Part Two
Bobby Remodeled
*
My deepest thanks to Tucker McCallahan for the edit.
Erica gasped. He was laying prone one the bed, nude, and sleeping.
"He came in while I was on the beach."
She padded softly over to take a closer look. The man was breathing softly. He was young, definitely younger than Erica.
"Barely out of high school."
His hair was a glossy dark brown and extended almost to his shoulders. His body was slim and lithe, like a dancer. He had pale, smooth skin, hairless skin.
His ass was smooth and toned, and she caught a glimpse of his balls and cock between his slightly parted legs.
He slept with his arms beneath the pillow. His hair fell loosely across his forehead. He had a long narrow nose, an average mouth with sensual lips, and long lashes over his eyes. There was a sense of the fey about him, as well as something slightly geek. She might have ignored a kid like this in high school. He looked like one of the cute, quiet kids who sat in the back and tried not to be noticed.
His skin wasn't completely flawless. She noticed a tiny blackhead or two on his chin and near his upper lip, plus a couple on his back.
"Well, it's something. Not a male model but cute enough."
She reached down and ran her hand down his back.
"Pretty soft skin."
A day or two ago touching a naked stranger while he slept would have been presumptuous to Erica.
"Did I actually think that? It seems strange I would."
Today this act seemed natural instead of strange.
"He's turned me into something . . . or let something loose."
She trickled her fingers to his ass. He stirred but stayed asleep. She continued to stroke, skipping his bunghole, preferring his balls instead.
His balls felt like soft plums. His cock hardened as she fondled them. This time he moaned, stirred, and woke.
His eyes blinked and he had a brief moment's confusion. Then he saw her and smiled. "Hi."
"Hi." She smiled back, liking him immediately. His eyes were brown.
He turned on his side, erect and throbbing. Erica let go of his balls. His groin was bare like Cameron's, his genitals nearly perfect. The young man's cock was an average thick and medium length erect. His smile was soft but open, without lewdness or mischief.
Erica got on the bed and straddled him. He shifted to his back without a word, cock pointed and waiting, with precum on its tip.
She grasped it and eased it between her folds, wet since the moment she saw him. He entered her until the tip of his cock stopped near her cervix. The young man grasped her ass and sat up. She wrapped her legs around him and the fucking commenced.
Erica did not ask herself why she was fucking a young stranger within moments of meeting him. It simply seemed the thing to do.
She rode him, he pumped her. They made no sound other than occasional grunts. They undulated, flowed, and rippled together; flesh to flesh, inside and out, functioning as one for those moments of cum, sweat, and climax. He flooded her womb with seed, the second man in as many days. Erica thought, detached, "I've not had this much sex in my life."
When they finished, the two sat wrapped around each other, breathing heavily, and shining with sweat.
"My name is Bobby."
"Erica. Nice to meet you."
They showered, fucked, showered again, and then ate a late afternoon lunch. They sat naked across from one another, glancing at each other occasionally.
Erica decided to speak first. "So Bobby, where are you from?"
"Portland, Oregon, but I go to RISD in Providence. Cameron pays for my tuition."
"You're related?"
"No. I'm his, but we're not related. What about you?"
"San Diego. I mean used to work for Coverton Technologies in San Diego. I'm quitting."
"Oh, because of Cameron?"
"No . . . well, maybe. I didn't know him before yesterday. My problems with the company came before that. I would have quit anyway."
"Cameron made it easier?"
"I guess."
"So you're his, too."
Erica didn't know what to say about that. The couple ate in silence for several minutes. "How do you think he does it?" Erica asked.
"I don't know. He told me he was born with it."
"He told me that too. He said something about editing people's brains. Was it like that with you?"
"Yeah," Bobby replied. "I mean, I was actually kind of bi when I met him. I was a bit shy though. I was sort of a geek. Still am."
"You don't look geeky to me."
"Well, I guess you could say Cam pushed me into making some adjustments. I was a little skinnier when I met him. My hair was shorter."
"How did you two meet?"
"Well," he started. "Tell you what. Let's fuck and I'll tell you the story."
"Oh."
It was a casual statement the old Erica would have found strange. Instead her pussy moistened immediately, as if "fuck," was a trigger. On the bed, with her legs once again wrapped around him, Erica listened to Bobby's story.
****
Bobby Callahan
The fall that year was dryer than most, but a cool rain fell the day before, so the ground was still damp.
Bobby Callahan stood at his mother's grave, pondering the wreck of his life. He knew his next move would probably make it worse, but he didn't care. No way he was going back home. No way. His father made his decision. It was him or HER, and he chose HER.
Bobby had played the dutiful son for years: kept his head down, his nose clean, his eyes to the books. He'd put up with her shit, his stepbrother's shit, his stepsister's shit, even his evil little half-brother's shit.
And it wasn't to say he hadn't tried. His mother's death had been crushing, but when his Dad met the woman who became his stepmom, Bobby was wary but supportive. She was pretty and made his Dad happier than he'd ever been since his mom died. It's what mattered at the time.
She came into the marriage with two children of her own: Brom, Bobby's age, and Brandi, a year younger. Joey, the half-brother, came a year into the marriage.
Things started well. Brom and Brandi were chubby and obnoxious, sure, but they had good points. Brom was jocular, boisterous, and liked to play pranks. Brandi was bubbly and perky, and her smart quips made Bobby smile. His stepmother, Marta, was a little aloof but kind.
The rot set in, slow and subtle, over the next eight years. Brom and Brandi grew taller and crueler. Brom's jokes turned mean, his boisterousness overbearing. Brandi's quips became daggers, eviscerating snarks gutting anyone offensive to her high standards.
Brom's fat turned into muscle and with a final height of 6'5" ( a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than Bobby) football was a natural choice.
The choice for Brandi was cheerleading. Her fat redistributed to her breasts and ass. A little muscle toning from exercise, and Brandi turned into the beautiful but wicked stepsister. Alpha girls are never nice.
Joey, the little stepbrother was, in some ways, the cruelest. Marta spoiled him rotten, "And I do mean rotten." A lying, grinning little sociopath, who did no wrong in his mother's eyes.
Bobby, on the other hand, so far as his stepmother was concerned, went from tolerable to delinquent. "I think she was kind of like a cuckoo; comes into the nest, lays an egg, and pushes out the other babies while the mother feeds hers."
His weak dad offered no help. "My Stepmom was hot and Dad pretty much did what she told him." Including throwing out everything related to his late wife. It didn't go over well with Bobby. "Dad said he wanted a break with the past. He didn't bother to ask what I thought. He could have given me her pictures at least."
Bobby watched, quietly helpless as over the years, his dad erased all traces of his mother from the house. "After that, it was just me. I took after Mom in looks. I guess Dad kind of erased me too. He grew distant."
Bobby hung with the geeks in school, made excellent grades, and kept out of trouble, but Brom and Brandi double-teamed him on the bullying. Coupled with their hangers-on and cliques high school wasn't pleasant.
As his senior year began, Bobby looked forward to the end like a drifting sailor casting out for a tropical island. Life grew steadily worse. Brom and Brandi turned on the heat, his dad buried himself in work, his stepmom got colder, and Joey, more sociopathic.
The breaking point came on his eighteenth birthday, just two weeks into the school year. "No one remembered. No one bothered to remember. No card, no cake, no acknowledgment. They treated me like shit but they could've, at least, said something."
Brom pantsed him in the gym and urinated on his drawings.
"You draw?" asked Erica.
"Yeah, I've been doing it since I was a kid. Mom always encouraged me. My art teacher said I was good enough for a scholarship. Those drawings were going into a portfolio for art school admissions. I'm going to draw comic books. Brom destroying them was the last straw."
Brandi and her pals snuck in the gym shower with an iPhone and took his picture while he masturbated. It was viral by the end of the day . . . with his Facebook address. "I got at least a hundred comments in an hour. I left Facebook five minutes later."
Joey tried to steal Bobby's tip money from his fast food job. Bobby caught him in the act. Bobby could've written the following confrontation in his sleep.
"What the fuck you doing you little rat?!"
"Moooom!"
"Bobby! Take your hands off my son!"
"He was taking my tip money!"
"He twisted my arm!"
"Oh my God! You!" she hissed at Bobby. "Keep away from my son!"
The rupture finally happened at dinner. Bobby's dad, William "Bull" Callahan, whose Marine father had served under Admiral William "Bull" Halsey, hence the name, was an average-sized nervous-looking man with spectacles. He worked for a military contractor as CFO. Bobby never really took notice of his dad's company, but the military connection was likely how he did it.
"So Bobby," his dad said, "I spoke with my CEO. He has a brother who's the superintendent at Virginia Military Institute. He's in town this Tuesday. I arranged an interview. You might be able to get in."
An interview. His father arranged an interview. He didn't ask Bobby if he wanted an interview. He arranged it.
"What about my graphic arts scholarship to UCLA?" Bobby asked, voice tightly controlled.
"I told them you would turn it down. VMI is the better choice, Bobby. It's your grandfather's alma mater."
Bobby never knew his grandfather. His dad never got over his own failed military career.
"You didn't ask me, Dad."
"Now Bobby," his stepmother chimed in. "Me and your father discussed this. A military school is the best thing for you. You're undisciplined. You hurt Joey today, and you've never gotten close to Brandi and Brom. You need to learn to work with others if you want a good future."
Bobby didn't know which emotion out of the storm boiling through his mind was the most intense. His rage at his stepmother's hypocrisy, his disgust for his father's weakness, his anger at their deciding his future without consulting him, or the fury at the barely concealed contempt on his step-siblings' faces; contempt his parents either ignored or just couldn't see. In any case, the fury came out.
"Joey's a lying thief, Brom and Brandi are bullying shits, and you simply picked out my future without bothering to ask me first."
"Bobby! Respect this house! Apologize to your mother!"
"Bobby! How dare you! We only want what's best for you!"
"Geez, Bobby! Stop being such a jerk!"
"Yeah, what a drama queen!"
"Mooom! Bobby's being mean!"
"Bobby," his father repeated, "You apologize to your mother right now or you're not sleeping in the house tonight."
"She's not my mom, she's your wife, and I had to grit my teeth and put up with her shit while you stood by and let these three fucks make my life hell. I'm done. I walk out of the house, I'm not coming back. Your choice, Dad."
Bill Callahan, to his credit, came close to asking his son to wait. His face softened, subtly, when he realized Bobby was serious; that he was offered one last chance to repair a frayed thread-thin relationship, to hold on to the last remnant of a long dead, good woman, who he knew, instinctively, would hate him for the abuse of her son.
Deep inside, Bill knew his son was right, and for a brief fleeting moment, he almost became Bobby's father again. But the moment passed. He saw too much of his wife, and the old pain. He spoke with a tinge of sadness, "No Son, it's your choice. Apologize, or go."
Bobby did not miss the look on his father's face, or the touch of pleading in his voice, but if his dad wanted him to stay, he should have articulated it. "Goodbye Dad," he said with dry flat finality. He left behind a sad man, a cold woman, and three rotten but shocked siblings, who never thought he had it in him.
"I'm sorry Mom," he said later to her headstone. "I tried. I really did but he's not Dad anymore. He only cares about her."
