Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
Also, please note; if reading about male bisexuality offends you, hit the back space key.
*****
In 1974, Richard Alan Thibodeaux took the fifty thousand dollars from his mother's life insurance policy, and instead of going to Tulane University as she had wanted, he bought gold. Over the next sixteen years, he bought and sold that gold, as well as silver several times.
In the 1990s, Richard invested in the Technology boom and several Internet concerns as well. A visit with his accountant in Lafayette Louisiana when he suddenly suffered an attack of appendicitis introduced the forty one year old millionaire to Rachael Ann Brent, a thirty seven year old nurse at Lafayette General Hospital.
Within three months, the two were married; it was his second marriage, and her first.
Three years later, the happy couple was delighted to find that Rachael was pregnant; she'd assumed that she was incapable of having children as she had never conceived before.
Brent Richard Thibodeaux was a healthy baby boy, with his mother's dark hair and dark eyes, and his father's shy smile.
"Should have named him Brent Richard Alan Thibodeaux; the initials would spell out 'Brat,'" Suzanne Brent, Rachael's seventy two year old mother, and Brent's only grandparent teased as she fussed over her only grandchild.
Richard and Rachael left their toddler with Suzanne at Suzanne's Baylor Lake home as they attended a Seminar in Houston, Texas. There were a few African countries vying for American dollars to help finance Oil exploration and petroleum development. Three hours into an extremely boring presentation, made all the more unendurable by dignitaries that spoke very stilted English, the seven ushers suddenly started screaming praise to Allah and denouncing their governments for wishing to make deals with Satan, with America. Then the gunfire started.
Richard managed to fell two of the terrorists with his .357 Smith & Wesson before a suicide bomber detonated himself, killing Richard, Rachael, and three other attendees.
Within four minutes, all seven terrorists, nineteen guests and three dignitaries were dead and forty six other guests and dignitaries were wounded. The Clinton Administration and the several African governments promised a full investigation and it soon died down.
In time, Brent, or 'Tib,' short for 'Thibodeaux' as Suzanne called her grandson, forgot about Mommy and Daddy, and called Suzanne Momma.
Already in her seventies, Suzanne did her best to keep up with a rambunctious, happy boy. But, by the time he entered Baylor Lake High School in Baylor Lake, Louisiana, Tib had his grandmother's reserved, quiet nature. He was handsome enough, blessed by good clear skin, his mother's cherubic face and his father's intelligence, but cursed by both mother and father's chubbiness.
Because of his reserved, cautious nature, Tib had very few acquaintances and no friends. He only went to his Senior Prom because the deaf girl down the street needed a date for the prom and Momma threatened to take away his car unless he took the girl.
Three days before their shared birthday; it would have been her ninetieth and his eighteenth, Suzanne complained of dizziness and shortness of breath. Tib drove her to the St. Elizabeth Trauma Center and helped her fill out the intake form. ("They make that print so damned small.")
Two days before their birthday, Tib had no family. Four days later, the day after he buried Momma, Tib graduated from Baylor Lake High School and disappeared off the map as far as his acquaintances were concerned.
"Well, we were going to do this on your birthday anyway," Penny Jones, Momma's lawyer said as a still numb Tib sipped the coffee. "I am truly sorry for your loss."
Tib stared at Penny, uncomprehending as the attorney laid several documents in front of him. Finally, it began to sink in.
"I'm rich?" he asked.
"Last account filed on, um, here on April first, first quarter, eleven million, nine hundred and forty seven thousand, eight hundred and nine dollars; still waiting for the second quarter to be filed," Penny affirmed.
Chapter 1
Tib went to Alaska and spent a few weeks exploring the Yukon Territory. From there, he took a train from the west coast of Canada to the east coast.
Then he visited Ireland and Great Britain and France. Eight months into what he had planned to be a one year jaunt, Tib contracted an intestinal infection and returned to America. After a few rounds of antibiotics in a Miami, Florida hospital, Tib finally returned to the Baylor Lake home he had lived in for all of his life.
Walking through the silent house, Tib resolved to send Penny Jones a 'Thank you' note; the house was clean, the yard manicured. Even Momma's 1961 pink Cadillac Coupe Deville had started up on the first crank.
He also resolved, since he had tried, but he just was not going to be leaving this home, he needed to do a little renovation, a little remodeling.
The first contractor asked for Tib's Mommy or Daddy, snarled that he didn't do business with snot-nosed kids, and left.
The second contractor listened to Tib's ideas, offered none of his own and promised to send Tib an estimate. That estimate never did materialize.
Paul Robichaux greeted Tib with a warm handshake, looked around the house, listened to what Tib had suggested, then pointed out a few of the flaws in Tib's suggestions.
"Dark floors? Especially black like you're talking about? One speck of lint will show up and that's all your guests will see, that one speck of dust," Paul said. "Yeah, it looks so cool in the magazines? But those floors have been vacuumed, mopped, then waxed, the picture taken and then five seconds later, those floors were dirty again."
Tib blushed; he had seen the black floors in a magazine. Just before her death, Suzanne paid for a one year subscription to Parasols magazine for Tib's birthday present. Upon his return, Tib had read through each issue and had renewed the subscription the moment he received the first notice that his subscription was to expire in three months.
In the February issue, there had been a photograph of a blonde doing a leg split on a black floor and Tib had ruined that page by blasting his semen all over that photograph.
"I mean, you're a young gun, full of fun, you really want to spend all your time vacuuming, sweeping, mopping and waxing a floor?" Paul asked.
Tib followed Paul around as the contractor made other suggestions.
"You plan on keeping this furniture? Nothing's wrong with it, but, well, I mean, it's kind of old," Paul asked as he surveyed Momma's room.
"Don't plan on keeping any of it," Tib agreed.
"My mother in law, Ms. Bobbi? She's got a great eye for stuff like that," Paul said.
Tib went to the Grand Canyon and Yosemite Park and when he returned, driving Momma's 1961 pink Cadillac, the house and back yard were completed.
The four bedroom, three bathroom ranch style home was much more modern, sleek, and fashionable. And the back yard was a lagoon, complete with fire pit, gas grill, waterfall and swimming pool. And had an eight foot tall stucco and wood fence for complete privacy.
Tib had no need to attend college; the second, third, fourth, and first quarter filings had come in; the last one showed that he was now worth thirteen million four hundred four thousand and ninety dollars. Barring anything completely catastrophic happening, Tib would never have to work.
But he enrolled in the local University of Louisiana at DeGarde for a few General Studies classes for the Summer Semester.
Miller's Electronics sold Tib the latest laptop computer, Babbage's Department store, the exclusive department store in Bender, Louisiana sold him the latest and greatest in back packs, and Tib was ready for college.
"Damn, this shit is hard!" Richard Pennington, Rip as he called himself, drawled to Tib as they took notes in Professor Huston's Algebra 101 class.
"If you have any questions," the scrawny teacher snapped at Rip. "Please save them for the end of my lecture. Thank you."
Even though he knew the material, had done fairly well in Algebra in high school, Tib had to agree with Rip. Professor Huston was doing a very poor job of explaining the material.
"My sister? She said take the hard stuff in the summer," Rip explained as both quickly walked to their next class, English 109, Vocabulary. "That way, you fail? You can take it again in the fall, and you already got the text book."
"Sister sounds pretty smart," Tib agreed.
