I missed Becky's party. I missed it because she couldn't have it; at least not at our house. Laurie was home when I got there Wednesday. Becky left a note on the kitchen's peninsula. She wrote that she was going out with friends and would be back in the evening; most likely to get her things for a two day camping trip.
Fortunately for me Laurie was in our bedroom. The lights were out, the drapes were closed and the white noise machine was running. All signs that she had one of her monstrous migraines. Laurie didn't get migraines very often but when she did they were incapacitating. So it was no surprise that my cameras had not been spotted. Laurie was in too much pain to notice a four inch camera mixed in the ferns.
I made sure Laurie didn't need anything before I went downstairs and carefully put each camera back in the box exactly as it was when I first opened it. I hid the box in the garage. There would be plenty of time later to show them to Laurie and then mount them outside along the hedge and out back by the entrance. No one need know the cameras had already fulfilled their primary purpose.
Time passed and eventually I did find out that Becky had her party. My discovery was made about a month after she had gone back to school. I was coming into the house from the garage when Laurie handed me a plastic mailer that was addressed to Becky
"Would you put that with the other stuff we're mailing on Saturday?" Laurie asked.
I looked it over and asked, "What is it?"
Laurie was dismissive. She answered "It's music. I thought it was pretty nice of Brad to drop it off. He said that after the accident, while he and Becky were waiting for the tow truck, she mentioned that she liked jazz." Laurie turned away to get some pasta from the pantry.
I was turning the bubble wrap envelope around in my hand and thinking about the possibilities as I absent mindedly said, "I didn't know Becky liked Jazz."
Laurie pulled a pot out from beneath the counter. She set it on the stove and continued, "I don't think she does. But I'm not going to tell that poor old man that. He's been through enough. It's probably Charlie Parker and Miles Davis. Kids these days don't appreciate the greats. Let's send it to her and she can decide what to do with it."
I'm a voyeur and I love jazz.. So I assumed that no matter what was in the envelope it was something I was sure to enjoy. I took the envelope to Becky's room and put it on the pile of snacks, stuffed animals, gift cards and sundry basics such as cotton balls and razors that we were sending to Becky. It was all the stuff no student would want to spend their own money buying.
I had an identical envelope, on it I mimicked the address label from Brad's package. Then I opened the original and found two CD cases. One was a George Howard CD and the other was a Grover Washington Jr. CD. Damn, this was not what I expected. I put the George Howard CD into the new envelope, grabbed a Grover Washington CD and started to put it in also. I've always liked Soulful Strut; so I thought I might as well get a good copy for all my work. I put the CD into my computer and listened to the player windup. I clicked Rip CD then sat back and listened to the first track. That's when I noticed there was more than one disk in the case. The second disk was a DVD. I actually looked at the liner notes to see what was on the second disk. I don't know, I guess I thought it was bonus concert footage. Then the CD tray opened and I knew. I knew the DVD labeled A Wonderful Concert was not made by Grover Washington.Jr.
I watched the CD drawer close again and listened to the drive windup once more. I stared at the blinking LCD light as if it were flashing some sort of coded message to me. There was movement on the screen but I did not look up. Long moments passed as I tried to tell myself that I could put the DVD back in the case, seal it and send it to Becky. Then I wouldn't see what I'd later have to try and forget. But, then again, I had come so far already. On the floor next to my feet was the envelope and my office scissors. The discarded edge of the envelope was lying at the top of the trash in the can. Everything was in motion. There was no unknowing what I had already seen. In front of me was more to see. There was no resolve, there was only procrastination.
My eyes flitted upward and I saw the splash screen for the 'Concert'. My guilt feelings evaporated. The sound of a whirlwind filled my ears as I grabbed the mouse and clicked the blue Start button at the bottom of the screen. My last thought was that I was the worst kind of voyeur. I was watching something that no man should ever see. The video started with a group of black men standing in a wide semicircle. They were applauding my beautiful, shapely stepdaughter's entrance into the room.
Becky was wearing a short black skirt that could have passed for a thick belt. Her top was a tight fitting green halter. The halter was the kind that had its own sewn in bra that did nothing to keep her tits from jiggling with each move. Over the halter she had on a thin matching jacket. For shoes my stepdaughter was wearing four inch acrylic mules. Did Laurie know Becky even owned this stuff? Becky stood in the middle of the half circle and slowly turned clockwise. There were five men. None of them appeared to be under forty. She paused for a moment as she faced each man. It was obvious she was grinning. This bitch was as much a woman as any I'd ever seen.
The cameraman began to narrate the scene. "Damn, this is one hot bitch. To think she is going to get it on with these out-of-shape, greasy fuckers is amazing. Why is she doing it?"
Another voice replied, "I don't know. We all paid but Brad said it wasn't for her. It was something about using his house or some shit like that. Who the fuck cares? You know what I'm saying? When he sent out that invitation and it had the picture of her on her knees deep throating him. Hell, I've seen this bitch around the neighborhood, I'd a paid five hundred dollars. But fuck, I'm sure glad though that Brad only asked for a hundred."
The camera shook a little as both men laughed.
I could hear some of the other men making comments too. Someone said, "That's it baby, show us all what you got." Another man yelled, "Fuck Brad, you been holding out on us? How long you had this pretty little thing all to yourself?" Brad just smiled. He never took his eyes off Becky. When she looked at him, their eyes locked onto each other and neither of them moved.
The narrator held the camera on Becky. Brad was sitting in a big leather recliner that was positioned at the apex of the half circle. Becky slowly ran both of her hands down her sides to her hips and then between her thighs. Someone turned on some slow jazz. Becky swayed her hips to the music's heavy beat.
The cameraman restarted his raunchy narrative. "Here we go!" he said. He took a couple of steps closer. He was no more than five feet behind my stepdaughter. Becky's hands ran down her thighs and onto her calves. She stopped at her ankles. Behind her, the cameraman was filling the screen with Becky's perfectly formed muscular ass. A tiny green strap of her thong disappeared between her buttocks and reappeared as a small patch of cloth that barely covered her perfectly shaven cunt. Her ass and pussy were open to anyone interested and all of these men were interested.
One of the black men said in a thick baritone "Damn that bitch is limber."
Without missing a beat the cameraman replied, "Fucking good thing dawg, that way she don't break." Suddenly there was laughter and more yelling. Someone else yelled, "Fucking look at this shit. I can't wait to tap that white ass. God damn I'm going to make her scream."
