Tracey

Author's Note:

The first two chapters of

Tracey

(see:

Chapter 1

,

Chapter 2

) have been modified to correct minor grammatical errors and continuity issues, and a few details have been added here and there. You might want to re-read them before continuing with Chapter 3. -W.S.

I saw little of Tracey over the next few days. I began to worry that she was avoiding me, but my fears were quickly dispelled when she came into my room the following Friday night and put on a CD, then sat on my bed and casually chatted about her week.

When the inevitable lull in the conversation arrived, Tracey looked up at me and spoke.

"Steve, about last week...," she began.

I braced for bad news.

"What happened last weekend was the hottest thing I've ever experienced. It was--you were

amazing!

You are the sweetest, sexiest, most attractive guy I've ever known. No one has ever made me...," Her voice trailed off.

I stared down at my feet and waited for her to continue.

"But if your parents found out, they'd kill me! And I wouldn't blame them--you're only 18! You're 4 years younger than me!"

She paused for a moment and I looked up at her.

"Why couldn't you just be 4 years older?" she smiled. "Steve, can we go back to being friends?"

I might have acted a little disappointed with her request, but the truth is that I felt oddly relieved. As much as I lusted after her, my main concern had been losing her friendship. What's more, her heart-felt compliments made my head swell with pride.

The following week at school, I glowed with self-confidence. I had a perpetual grin on my face that prompted strange looks from my friends. And when Jessica Peters greeted me one afternoon in math class, I saw for the first time that she was not merely being polite. Her eagerness and broad smile made it obvious that she liked me, though I'd been blind to it before. That Friday I asked her out.

Meanwhile, my friendship with Tracey blossomed. Now that Jim was out of the picture, she looked to me for entertainment. We could often be found watching movies together, listening to music, even tracking the whereabouts of my parents, sneaking upstairs to steal beers from the fridge when they were away.

For several weeks, my parents remained home during the weekend, and I began to wonder when their next trip would be. Tracey and I talked about having a party next time they were gone, but without knowing when that would be we could hardly start inviting people.

Then one evening in mid-December, we had our answer. We were all seated at the dinner table when Mom and Dad announced they had something to tell me. Tracey, who joined us for dinner once or twice a week, began clearing the dishes.

"It's okay dear, you don't have to leave," my mother said. Tracey sat back down.

"Sweetheart, your father and I have decided to go away this Christmas," my mother began. I guessed where this was heading and shot a quick glance at Tracey. She was about to take a sip of water but froze with the glass a few inches from her mouth, staring at my mother expectantly.

"Of course we'd love it if you came," my mother went on, "but since your brother is staying at school over break, you'd be stuck with your father and I for 3 weeks. We decided you'd be happier at home."

I copped my best look of disappointment.

"Well, I guess so--" I began dejectedly, but was cut off when Tracey, who had just taken a sip of her water, suddenly erupted in a fit of coughing. Water shot out of her mouth and nose as she snarfed her drink all over her shirt.

"Goodness, are you alright dear?" my mother said, placing a hand on Tracey's back.

Tracey coughed a few more times then reached for her napkin to clean her face.

"I'm fine Mrs. McKenna--just went down the wrong pipe," She said, shooting me a quick wide-eyed glare.

My mother looked at me again.

"Stephen, you're more than welcome to join us if--" she said.

"No--it's okay Mom, I'll be fine," I said, "Besides, I already promised coach I'd be around to lead practice."

"Wonderful!" said my mother. She turned to Tracey again.

"And what are your plans for Christmas, dear? Will you be traveling home?"

"No ma'am, I'll be around," she answered, "I have a lot of reading to catch up on and I'm putting in some extra hours at the bookstore for the holiday rush."

"Oh, that's marvelous! You two can keep each other company!" my mother beamed.

"Did you hear that, Stephen? Tracey will be here while we're gone! But promise me you'll stay out of her hair when she's doing her homework." She turned back to Tracey. "You must tell Stephen if he's bothering you, dear. You know how he likes to blare that radio of his..."

"Yes, Mrs. McKenna."

***

No sooner had I returned to my room after doing the dishes than Tracey appeared with a wicked grin on her face. She grabbed a pillow from my bed and started pummeling me with it.

"You little creep! You totally made me snarf with your little act!" she cried as I tried to fend of her blows. "`Oh, boo-hoo! Mommy and Daddy are leaving me all by myself!'" she mimicked, erupting in laughter and collapsing on my bed.

"Steve!" she said as soon as she had gathered herself, "we're gonna have the house to ourselves! For 3 weeks!" She got up and pulled me out of my chair. "Party! Party! Party!" she sang, leading me in a dance around the room.

***

Two agonizing weeks later, the day finally came when I drove my parents to the airport. The house was empty when I returned. Tracey's job at the bookstore was keeping her busier than usual at night and she usually wasn't home until late. I was in the living room watching TV when I heard the kitchen door open around 10:00.

"Steve?" called Tracey.

"In here," I said.

"Living like a king now, are we?" she teased. Our living room had a big-screen TV, a plush couch and a fireplace--all of which seemed like a decadent luxury in comparison to the spartan basement accommodations. I had just lit a fire and the room must have felt warm and inviting to Tracey. "Ooh, it's nice and toasty in here! Mind if I join you?"

"Why? Is the downstairs TV broken?" I said, trying to sound serious.

"Oh, fine. I guess I'll just have to drink these by myself," she said, holding up the six-pack she had concealed behind her back as she turned to head downstairs.

"Wait!" I called after her in an exaggerated plea, "Tracey! You can--Tracey! I'm sorry! Please, you can watch--".

A few minutes later Tracey returned wearing a pair of tight-fitting jeans and a pink sweater.

"Here," she said handing me a can of Budweiser, "your first beer. I thought it would be best if you drank it under the supervision of an adult."

It wasn't my first beer of course, but I examined the can with a confused expression, going along with her game.

"Umm...do you have a can-opener?" I said.

She rolled her eyes and grabbed the can out of my hands.

"Look," she said, pointing at the tab. "Just grab this little thingy like this...see? Then pull up gently..."

She opened the can of beer and handed it back to me.

"Let's crank some tunes!" said Tracey. She darted off to the basement and quickly returned with a pile of CDs. Soon "Dancing Queen" was playing on the stereo.

We sat for a long while drinking beer, listening to music, and discussing our plans for the holiday. I was something of a lightweight and after three beers my inhibitions vanished and I was singing along with Abba. When the CD ended, Tracey put on a hip-hop CD I didn't recognize.

"I love this song," she said. The throbbing bass and drums seemed to take hold of her body. She danced across the floor until she stood before me, moving her arms over her head and thrusting her hips to the rhythm. She narrowed her eyes seductively and smiled down at me.

I knew she was just being silly but her little performance was incredibly sexy. She bent over and touched her feet, shaking her hips as she ran her hands slowly up her legs and over her crotch and belly. I was really starting to get turned on when the song ended and she plopped down on the couch next to me.

"So, when are we having our party?" she asked.

"How about next Saturday?" I said. "I mentioned it to a few guys on my team this afternoon."

"Aren't you inviting your sweetie?" she said. When I had first told her about Jessica I thought I detected a trace of disappointment. But her frequent inquiries and teasing since then had always been good-natured, so I'd written off any jealousy on her part.

"Yeah, she'll probably come," I answered.

"Don't sound so excited!" Tracey teased. "I'll probably invite Bernie," she went on, referring to a guy from the bookstore she'd gone out with a few times.

"Yeah, invite ol' Bernard," I said, "he can tape that Dr. Who special and watch it when he gets home," I went on, perhaps not so good-naturedly.

"Shut up!" Tracey said, trying to suppress a smile, "and get me another beer!"

***

As soon as my parents left, Tracey and I had abandoned the drafty basement in favor of the upstairs living room for its warmth and superior stereo and television, not to mention its proximity to the kitchen. I'd even taken to sleeping in my parents' bedroom with its huge, plush bed; I convinced Tracey to stay in the upstairs guest room across the hall. We shared the large master bathroom with its luxurious over-sized shower. It also contained a jacuzzi, but we had yet to try it out.

On Tuesday night around 10:30, I was splayed out on the living room couch in my boxers and tee-shirt watching TV when Tracey returned home from work.

"Hey Steve," she said, removing her coat, "how was your day?"

"Pretty good," I began as Tracey walked to the dining room table where she had stashed several of her belongings to save trips to the basement.

As I recounted the day's events, she turned her back to me, pulled her sweater over her head, and draped it over the chair. Then removed her turtle, revealing a lacy white brassiere.

It seemed that Tracey had gradually been shedding modesty around me, particularly since she learned about Jessica. Perhaps she felt my involvement with Jessica would alleviate any tension I might feel around her; that we could now carry on as friends. With respect to modesty, it was almost as if she regarded me as one of her girlfriends.

"So who are you inviting to the party?" she said, turning to me when my voiced trailed off.

"Umm, just guys from the team mostly," I began. As I went on, she reached behind her back and undid her bra, then turned her back to me again and slid it off. She grabbed a tee shirt from a small pile of folded laundry and pulled it over her head and turned back to me.

"I asked 3 or 4 people from the bookstore," she said, unbuttoning her jeans and slipping out of them. She padded back across the living room floor in her panties and tee shirt and sat down at my feet. "Well, it'll be a nice small party. I prefer small parties."

We watched TV for a while but I could barely focus on the program. I kept stealing glances at Tracey, who had put her feet up on the couch and was leaning against the arm opposite me. Her legs were bent at the knee, parted enough for me to catch glimpses of her crotch and the white material of her panties pulled tightly against it. Her tee shirt rode up a little and a sliver of her toned belly was visible. I pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and covered my legs with it to conceal my hard-on.

***

"Hey Steve, could you give me a hand with the keg?" I heard Tracey call from the kitchen door. It was Saturday afternoon, the day of the party. I had been putting out snacks while Tracey drove to the liquor store to retrieve the keg. I followed her out to her car and she opened the trunk.

"It's really heavy," she warned, "I can give you a hand if--"

"I got it," I said, grasping the heavy metal cylinder, finding it incredibly heavy. But I tried not to look like I was struggling as I hefted it out of her car and waddled my way down the sidewalk to the kitchen door.

"Ooooh, big strong man!" said Tracey, walking along beside me and squeezing my straining biceps. She opened the door to the kitchen and I followed her in, depositing the keg in the waiting trash pail filled with ice.

"I'm going up to get ready," said Tracey. She darted upstairs and I heard her start the shower in my parents' bathroom. I loaded the CD player up with music while she bathed and frittered around making final preparations until I hear Tracey call from the top of the stairs.

"All yours!" she said. I heard the door to her room closing.

After showering, I took several minutes deciding what to wear--not something I usually gave much thought to. I chose my favorite pair of jeans and a polo shirt my brother had given me, with the promise that girls would love its trendy urban chic style. After applying a little gel to my hair and mussing it up a bit, I emerged from the bedroom just as Tracey was stepping out of hers.

We froze for a moment at the novel experience of seeing each other dressed up. Tracey looked stunning. She wore a stylish pair of gray corduroys, and a tight-fitting white angora sweater that looked so soft I wanted to reach and touch it. She had applied a tiny amount of mascara, which dramatically emphasized her gorgeous blue eyes, and her full lips, which I already found irresistibly captivating, sparkled with lip-gloss containing tiny specks of glitter.

"Hey handsome," said Tracey, sensing my nervousness.

"Hey Tracey. You look...nice," I said awkwardly. We stood in silence for a moment.

"Let's have a beer!" said Tracey at last. That sounded like a good idea.

I tapped the keg and poured us a couple beers while Tracey went into the living room and turned the stereo up. I joined her with our beers and we sat down on the couch and listened to the music for a while, anxiously waiting for the first guests to arrive. We finished our beers within 5 minutes. When we saw each other's cups, we burst into laughter. She held hers out to me.

"I seemed to have spilled mine," she said innocently. As I refilled our cups, the blissful onset of a buzz began to take hold and my nervousness evaporated. I was ready for the party to begin.

As if on cue, at that moment the doorbell rang with the arrival of the first guests. Soon the living room was full of our friends, sitting on the couch and floor or standing near the fireplace, talking, laughing, and sipping beer.

Tracey's bookstore colleagues, mostly college students themselves, and my band of teammates made for a mellow atmosphere. Everyone seemed to get along well despite the age differences.

Finally, Jessica arrived with three of her girlfriends. They were all dressed in trendy clothes and appeared to have spent a lot of time preparing their hair and make-up. I worried briefly that the four most popular girls in my class might be disappointed not to find a single member of the football team in attendance, but they blended right into the crowd and seemed to enjoy themselves.

***

About an hour into the party, I was in the kitchen with Tracey and Jessica. Jessica was relaying a story I had long-since lost interest in. She spoke in the inquisitive, eye-rolling manner that branded her as a teenager.

"And I'm all, 'No,

you

wash the car!', and he goes, 'I washed the car

last

week,' and I go, 'I don't care, you're the one who got it all muddy!'" she went on.

It was at that moment that the folly of my relationship with Jessica became clear. Moreover, it was almost as if Tracey, whom all along had been conversing silently with me in quick glances and mischievous smiles, had devised the situation herself. "A sweet girl," she seemed to be saying, "...if that's what you're looking for."

I was soon to have my rebuttal. Just then, Bernie made his arrival, cutting Jessica's tale mercifully short. He apologized to Tracey for being late--he'd been watching a Star Trek re-run--then asked if he could have a beer.

"This is Jessica," Tracey said, smiling apologetically at the two of us for Bernie's lack of social graces, "and Steve--the host."

I shook hands with Bernie, noting with a certain pleasure his slight paunch, and my height advantage of at least 4 inches.

"Ummm...do you have anything lighter?" said Bernie, noting the keg of micro-brewed ale, "I'm trying to cut down on carbs."

I retrieved a Bud Lite from the fridge and handed it to him.

"Thanks," he said, grasping the cap.

"Hmmph--" he grunted, struggling with the cap, "guess...it's not twist-off. Do you have a bottle op--?"

I took the bottle back from him and, with little effort, twisted the cap off. Tracey could not stifle a laugh.

"Thanks," said Bernie.

***

Tracey and I did not subject our dates to further torment that night; we remained dutifully at their sides. But if we did not mingle together, our silent exchanges became bolder. More than once, I found myself gazing across the room at her as my attention drifted from the conversation at hand, only to find Tracey staring back. At first, I blushed and turned away. But as the night wore on and our friends became more drunk and oblivious, we held each other's gaze. These moments felt so intense to me that everything seemed to go silent around me, as if we were the only two people in the room.

By midnight, everyone had left except for Bernie and Jessica. When Bernie announced that he had to go home if he was going to make it in time for Mystery Science Theater, Jessica agreed it was time to call it a night as well. Bernie offered to give her a ride home. We saw them to the door and bid them goodnight with polite pecks on the cheek.

We returned to the living room and chatted about the party for a little while. As we talked, I reflected on the ease with which, moments earlier, I had blatantly flirted with Tracey; now I could scarcely meet her gaze. At that point, however, I was too exhausted to consider taking action. Tracey appeared to be drifting too.

"Well, I should go to bed," I said, "I have early practice tomorrow."

"Yeah, I'm ready for bed too," agreed Tracey. We walked upstairs and bid each other goodnight.

I'm not sure what my expectations had been that night. But when at last I lay in bed staring into the darkness, I did not dwell on missed opportunities or frustrated desires. I thought only of Tracey's face, smiling at me from across the room.

***

When I returned from running practice the next afternoon, the house was empty. I figured Tracey was at work, so I went upstairs to wash up. I undressed in my parents' room and was about to step into the shower when I paused and looked at the jacuzzi. It had never before occurred to me before to set foot in it, but for some reason I suddenly wanted to.

The jacuzzi was set in large rectangular sunroom that extended from the bathroom. My parents had had it built to accommodate the large tub, but with its view of the woods beyond our back yard, it also served as a peaceful hangout I had often sought as a kid.

A cushioned platform extended for several feet behind to tub, edged by a linen shelf stocked with towels on one side and a low wooden barrier lined with pillows on the other. Its obvious potential as a love nest used by my parents had never occurred to me until now--perhaps I had blocked the idea out.

I lifted the vinyl cover off the large tub and steam rose from the slightly saline-smelling water. As I set foot in the hot water and settled into the seat on the far side of the basin, I wondered what had taken me so long to try it.