PART ONE d – the Party

  "Thanks, Wizzy. That's the sweetest thing I heard all day. You're wonderful…"

  "And just so you know. I don't mean it creepy but… your clothes?"

  "Yeah…"

  "Its… kinda fun, seeing you in cute clothes. All the time. Its, like living with a fitness model, sort of. Cause you're an athlete, you know. And…"

  "And…"

  "You're butt. Those jeans…"

  "Do they make my butt look big?"

  "No, Light. The opposite. You have one of those tiny, hard little butts. Looks like a pair of apples, makes me wanna just take a bite out of your ass. Its really cute. I mean, not trying to be creepy about it. Just saying."

  "Huh. Yeah, these are some of my favorite hiphuggers jeans. Kinda my lucky jeans, if you know what I mean. Great for dates. Thanks, Wizzy. You're a real sweet talker, when you put you mind to it."

  "Anytime. I owe you big. You taught my little farm girl, to be a naughty girl. I could never repay you enough, just for that. Plus the other stuff. Thanks."

  "Hey, it was nothing. Remind me to teach her how to practice on a banana, if I forget when we get some in. You'll die when you see her practicing. I promise, way better then the carrots, believe me."

  I flicked my finger, pretty hard, on his thigh several times. Then? I put my cocked and locked finger up against his nut sack. He shut up quick. Light asked what was wrong.

  "Oh, nothing. I might have just got into trouble, with the boss here…"

  "Aw, Hurry. He's fine. He's just being nice. Let him slide."

  "Hmm. Just for you, just this once. I normally? Keep him on a pretty short leash, when I train him to be a good little boy."

  "Well? Whatever it is, its working, keep it up. He's nice. I'm happy for you two. Hey… are you guys gonna stay in the tub, for a little bit?"

  "We were pnning on it. Why?"

  "Its fine. You guys mind if I grab a quick shower? My clothes are clean, I kept running them through the washer and dryer down there, at the Army house. But, I left before I got a shower. I just wanna get a quickie, and put my clothes right back on. You mind?"

  "I don't care, Light. Like I said, we shower together after practice and games. How about you, little Wizzy. You care if she gets a quick shower?"

  "She already peed in front of us, what do I care."

  "Thanks, guys…"

  She got towels and a washrag and all that together, while she gabbed. Like she normally would, with me in here. Now, she's doing it in front of him as well.

  "So. There's a bunch of little parties tonight, all around the Vilge. We should do a crawl. Not like a, puke and crawl home crawl, just… hit a few, go out for once. I mean, you two? You never go out much. Its summer, you should treat yourself. What do you think."

  "Oh. I guess. Honey, you wanna go meet some of the Vilge people?"

  "Sure. We'll see how it goes. I don't wanna be out all night, on an asshole parade though."

  Little Lightning giggled.

  "No, that's the thing. There's a bunch. We pick an asshole convention? We just go to the next one. I wanna hit Lida's townhouse though. They all pitched in, and got a hot tub. I gotta see that."

  I was surprised.

  "A goddamn hot tub? Did Lida hit the lottery? Or is she hooking perverts for the summer now."

  "Not that kind of hot tub. I know how this sounds, but… its inftable. I swear, from the pictures? It doesn't look at all like you're thinking an inftable hot tub would look. I looked it up? They're really affordable, brand new. We could probably get one, if we tried. But anyways, I just gotta see it up close, to see. Looks like the shit. What do you think? We'll try it out."

  "I could live with seeing a new hot tub. How about you, sweet talker. You have any problems seeing your girlfriend and Lightning in a hot tub? We wouldn't want to offend your monk training or anything."

  He shrugged.

  "No, sounds like fun. As a warrior monk? Water holds special significance for me. It makes dirty little girls, all clean again. Like brand new."

  I chuckled.

  "Uh huh, what monastery did you study at again?"

  "Well… the… brotherhood, of the… wet girls? That's a really rough transtion, mind you. Real name's in Latin, its very religious sounding."

  "Oh, I'm sure it is…"

  Little lightning was getting undressed, and simply giggled and said "no peeking"… then giggled again and said to go ahead and peek, that it really didn't bother her.

  She continued talking to both of us, while she showered. Mind you, this giant shower has clear gss walls. Beads of water only slightly obscured his view of her completely naked and soaking wet from the back.

  I was shameless, and stroked his cock under water while he watched, whispering naughty things in his ear. Like, how we were gonna both tie him up. Give him his birthday spanking that he "missed". Give him a "tag team" tickling.

  "Hey Hurry?"

  "Yeah…"

  "What's this thing… is it some hind of… leather loofah? What…"

  I stood up, and dripped over to show her.

  "Oh. Be careful. This? Is a straight razor. Don't open it let alone touch it, if you don't know how to use one…"

  I opened and showed it to her, then closed it and put it back in its little porcein shelf.

  "That's all you, farm girl. That thing looks like a murder weapon. So, what's the leather loofah for…"

  "That, is called a strop. Watch…"

  I worked the straight razor a couple times, to show her.

  "That's called stropping the bde. It hones it."

  "Okay. Again, all you. And the brush?"

  "How do you wash and scratch your back, without one… here…"

  And I took the brush, and scratched her wet back with it.

  "Oh! God… that feels great…"

  "I call it a bum brush, though… wanna know why?"

  I gnced over at him, palming his face in his hand in the whirlpool tub.

  I scratched her butt cheek with it, then the other one, and went back to her back. Scratching her back, made her make what to his ears were the most delightful sounds. If someone was listening, they would think there was something sexual going on in the shower, when there really wasn't.

  I told her in a joking manner, we needed a "shower boy", to scratch our backs with the brush, with soap.

  "Well. That certainly works out good for you, farm slut. You got one. I? Don't. Thanks for showing me what I'm missing out on… story of my life tonight, for the love of god…"

  I went and got back in the whirlpool, in my accustomed spot. After shooing him with my foot, to get my seat back. He whispered in my ear, between her shower conversation she raised her voice to have us hear her for. Like it was completely normal of a thing, to hold a gabby conversation about this and that, while soaping up, rinsing off, and then applying baby oil all over from head to toe to moisturize her skin against ying out in the sun to deepen and enrich her tan with the water temporarily stopped, then to rinse it off after rubbing it all in.

  With another couple canoodling in a whirlpool several feet away. With gss that was clear, and provided a somewhat clear view of her from the back of her head, down to her heels. You couldn't make out any really fine details, because of the beaded water on the clear gss, but… he was clearly shocked, though all but slobbering, since I allowed him to look and more.

  I teased him in his ear.

  "You're, gonna get, to py with that…"

  His whispering in my ear was his armchair psych analysis of her situation.

  "Call me crazy, or an amateur, but…"

  "What."

  "I think she got raped, or molested or something, somewhere along the line. And… it has to have something to do with her mother, as weird as that sounds. That's just my hunch. Not my field."

  "That would be my guess, too. When she's ready? She'll talk to me about it. Until then? I act like nothing's wrong."

  "You're the expert."

  "You like?"

  "How long do I spend with Vaquera in the basement, if I like it."

  "Little boy, if you weren't so shy? I got the chair right there. The big butt brush? Right in the shower. And the leather strop, too. If I feel like it, I can put you over my knee, and give you the leather until you cry. Then? I bet I could get her to hand me the brush, so I can give you something to really cry for. Right on your soaking wet, naked little ass. I bet, she'd just think it was fun to watch, and call me kinky. Dare me to prove it? She's a lot of things, and shy just isn't one of them."

  He didn't dare me, and went back to watching the show.

  "How am I not getting into trouble again…"

  "If you have my permission, and I share you? You don't get into trouble."

  "Our secret? Is going to get out. You heard her, she's bragging about taking her room mate to teach her to give a blowjob. For two days and nights. Will it be fun to get used by both of you? Hotter than the surface of the sun, but… she's a self admitted attention whore. She'll bb our secrets she finds out about. Every one of them."

  "Will she brag she's having wild fun, to shock people? Yes. Definitely. But… anything I tell her not to tell? I guarantee she won't tell."

  "And why not?"

  "Duh. I saved her. From getting pretty much molested, right in the locker room, right in the shower. Where the other girls could see. By a bull dyke. The coach can't be in the girl's shower and locker rooms. The captains are supposed to put a stop to bullshit, and they were all ughing. I split their face open, too. She understands secrets, and she'll do anything I ask her to do. Or not do, as in tattletale what I tell her to keep secret. She was going to quit, because the older girls were jealous of a new freshman starting all the games, she's that fucking good. They were smacking her around, and the bull dyke was given a free hand to molest her to get rid of her. Being the star? Is all she has in her life, that she enjoys. I gave it back to her, and I make sure she's safe. On the field? And off."

  He stared at the baby oil getting rinsed off. He was all but drooling.

  "I can see what I get out of this again. Its right there. She looks like the pole vaulter on my calendar, and you have no idea how many times I…"

  "I know."

  "What are you getting out of this again?"

  "I get to py rotten bad mommy. Sharing you, against your will. Remember how the fighting girls, were sharing you?"

  "Yeah."

  "You? Are going to get shared. By the naughty, mean, rodeo girl. With the pole vaulter she's close friends with, and they share everything. And here's another little tidbit. When I go home for the holidays?"

  "Yeah…"

  "So do the other girls. She? Stays here and gets lonely. If you're a really good boy, and you treat me right all year long?"

  "Yes?"

  "Maybe, if you ask real nice? I'll give you my blessing. So you two can… keep each other company, when I'm gone for the long holiday break. She's not shy, and I think you can tell where I got a lot of the fun ideas you've been enjoying. That? Is the horse's mouth, so to speak. Anything you get your nerve up to ask for? Is probably a go."

  "She's… I mean, do I get in trouble for saying she's…"

  "Pretty? No, I know she's pretty. Its fine."

  "No. I mean, yes, she's… pretty cute. That's not what I was going to say."

  "Oh. What then."

  "How much trouble do I get in, for suggesting, she's a little…"

  "What, dear?"

  "Crazy? Just a touch. I don't mean, chop your pets up crazy. But. Now that I'm allowed to stare into her eyes? When she stares sometimes, its a really hard look, and it seems like its a steamy kind of look, but… if you look at it just right, maybe a little crazy."

  "I keep forgetting. You like sports girls, and you never saw us py. This isn't high school, this is the big university level. You know how the coach used to give you a… pep talk, try to get you mad, or determined… before an important game?"

  "Sure. Some coaches? I don't know how they do it. They start out, normal. Then… they start getting worked up. Using these, cool analogies and metaphors. They make you feel like a bird of prey, and its time to go out and just feed on your opponents. I don't know how they do it, but they can."

  "Yeah. Our coach does that. Motivation. Its as important as skills. At this level, as an athlete, being essentially paid more than many fathers make to feed a family per year, all the schorship money and perks added all up? Yeah. They expect you to show some personal motivation. You can dig that, right?"

  "Yeah. Sure."

  "I show it. I'm not as good as some of the other pyers, with any individual skill? But, I'm decent at all of them at once. It's my gift. And I'm a big strong girl, and I still have speed. Its my other gift. Its why I'm here. Its what got me here, its what keeps me here. But, I'm motivated. I get all worked up, I want a championship so bad, I can taste it. You can imagine me jumping around, wanting to go get em, right?"

  "Oh yeah. You can be intense. Its a good thing."

  "Well. If its a good thing to be motivated? Your Little Lightning? Is more… motivated. She's motivated like most girls are expected to be in games? For practice. She runs faster, she hits harder, she slides hard and gets bloody cherries up her legs. Other girls compin, she's too intense, just for practicing? The coach went nuts."

  "Oh. He yelled at poor Lightning. To keep it bottled up, and let it out for the game, instead."

  "No. He screamed at the girls compining, and all her friends. One was a co captain. You're a co captain? You should know better. You're all supposed to show this much focus, dedication, and intensity? Every practice. Every game. If you don't? Maybe you should go out for cheer-leading squad instead."

  "Freshman. Going to start. Big recruited star. Showing girls up from the first practice. The girls hated her. I can see it in my head."

  "You think you got it, but… scrimmage, a practice game? She's worse. Preseason games? She's a nut. And by the time the first game comes? She's fit to be put into a straitjacket and get happy shots. The coach? Fucking loves it. Coach asked me once, in private. I ever see anything like this before? I admitted it, not this bad. He asked me, with Psych csses. Was she a little… crazy. I said, maybe a little. He asked me what my opinion was. I told him. Legally? If she's not a direct threat to herself or others? That's not legally insane, that's just… different."

  "What did the coach say."

  "He said, Hurry? You know how they try pills, to make people less crazy? I said yeah. He asked if they had pills to make people a little bit crazy. To make the rest of the team get that worked up, trying to win. I told him, that there were many people down through history? If they weren't in the position they were in already, and people saw how good they were at it… someone probably would have decred them insane. But, its a kind of good crazy, that way. When you use it for a good purpose. Like a soldier, that really takes it to the enemy, and terrorizes your opponents. Yeah, she's got a little touch of crazy, but… when you see her in a game? You'll see how great it is. An announcer once joked? We break her out of the psych ward, just for games and have to send her back."

  We both looked in, because the music came on. The smaller, waterproof, Bluetooth music pyer was in there. She's dancing and singing, like a little girl enjoying herself in her room. I'm sure its technically sexy to see a tall, svelte, long legged girl dancing naked in the shower while you get to spy on her with no repercussions. Her singing takes away from it, its not like she has any voice training, and probably not enough raw talent to try it. But, she can really move.

  A lot of girls practice, practice, practice. Memorize and drill their favorite routines, so they can go out and try to have all the eyes on them at the dance clubs. Sure, they look good doing it, and everyone backs up and cps and cheers, watching them go. But, only until a girl that actually had some real dance training comes out to show her up. Lightning's mom, had tried her damnedest to make her into a real, professional dancer. Years making her do it, before she was old enough to get into sports instead. You can see it watching her dance, its obvious.

  There's also something childlike and innocent in watching her right now, too. It reminds me of a little kid, that craves the attention they've learned that dancing when adults are gathered, gets them. Someone cps, anther person gives a little cheer. You can see it on the little kid's face, they like the attention, its really getting something for them going. Nothing sexual, nothing on the agenda, just… craving attention and getting some, and happy for it.

  Some kids try to tell jokes, others will repeat commercials and lines from movies, all kids tend to do something for attention. I've read in Psych css that emotional development freezes in people, and it marks where the trauma happened in development. Until they're treated properly, and that's different for everyone what they require. It could be medication, therapy, revenge? Who knows. But, that's when they begin to pick up where they left off and grow emotionally again, if they can.

  The little girl that got raped repeatedly by some drunken alcoholic she had to spend the summer with, as a young girl? Yeah. They famously revert to that widdle kiddie voice their whole lives. They pout dramatically, and use made up cutesy widdle kid words for everything. Instead of saying "spooky spider", they pout and point, and say "pooky, pider". Some guys think its cute, some find it sexy the same way an adult woman dressing up like a Catholic grade school girl is hot. Some guys hate it, and others get freaked out.

  She never once pulled the widdle girl voice. Whatever happened to her to scar her permanently? It happened when she was old enough she could talk properly. When I see her like this, I can sense she's just having fun even though soaking up a few drops of attention that she craves. There's an audience of one boy out here, so she'll take it. Its still somehow childlike and innocent. She's enjoying herself for a few minutes. I always wrack my brain, trying to pin down what age the trauma happened. My best guess is rape or molestation, or some kind of reted exploitation of some kind. It fits with the mild sexual dysfunction. Some females respond with a shell, and refuse to ever show skin, ever try to be intimate, even with a proper caring romantic partner.

  Others respond with an outwardly focused hyper-sexuality. There's that slightly weird, she’s not kidding, I trade sex for attention, and refuse to take any gifts for it thing going. I mean, women shouldn't be gold diggers, but some level of trading sex and intimacy, for the guy doing something for them? Is entirely appropriate in our culture. Daddy will only work so many years providing for the wife and kiddies, without some sex thrown from mommy now and again.

  She snags boys like a girl fishing, and gets them alone and fucks them. But, when they try to take her out to dinner? Not interested. She'll walk home if they try to kidnap her and take her to a nice dinner. If a guy buys her even a small present? She'll leave it there, and if he tries to insist he wants her to have it? She'll yell at him, and throw it and storm out. Army boy was the only time I ever even heard of her once, let alone seen or heard from her own lips, that she was really trying, for once, to actually have a "real" boyfriend. She tried to make him happy in bed, and it backfired on her.

  She still can show the occasional emotional outburst. Its like a tiny but non erasable little mean streak mixed in with the whole dish. It can surprise a guy, and downright terrify a smaller girl. Surrounded by a lot of big, fit girls? Its not nearly the problem it would be if she was surrounded by smaller, weaker, more typically average females. You know, like when she one day hits some office somewhere. Its sort of appropriate, the person always earned their outburst, but… its out of all proportion to the crime. Its socially cutting off the hand that stole a disposable cigarette lighter.

  She doesn't do it all the time but its not the rarest thing in the world, either. Its rage when you see it. The gring eyes, the scary contorted face. If she can't hurt the offender, she'll resort to hurting herself. Its over soon after it starts, no matter what the outcome. She won't pick anything up, if she can't do it with her body, she won't do it.

  This line of reasoning, isn't as accurate as I need. No trauma kid voice, so old enough she spoke properly. Way older than a toddler. Not quite an adult yet, though. Still got that leftover tantrum waiting to sneak out that had yet to be conquered, to be a full fledged young adult. Different kids develop at different rates, and depending on a variety of factors. Genetic, environment, influences. Take your pick when she got traumatized, and it doesn't seem to me like it was a one time event, but it wasn't years in the making. A short term, repeated trauma. Long enough to scar, but not long enough to completely cripple.

  8, 10, 12, 14? Somewhere in that range, judging by the rest of her make up. When the older girls were giving her the intense shits, she would get mad and fight back, or try to fight back. Normal. But when they put Bootsie, the big bull dyke up to cornering her, and smiling and touching her suggestively? Putting her arms around the littler girl, like a creepy man might do it. She froze. She shook. That was it.

  Every yman knows fight or flight. There's others. There's also freeze and flop. She did freeze. She was so scared, she couldn't even go for help after she was able to. She was crying alone in her room for days, unable to go to css, or practice. Bags packed, but putting off going home because that was right up there in her schema of things, with being prison raped in the shower or locker room by a bigger, scarier bull dyke.

  Regur women freeze when grabbed or cornered. Women who have no experience pying full contact or limited contact sports where they get used to being knocked around and shrugging it off like boys learn to when young. Not Quad A stars, and definitely not recruited stars at a top university athletic program. No way. The wimpiest girls we have, are tough as nails or they wouldn't be here. You get a check id on you and knocked on your ass, you not only get up and shake it off, you leap up running for the ball.

  No, its definitely some kind of rape, molestation, sexual exploitation. Her intense pathological hatred of her mother? That has to be in the mix somewhere too. I already hate her mother, and I've never met the woman, nor so much as seen a photo. Little Lightning will tell strangers her single mom died in a car accident, to avoid talking about it. I hope I never meet the woman, I might even like to take a swipe at her. Fucking your kid up because you're too stupid or too mean to know better? Kids grow up and forgive them their shortcomings regurly. Really, if you try at all and fail by biblical standards at it? You still stand a good chance of the kid growing up, and someday saying. Hey, I know you meant well, you tried, you screwed it up bad? But, at least your heart was in the right pce.

  No. This woman must be a real piece of work. Some kind of bad narcissist, I figure. Probably with touches of other goodies in the diagnosis. The extent of her parenting now? She buys oodles of cute and sexy clothes. Has them mailed in or delivered. A few computer mouse clicks, there. Parenting and parental love and caring? All done. Click, click, click.

  We have one special parent family game, every year. Whatever game is closest to homecoming. Little Lightning was an especially bright star that night. Then she walked off the field as soon as the final buzzer sounded, quietly gathered her things and marched off. No anger, no nothing. Like a quiet and polite zombie. Numb, somehow. She ended up with a rare hat trick, three goals in one game. One of them, was another of her seemingly impossible acrobatic shots, on that thin angle she can hit and can't even tell you how she does it.

  She had been on fire, and we won by three points. Without her, we would have tied, or lost. Its not just her scoring, she literally runs the other team to death with her speed and stamina. She doesn't even have to score or get assists to be highly effective. If you don't run your girls to death in practices to prepare them for her? They're gassed out by the st quarter, and the rest of the team can run around them too.

  Near as me and the coach could figure, it was the parents game. Everyone lines up after the game, and there's a series of parent family photos, each girl gets one and the family gets a set to take home and show off. Not her mom, whatever pyed daddy that year, nothing. No one bothered to show up, to smile for a photo with one of the biggest stars on the team. She hates her mother, her mother hates her pying soccer, so… parent game? Look out.

  I joked to the coach, can you adjust the schedule any way? Try to get someone favored over us on that game. She'll even it up, putting a job on them. We can get our big upset, trying to set the tone for going into the pyoffs coming up. He tried, he saw the wisdom of that gem, but no way. The school athletic program insists on a win for homecoming games, which is more or less what our parent game is. Only the all holy football team is allowed to have the "official" homecoming game, we're girls, we have to pick shit with the chickens. Fuck it, we're female athletes, we're used to it.

  I found her at home, while the other girls were out celebrating. Watching TV, but with headphones pying music on. Mild dancing because she was alone when I found her. It was her version of that immersion tank people go into. You just float, in body temperature water, no sensations. Sensory deprivation. Music on, so she can't hear the quiet of the outside world. TV on, so she has something to look at but not really follow, so she doesn't have to see an empty house. I guess moving and dancing around? Because it either makes her feel better, or it prevents nervous tics.

  I'm the den mother. I don't know what the hell to do in this case. I got us ice cream and snacks, and sat on the couch with her, and watched movies. Her favorite pick? Wizard of Oz. She can't see it enough. Like a little kid, that you indulge sitting and watching the same movie for the umpteenth time. She can watch ssher horror flicks, no problem. But when the scary music starts, and the flying monkeys are coming? She hides her face, and peeks out from behind her fingers, nervous squeaks of ughter. It would be heart rending cute, if it wasn't so tragic.

  She can't sing, but wants to sing along to every song, she knows every word. All the dialog too. She can get up and act out favorite parts, with gestures and everything perfect. She can do all Dorothy's dances, or any of the other characters. The one scene where they all have a side to side, swishing motion to their legs, looks like they should fall over but never do? She does that, dancing down sidewalks when she's in a good mood.

  She has her own little dance she made up, for the wicked witch is dead finally. Go figure, I don't need a degree in Psych to figure that one out. Ding dong, my cunt of a mother is dead. She looks like she might actually cry, when the scarecrow gets his straw ripped out and thrown around. She has weird "lube him up!" jokes for when they oil the tin man up to get him unfrozen from rust hibernation and moving around.

  There's no pce like home? She giggles and says "Yeah, thank god for that!"

  She both likes and hates precious Dorothy's idealistically simple home life. She's the reverse of what the heroine's condition is. Home? That's the weird and scary pce. Where some unknown scary flying monkeys can come out when the scary music starts up. The weird, unpredictable and scary world she's transported to? That's the scary outside world, but for her it's home.

  I asked her once why she never ran away. Kids ran away from home for probably a lot less than whatever was in her past. That's what I figured in my head, but didn't dare say. Because the instant you assume you know something in Psychology, is when you make some huge mistake. Here, I had no way of knowing, until the patient told me. For all I knew, she'd been forced to watch her favorite dog's litter of puppies get smashed on the cement floor like dolls in front of her eyes, or ten times worse. What it was? Might be horrible beyond comprehension. Or, as mild as something trivial to an ordinary person. You never knew, until you knew.

  So, I simply asked why she had never ran away, when it was such a popur option. She shrugged. Then simply said she was determined, to not let her mother "win". Whatever that even means.

  I started out, just getting brownie points with my coach. I won't lie. I mean, I was determined to help the team out, and in any thankless way I could. I was already putting my team ahead of my body, and taking abuse pying my part as the Hurricane. But I can't lie, what would the point be. Some part of it, pying den mother and pretend best friend and pretend big sister, and real life guard dog? It quickly turned real. When you give someone protection and care that they're incapable of giving themselves, and they start to follow you around, and you see that sappy little smile. It quits being brownie points, and it becomes very real.

  Little Lightning, and Right were initially jealous of each other, because each had been the only big shining star at their big Quad A school on their respective teams. Both got the shits from jealous older team mates, but only Little Lightning had the added bonus pn of the prison rape scenario. I saw those two get over petty spoiled little kid jealousy, and turn into squabbling sisters. They argued over nothing, they shared everything, they teased and tormented each other like only real sisters could. But, I stayed Little Lightning's big sister, I don't know that I'll ever outlive that role.

  No more brownie points. Until I have my own kid one day, this girl not much younger than I am, really, is as close to being a mother as I guess I could get. I'd say that if you kick her, its like kicking me. Don't do it, but… that's not how it is. You'd rather take the kick yourself, rather then they get it. Maybe that's what motherly love is supposed to be, how deep its supposed to go.

  So, my little sister, adopted daughter, whatever the hell she really is… about done and wrapping up with her little showering show. She smiled and teased us both for "peeking", then stuck her tongue out so we knew she was kidding. She put her underwear on, under the towel material oversize bathrobe her mom mailed her one time with the usual care package of clothes. She looks like some debutante from some movie in it, what you see on the screen when they want to depict someone staying in a first css hotel or expensive day spa. The big luxury bathroom and giant shower does little to diminish the effect.

  She turned back around with her underwear pulled up now, show's over and she has pity now on either us or herself. No, she’s going for her jeans with the loose and open towel robe. I guess seeing her almost clearly enough through beaded water droplets diffusing the focus wasn't good enough, he might as well get the full effect. She had drilled into my head, for my third date? That if I wanted to come off as "worldly" and "experienced" that way… one way stood above any other.

  "Show your tits, they come running." No two ways about that. Guys love girls that fsh. She said mine were bigger than hers, mine were every bit as fit and toned and well formed as hers. So? I win the tits game. Show them to him, to let him make an informed decision that I wasn't slightly chubby. Show him explicitly and up close, that I really was solid muscle and female curves, both all at once. Not the slightly chubby tall girl the jeans and T shirts procimed I was to the clothed world. Drive him over the edge on anticipation. First? He knows sex night is coming, its on the calendar. Then, the long drive, the knowing, the waiting, the anticipation of Christmas coming. Then, being shown the merchandise he's being asked to buy. Told he gets to try it on, too. I thought she'd been crazy, telling me to think dispy rack with merchandise on it, that's what I'm doing. Worked though.

  She eats her own advice, she doesn't just hand it out. He got the full effect of seeing her robe open and dropped down off her shoulders, while she stepped into her designer jeans and wiggled them up. For that briefest of moments? She was naked from head to toe, except for only her little panties. Trust me here, she doesn't wear granny panties, quite the opposite.

  Her mom would have gotten her whatever was the highest rated fashion that year they were clicked on. Girls that didn't know her, assumed she was fucking loaded. Where the hell was the Mercedes at, was what people assumed.

  He doesn't know designer special hiphuggers jeans with shoece faux fly, from the department store cheap knock offs. I don't need a ser dot to ascertain his vision aiming point. He's eyeing her from her feet to her underwear, and those long legs ripped and cut with compact muscle. She shifts her weight? They react and dance. Like I tell him when he ogles my tan leg muscles, you wait until the season is underway, and we've dropped our off season porker pounds. I don't remind him, he'll see it when it happens. Those legs, get worse. The veins come out when she's working them, and the muscle fibers stand out, the corduroy lines of muscle striations.

  She was just about to drop her shirt on, and she padded over to the tub. Sexy jeans and bare feet, and just couldn't manage to get that shirt on yet. I gave her license to flirt, and she was.

  "Wizzy? I forget you don't really hit the bars. Here you go. There's probably more guys that have seen my tits, than haven't. They're boobs, I'm sure you've seen boobs before. They're not even big or special or anything. Standard issue, no one added the extra couple bucks to get them bumped up a cup, when they mail ordered me on the internet, I guess. I'm no options, base model only."

  She smiled, and dropped her shirt over the "base model" tits. She gave a little sigh. Then grabbed him by the chin, and demanded her dolr.

  "You looked! You kick up the buck, you fucking cheapskate! These things get me seven dolr drinks, all night, any night I want! You? Get longer, all for a measly dolr! Get your wallet out, you cheap fuck!"

  She was feigning it, and lowered her voice instantly back to quiet as a church mouse.

  "Okay. Fifty cents, but that's it. I don't get any cheaper than that, I mean I have to have some standards, right?"

  He's just staring at her ft, tan tummy now. Like he stares at my abs. I have the ones that stand up, slightly rounded off. She has the thinner, harder looking ones. As if the marble was too hard to go for lifelike depth like on mine, and the artist had to settle for outlines only.

  "What, Hurry. Does he have some… weird bellybutton fetish or something? Its an inn-y, I don't have a weird one. Standard issue, when mom and dad ordered me on the internet."

  "No. I told you, weeks ago. He's a leg man."

  "He gets a leg show every morning, this was tit night. I didn't know I could have just took a picture of my bellybutton, and emailed your phone. We could keep this one quiet at the party all night."

  His finger came up, and went to poke her tan tummy, then stopped.

  "Oh. He's scared to touch me. Christ, I have no trouble getting pawed up all year and now this is the second one afraid to touch me this week. Go ahead. Poke it. My belly, nothing that'll get you bit again."

  His finger froze in mid air, and he looked at me.

  "You're fine, dear. Go ahead."

  He poked it gently, then a couple times more firmly.

  "Its like wood."

  "Yeah. Walnut was base model that year. I think they switched to mahogany, I kinda got gypped. I'm made of a cheaper cut of wood, thanks for noticing."

  He went to pinch the inch. He had to kind of dig in, with mild effort, and we both ughed. Took effort to get some skin, and the little fingerprint of light, faded slowly back to her rich medium tan shade.

  "Yeah. I'm like your own there. We're pork-ed out in the off season. By the first game, you can see what real girls looks like. Until then? We're fluffy and soft. Enjoy it while it sts. Hope you're not too much of a leg man, Wizzy. These things are gonna look like they went through a meat grinder, after a couple games. I'll have more scabs than skin. Her too. Take a picture, if you like our legs. You won't see them again until the season ends."

  One little poke more? Then he was done.

  "Does he talk, or… is this like some kind of… epilepsy thing. I didn't see a bracelet on him. Am I supposed to hold his tongue down with a spoon, or…"

  She giggled, and ran her hand slowly up and down in front of his face. Then she started snapping her fingers.

  "Up… up… up… up here, boy. Yeah, there you go."

  "What? Am I in trouble?"

  "Not if you didn't shit the tub. Let me try your handler… Hurry? There a pile of clothes nearby?"

  "Uh, my rooms locked."

  "Keys are right there, want me to…"

  "Oh. Um… no. I got, stuff out."

  Lightning giggled.

  "Gotcha. I don't need to know. I'll get you a towel, you want the robe…"

  "Actually. Just grab my stuff out the dryer, would you?"