1.
When Travis Ward arrived home on the night of his eighteenth birthday, he slammed the front door so hard that the glass rattled in the windows. He slammed every door on the way up to his bedroom where he angrily peeled off his clothes (taking extra care with his sticky boxer shorts) and spiked them into his hamper. Then he left his bedroom and went into the bathroom, slamming both doors after him. It didn't matter; no one else was home. Since his sister Melanie had gone off to college two years ago, it had just been Travis and his mom in the house. And his mom, as usual, wasn't present. His mom was many things: a successful real estate agent, a legendary MILF among her son's friends, and a bit of an alcoholic. But Oliva Flores (she'd reclaimed her maiden name after the divorce) was not "present" in any sense. On this night in particular she was at a work function, some group of local real estate agents or something.
He turned on the shower, hot as it would go, and stepped under the scalding spray. He scrubbed at the gummy icing of cum smeared between his lower belly and thighs, sticking his pubes together and making his crotch look Shellacked. A litany of whispered curses fell out of his mouth and mingled with the steam billowing up around him. Needless to say, his birthday night hadn't gone quite as planned.
Travis had been excited his mother wouldn't be home on this Tuesday night, because he planned on bringing his girlfriend Noelle to the house and having sex with her for the first time. Really it had been Noelle's plan, her birthday gift to the boyfriend who had endured many a handjob over their year of dating. He hadn't complained or been pushy, and let her determine the pace at which their relationship moved forward physically.
But tonight, despite all her big talk about wanting to go all the way, had ended with her giving him another handjob in his car. She hadn't even wanted to take his dick all the way out of his pants, which once again put him in the humiliating situation of driving home with cold semen in his boxers.
Even though he knew he'd calm down soon, and would probably end up reassuring his girlfriend that the missed opportunity was no big deal, his shower was fueled by hurt feelings and helpless rage. He loved Noelle, he really did, and thought she was a great girlfriend in all other ways but for fuck's sake he was getting tired of her sexually timid bullshit. He felt tricked. He felt used. He still felt horny, of course. Even though he'd cum, he was still at half-mast and wondered for a minute if he should have a shower wank. He turned off the water instead and reached for a towel; jerking himself off alone in the shower felt like a pathetic way to close out his eighteenth birthday.
Travis pulled on gym shorts and flopped onto his bed. He rarely found himself longing for a different girlfriend; in almost every way, Noelle was great. But to waste an opportunity like this felt like a tragedy. No one else in the house. His room and sheets were clean. He could easily imagine Noelle there, fully naked in a way that he'd never seen her: crawling up the bed toward him on all fours, her lithe body arched over him so her medium-sized tits hung down and swung in counterpoint to her hips. He'd seen her bare breasts several times over the past few months, and knew how she liked her little pink nipples to be sucked. He hadn't seen her pussy but he'd felt it three times now. She had a sparse patch of the softest pubic hair and running his fingers through it on the way to her slick sex drove him absolutely wild. He wanted to see it, to finally know if it was as light blonde as the hair on her head.
"Fuck, I wish," he said out loud, shaking his head miserably. He liked the way that sounded and repeated it several more times, running the phrase together in different ways. "Fuck I wish. Fuck-I wish. Fuck I-wish. Fuckkk Iiiii Wiishhh." The verbal play of a man with no one around and nothing to do.
He pulled a magazine out of his night table drawer, then remembered his birthday present from his best friend Ben: a VHS copy of the 1981 slasher classic The Burning. He could watch it, lighten his rotten mood with some boobs and stabbing, but he also knew Ben would want him to wait so they could watch it together. Eighties horror movies were their thing. He grabbed his remote and turned on the TV Guide Channel, wondering what movies were on cable tonight. Then he thought about going downstairs and getting a snack first. Maybe a birthday beer from the fridge. His mom drank wine mostly, but she kept beer in the fridge for the various men she dated on and off. Travis usually avoided alcohol because he associated it with his Mom being an embarrassing lush. But tonight he was feeling self-destructive.
It was strangely hot for the middle of September and already the air in his room felt stifling. So before he did anything else, Travis got up and opened his window. He sighed with relief as the fresh air hit his face, but that sweet feeling was short-lived. There in the driveway was his father's smoky gray BMW.
He swore under his breath. All Travis wanted tonight was to be left alone, and of course Frank chose that moment to show up and try to parent. Well, there was no point in putting off the inevitable. He pulled a t-shirt out of his dresser, clicked off the television and made his way downstairs.
"Hey Frank," Travis called out as he reached the bottom of the stairs, still pulling the t-shirt over his head and momentarily blind. He emerged from the neck hole with his best impression of a smile, then stopped short as he realized his father wasn't the only person sitting in the living room.
Frank Ward stood up first, throwing his arms wide and flashing his perfect white teeth. Travis's father was a successful dentist who owned two practices in neighboring towns, and his teeth were a brilliant white that didn't occur in nature. He was naturally a handsome man, tall and broad in the shoulders but with a narrow waist just like his son. But he carried himself with a lot of bravado, and dressed the part as well. His clothes were all tailored to make the most of his muscle tone, His dark hair was cut short and spiked up in the front as was the latest style. He was like the powered-up version of his son: what Travis would be if he found one of those Mario mushrooms.
The second person on the couch stood up more slowly, shyly, smoothing her light blue dress and giving him a big smile.
"Becky?" Travis was shocked to see the girl, now a young woman, who had been his last babysitter. She was six years older than him, and at the age of nine he'd had a major crush on her. In fact, as he quickly looked her up and down he wasn't surprised to realize his feelings hadn't changed.
Becky had always been a tall girl with long beautiful legs, but she'd also developed some softening curves that had transformed the skinny teenager into a shapely woman. The light blue dress cinched at her narrow waist, hugged her rounded hips and flared out to swish around her knees. The dress was covered in a pattern of small pink flowers, with a pink ribbon lacing the front and tied in a bow on her out-thrust chest. Thin blue spaghetti straps curved over her elegant shoulders, and her neck was yet another long expanse of soft pink skin.
Even with that incredible body, it was her face that made his heart skip a beat. She wasn't drop-dead hot but was the cutest girl Travis had ever seen. Her kinky blonde hair was cut just below chin length, and its wildness was held back by two small clips. She still wore glasses, and behind them her blue eyes were wide and searching. Her full lips twitched nervously for a few moments and then her smile--unabashed and brilliant as ever--burst forth.
"Travis!" His father strode forward and embraced the boy in a back-clapping bear hug that brought him back to his senses. He pulled back, big hands on Travis's shoulders, appraising his face. "How are you doing son? How does it feel to be eighteen?"
Travis shrugged. "Good." He nodded, failing to think of something clever. "Good."
