she laid in her innertube with her legs spread to give me a view of the area between her thighs. As the sun dipped behind the trees that lined the banks of the river, she became bolder, suggesting that I consider joining her and Clay for a threesome.
By then, Clay had become thoroughly shit-faced, but he acted amused by Erin's antics. In fact, he rather seemed to enjoy it. I suspected that such behavior wasn't entirely unexpected and that he approved of her solicitations. Each time she brought up how much fun the three of us could have together, however, I responded with a smile and quickly changed the subject.
Not that I was completely disinterested in her. After far too many beers and several hours of staring at her half-naked body while raunchy filth poured from her lips, I'd opened up to the idea of fucking her if given the chance. I had absolutely no interest in sharing the bed with Clay, however.
At the end of the day, as we packed up and prepared to go our separate ways, Erin mentioned an upcoming birthday party they planned to throw for their daughter, Ashley, and asked if I would come.
"Yeah, I don't know," I said to be polite, but I knew perfectly well. I hated kid's birthday parties and had no interest in going.
"Come on, man. It'll be fun," Clay assured as he effortlessly hoisted their gear into the back of their Rover. He may not have been in the best of shape, but his athleticism showed in the size of his arms and obvious strength.
"We throw really great parties," Erin insisted, and after the stories she'd told all day, I could only imagine.
"Look, I appreciate the offer, but drinking Kool Aid and listening to a bunch of screaming kids run around a bounce house isn't exactly my idea of fun."
Clay laughed. "Dude, the birthday's just an excuse for the adults to party. Besides, Ash is eighteen, so it's not gonna be
that
kind of party. A bunch of our other friends are coming. You totally should too!"
"The party's really for us," Erin explained, hanging on his arm. "One of Clay's buddies might even bring some coke," she tacked on under her breath, pressing her finger to one of her nostrils.
"Damn it, Erin," Clay muttered, sounding annoyed.
"What? I said he 'might'."
"Who doesn't love doing lines in front of their kids, am I right?" I joked, and Clay laughed it off.
