Love In A Changed World Ch 07

Chapter 7

I.

After Nadia and Pudge left, I napped in the bedroom for a while, then wandered down to the pool and laid myself out on chaise lounge. I think I'd been in that lounge chair for about half an hour when I heard the rumble of a large engine pull to a stop outside the compound gate. I heard the creak of the power gate opening (it worked off a keypad), and the loud engine drew closer. My eyes opened to see a large 4x4 crew cab pickup come up the driveway. It was black with some kind of custom art across the hood. It was lifted with big tires. As it pulled to an awkward stop in a parking spot I noticed and American flag and a Confederate flag mounted in the bed.

"What," I said to the air, "The fuck is this?"

I assumed I expected some rednecks or maybe Klansmen to get out of the cab. The driver's door opened and a pair of very nice shapely legs ending in a pair of sandals swung out. The legs ran up to a pair of tight light-blue jean shorts, then a trim bare mid-drift, a cropped tight pink tank top, and finally a pretty face with oversized mirrored sunglasses flanked by layered shoulder-length blond hair. She was maybe 19, standing 5'6" or so. Three other girls about the same age got out of the cab. They were all dressed more or less the same. One was quite tall -- easily six feet tall -- and athletically built. The tall one had light brown hair in a pixie cut and wore a blue bikini top instead of the tight pastel tank of the other three.

The tall one raised her sunglasses and mouthed something and started walking my way. I saw her mouth move again. On the third time, I heard her. "Simon? Simon is that you?" In a blur, she ran over to the foot of the chaise and jumped on top on me with her hands pressing my shoulders into the back of the chair with enough force that the riser collapsed. I was suddenly taken back to that happening at the start of last night's escapade by the hot tub. My member stirred at the thought as the pretty young girl straddled me with her hands locking me to the cushion. "Simon, it

is

you!" the girl said with a squeal.

"Midget?" I asked.

That got me a what probably was supposed to be a "love tap" punch to my sternum.

"You know I hate it when you call me that," the girl said.

I coughed, and nodded to the girl I'd last known as Nadia's awkward 13-year-old cousin. She hadn't "grown" per se -- she was this tall at 13, but I don't know how to say it exactly. It was like the girl I'd met, what was is six, years ago was the bare steel frame of a great building that was now complete. She looked a lot like Nadia, whom the younger Midge had idolized. Nadia, in turn paid the girl a lot of attention and mentored her when she could. I thought it was some sort of budding maternal instinct -- Midge's mother, Nadia's aunt, had died when Midge was twelve. I realize now why Nadia was so attentive. Nadia was probably the same gawky, awkward early sprouter at 13 that Midge was. Nadia had bloomed into a lovely flower, and so, it seemed had Midge. That thought increased the stiffening of my battered little friend. I immediately felt horrible about growing my hardness in the context of the child before me. I willed it to subside, and, for once, the little guy did what he was told. She released her hold -- I hope without noticing my response. I sat up and she stood. "Midget, (my clever nickname for her) what are you doing here? And where did you get that ridiculous truck?" I asked.

"It's a long story," she said. Midge was about as good at deflection and willful deceit as Nadia. The full effects of the change being the one thing Nadia had successfully hidden from me or anyone for any length of time. I have to assume her deep concern and caring for me drove her to make the sham work for as long as it did. I was going to have to pry this from Midge. I made a "come out with it" gesture with my hand. This enhanced interrogation technique proved to be enough, as Midge gave the whole story in pretty much one breath

"So Misty (the leggy blonde who'd come out of the driver's seat), Beth (the petite redheaded ginger -- maybe 5' even and 98lbs), Bella (the olive-skinned dark-haired girl, about 5'4', with big breasts that were firm with youth and hips that matched -- she was an outlier in this skinny group), and I decided to come down from school over the break. First, we were going to come here, but I when I checked, I heard there was someone planning to be here -- I guess you guys. So we went to the Miami place (a sprawling penthouse condo in South Beach), but, apparently, the Dragon Lady is in residence." The "Dragon Lady" was Nadia and Midge's grandmother, and the current matriarch of their family. Most of the family feared her. She saw through their feigned respect and treated most of them with reflected disdain. It happened that she doted on Nadia who, in turn adored the old girl. The Dragon Lady was also the only older member of her family who didn't seem to think I was the biggest mistake of Nadia's life. I'd like to think that was on my own merits, but it was probably because she felt that if Nadia picked me, I must be at least okay. Midge continued, "Every place was booked so we came here. I knew there were only three guests staying so I figured there was room. I had no idea it was you here. Is Nadia inside?"

"Her and Pudge went --"

"Jules is here too! EeeeeeYow!" Midge cut me off with her trademark "happy" squeal. If Nadia was a young Midge's role model, Pudge was her idealized bad-girl idol.

I explained where the girls were and what they were doing and moved on to the other thing in the front of my mind asking, "Midge, where did you get the truck?"

"Well," Midge explained, "No one will rent a car to a 19-year-old, and I didn't want to deal with borrowing a car from the Miami Place -- and have to explain why to the Dragon Lady. So we went hick-baiting."

"What, dear girl, is, 'hick-baiting'?" I asked. This should be good.

Midge laughed, "So behind on things, you old people. Lot of girls do it. It's not, like, illegal. I don't think it is anyway." Ignored the "old people" dig and my face clearly told her that my insistence on an explanation wasn't going anywhere. She reluctantly continued, "So, of course, you know all about how things have changed with girls since, well, 'the change' (I let the assumption of my complete and long-standing understanding of "the change" stand without challenge) Well, out in the sticks, apparently, a lot of guys don't. Either their women keep it from them, or they try to ignore it. Anything about female superiority they see on the news, they think is a liberal conspiracy." I hadn't heard it said that way before then. "Female superiority" was undoubtably a growing fact; hearing the words spoken somehow breathed life it what was already real. Midge, unaware of how easily she sparked my introspection, continued, "So, when a city girl like me needs something -- cash, a car, drugs, whatever, she heads out into the hinterland, finds some sap or group of saps, and makes a bet. Boom. Free truck."

"A bet? I don't think I understand. A bet on what?" Am I that behind the times?

"You know, "I bet you $500, mister 250-pound-roughneck, that I can beat you at arm-wrestling." She held up a bent arm and slammed it down like she was winning a one-sided arm-wrestling match.

Part of me wanted to ask if the "250lb-roughneck" being so easily bested by Midge was a hypothetical or a historical example. Another part of me was afraid of to ask. So I put it another way, "So these 250-pound-roughnecks pay up?"

Midge smiled as though recalling a funny memory, "They do once you break their arm and lay out two of their buddies with punches so fast the never saw them until they were already on the floor." She jabbed the air a couple of times. I was now sorry for my curiosity.

"And what sort of stakes did you put up? Surely, these 'saps' want for more than to test their strength?" I asked realizing immediately, that I didn't want this answer either. I got it, nonetheless.

"I don't know," Midge replied in the sort of ironic tone a 19-year-old would with a backward elder, "What could a little girl like me have that some big bad man might want?" She swayed her hips, so her tight young ass stuck out and ran her hands down her equally pert breasts, and across her trim torso. She punctuated her reply by slapping both hands to her ass and shaking it with a girlish giggle.

I was understandably dumbfounded at the display, but, again, embarrassed. I made an effort to recover. "So you arm-wrestled some hick out of his truck?" I summarized.

"Oh, no," she was laughing, "We took an Uber to this dive bar out north of town and waited for a good mark. These fucking racist dicks came in and started trying to buy us drinks. Eww - so gross." She shuddered comically and continued, "So little, tiny Beth goes over and bets them that she can drink more than all five of them combined. She wins, we take their truck. Three hours later, we're on our way here. Oh my god, the last guy going -- the asshole that owned the truck -- he was crying at the end. Dude had just lost his truck, pretty much his man card, and had a huge bar tab to figure out. I just put Beth's end on Dad's AMEX Black." As she finished the story, I looked over at the three girls gathering their bags from the truck. The little redhead was obviously tipsy but didn't strike me as anywhere near falling-down drunk for her efforts liquor. I was dumbfounded and my hangover suddenly seemed a little worse.

The other girls came over to us and dropped their bags by some of the nearby chairs. "You weren't lying, Midge," the leggy Misty said. "This place is the shit. It that a bar?" There was a very-well stocked poolside bar complete with beer tap -- Landshark at the moment (watery, but right for the climate) -- and an ice crushing blender. Manalo, the butler (or is it Major Domo? I have no idea what titles are given to domestic staff), kept the bar stocked whenever the "Key West House" was occupied by a family member or members. Misty was quickly behind the bar and produced a bottle and announced, "Shots, ladies!". She pulled out some shot glasses and poured generously.

Beth, the little tipsy redhead with the hollow leg came over with a glass. "There's one for you too, sir," she said. Her eyes met mine for longer than I was comfortable with. She was cute, but there was definitely danger here.

I was not really up for drinking; less so with a quartet of underaged girls. My recent experiences with girls this age gave me concern that my safety was by no means assured. With Nadia and Pudge out until at least midnight, I felt particularly exposed. On the other hand, there was the matter of the very pointed "sir" shot in my direction. Throw in Midge's earlier, "old people", and my judgement soon became no match for my ego. One of the other girls found the pool area's sound system and cranked up some music as I took the shot glass from Beth.

II.

It was just getting dark when people started to arrive. Midge and her friends had as large a social networking footprint and any pretty rich girls their age. Still it seemed like they knew a lot of college kids taking their break in Key West. I watched them arrive from the wrap-around porch of the upper level of the main house. They arrived in dribs and drabs at first. Then in groups. It was a lot of girls at first. I observed that the mechanics of getting a party going hadn't changed much since I was in college. Get the girls to show up and the guys will follow. They were following in this case just as much as they had then. "Lambs to the slaughter," I said out loud to no one.

"Grist for the mill," came a correction in a light feminine voice over my shoulder.

The voice that came from behind belonged to the young lady who came up beside me to lean on the rail. It was Beth, the little redhead who'd drunk five guys under the table to secure a ride for her and her friends. Her red hair flowed to her shoulders. She offered me a glass -- a tumbler with ice, a lime wedge, and what smelled like tequila. She held a small pitcher of what I assumed was the same and an open beer can. I took the glass and looked her over. The girl was a little over half my age, and I shouldn't be checking out such girls. Propriety aside, that I was deeply in love with my ridiculously hot wife should have been reason enough to keep my eyes to myself. That the same wife, since "the change", could rip both my arms off and beat me to death with them, was certainly reason enough to stay eyes forward.

But a man is a man regardless, and some things are reflexive. Nadia would forgive that. The several drinks I'd had since the girls arrived lowered my conscious ability to head off the same reflex. I was less sure that would be as easily forgiven. This was a problem for later; for now, my wandering eyes had decided on their own.

Speaking with all possible objectivity, the petite ginger had a banging little body. She didn't have the curvy athleticism of the foot-taller Midge nor long tanned legs and sultry carriage of Misty. She certainly didn't have the outsized firm breasts and alluring hips of Bella. But she did have tight package that a guy could admire. She leaned on the rail which accentuated her pert firm little ass currently clad in a shockingly brief pair of tight black exercise shorts. This sat atop a pair of legs with defined, if not large, muscles. She turned as though she realized my assessment of her lower body was complete and it was the other half's turn for ogling.

Working my way up, she had an exposed tight core packed with well-defined abs. She had little excess fat anywhere, but still sported a pair of half-handful-sized tits. The nipples of which pushed out through the stretchy material of a navy-blue sports bra style bikini top. Her shoulders and arms carried defined small muscles similar to her legs. She was pale skinned with a lot of freckles. She had emerald- green eyes which now caught the moonlight with a sparkle.

She turned back to face the courtyard and, clearly, caught me looking. It wasn't clear to me if her reaction was to ignore it or note it, but she definitely busted me.

She observed, "Should be a good one."

She wasn't wrong. There was already a fair crowd gathered in and around the pool. Midge had asked Manalo to bring in more stock for the bar and see if someone local was available to DJ. He had dutifully complied. Drinks were flowing and bodies were starting to smash together. A trio of guys had wandered over to the lifted crew cab 4x4 pick up and were pointing at various features of it. Even in a party loaded with pretty, probably willing -- if not demanding - girls, some guys will be car guys. I gestured with my glass to the assembled group down by the truck. "Looks like they're admiring your handywork," I said to Beth trying not to obviously look at her nor obviously look not at her. I was reminded that the little girl had drunk her way to that truck's pink slip earlier today, arrived a little tipsy, and had been drinking steadily since.

"Men are so dumb," she said back also without looking at me, but inching a little closer. "I mean, after the first two passed out, you'd think the other three would have given up or tried to talk their way out of the bet." she threw back the rest of the beer as she finished and crushed the can in one hand and threw it. It landed in the bed of the truck -- a distance I generously estimated to be about twice a far as I could have thrown it -- and startled the assembled car guys.

"I think I might be able to offer a plausible explanation for why they didn't try to weasel out." I said under my breath; of course she heard me.

We both laughed, but mine was a bit more of a nervous laughter.

"Yeah," she said, "It wouldn't have gone well for them. Those dicks were buying us drinks. Trying to get

us

drunk. I doubt their intentions were completely noble. I don't feel sorry for them. Assholes. A woman would have thought of something, but men -- no men are too fucking dumb and asshole men are even dumber." She had gotten oddly serious as she finished.

A cool breeze kicked up from off the water. Beth moved close to me -- too close. I backed away clumsily tripping on a low planter as I did. Beth grabbed my arm -- hard. I steadied myself on my feet but was immediately terrified. I looked to the door. No. No way I could make it She already had my arm anyway -- I had learned that I wasn't breaking a girl's grip -- not even one as slight at Beth. I looked down to the guys at the truck. No way they'd hear me over the music at that distance. Flight was off the table. No help was coming. Becky back at the school had caught me by surprise -- so had the girl in the nightclub. I at least saw it coming this time. I might get beaten up, but I wasn't going to just stand by and let this girl rape me. I clenched my fists and tensed to defend myself, however useless and hopeless that defense might be. I looked her in the eye, hoping to somehow convey that I wouldn't go lightly. I expected to see the hungry predatory look that my other attackers had in theirs.

I didn't

I saw something like recognition.

Recognition and something else.

Sadness.

Beth let go of my arm. "I was just cold" she said meekly. The she added in almost a whisper, "I was just trying to keep you from falling." She took my empty glass. I had held onto it but spilled the contents. She filled it from her pitcher and handed it back to me. "Drink," she said. It was another order not a request, "It helps." I complied and tried to gather my nerves. She looked like she was going to cry.

Beth began to speak again, "It's not that you're not good looking for an older guy." I was suddenly reminded that a girl her age didn't need to be able to punch holes in walls to strike a hard blow. "And you're definitely my type -- I do like nerdy guys." Maybe I would have been better off if she'd just ripped my arm off. She thought about her words as they hung in the air, "I'm kidding. I'm just not very good at it," the apology was sincere if not effusive.

She continued, "And I am, literally, on fire down there." She giggled at herself, "'Real redhead' and all." We both laughed, though mine was still a little more of a nervous laughter. "I would totally love to jump your bones right now and fuck you like a crazed animal until morning." she said composing herself even in the face of her graphic language.

"I could do that, you know. You wouldn't stand a chance," she said matter-of-factly. I was becoming uncomfortable again. She added, "You couldn't have gotten away -- you would have never made it to that door. And we're so far away the only 'help' in sight couldn't have heard you. Even if they could, they'd be sorry if they tried to help you." She was becoming increasingly serious. I noted she'd figured out my escape plans before I did. "Even if you could have pulled that pathetically-weak arm away from me -- and you couldn't," She paused to let that sink in, "You're so ridiculously slow, you wouldn't have made it two steps toward that door by the time I'd be in front of it. You probably would have tried to force your way by, but you just would have embarrassed yourself. I could have thrown you on the deck with one hand if I'd wanted to. I could have ripped your clothes off faster than you can think. Once I had you in me, that fragile thing between your legs would be no match for my strong little kitty. There would have been no escape then. I could have just had my way with you until I got bored or tired. You'd be praying I'd get bored, because you'd be surprised what it takes to tire me out." She sipped her drink with a terrifying casualness - almost like she'd just given the weather report and not a graphic description of how she could do anything she chose to me.