by Jw Grodt
He gave Kelsey thirty dollars and told him to keep the change. Then he peeled off fifty more and handed them to Bob.
“Ok, fish lover, you won! But only by luck!” he said.
“Ah, the agony of defeat,” Bob boasted. Then he plucked the bills from Brad’s hand and with deliberate bravado said “A pleasure doing business with you, sir!” Bob, with a huge grin, straightened out the bills, put them into his money clip and returned it to his pocket.
Brad said goodnight to his friends and headed for the exit. At a table against the front windows near the door he spied Crystal, talking to some guy. She spotted him and wiggled her fingers in a casual wave. Her companion, who had his back to Brad, turned and surveyed him head to toe. He turned back to Crystal, leaned in and muttered something, and they broke into laughter.
The guy, still laughing, looked back at Brad. Brad’s temper flared and he hesitated, his hand on the door handle. He was drunk—really drunk. He mentally ran over the scenario of clocking this asshole, and then having to explain to Kelsey later why he did it. His good sense took over and he thrust the door open and went out into the sobering, chilly autumn air.
“That bitch, that rotten lousy bitch!” he said when he was safely inside the car. He slammed his fists into the steering wheel. She had told that other guy about his problem and their laughter had been at his expense. He was certain of it. He sat fuming for a minute or two, thinking about going back inside. Finally he calmed down and turned the ignition.
Nothing. He jumped out, kicked the car door closed and cursed aloud as he walked around and jerked up the hood of the car. As he had done before, he twisted the battery cables, but this time to no avail. He tried several times but still the engine would not start. With a final, angry oath he started out on foot. It was only a couple of miles to his house.
The temperature was warmer than usual for mid-September. Heavy cloud cover over the Washington metro area had not produced a drop of rain all day; with nightfall, stars twinkled through patches of clouds.
He walked three blocks and entered a residential area he knew well. His path took him past the high school that he and his wife, as well as his son, had attended. He stopped abruptly when he recognized with a flash of sentiment the dirt path leading from the front of the high school to the housing addition beyond. The old shortcut to school was still used.
“I had forgotten about this,” he said to himself.
The path was in the general direction of his own home, and he veered onto the school grounds, letting memories flood his brain: bloodying Tommy What’s-His-Name’s nose in a fight over an issue that had long left his memory. His father had punished him for fighting, though Brad always thought secretly that his dad was proud he had “won.” Then there was Mary Beth Jones. He and Mary Beth dated throughout high school, and though she wasn’t technically his first love (he had lost his virginity at thirteen to a promiscuous classmate named Arlene), the two of them fell madly in love. He had wanted to get married after they graduated, but her parents wanted her to go to college. Mary Beth went off to UCLA, and over time, their romance faded.
His wife, Julie, had been a freshman when he and Mary Beth were seniors. During the summer after he and Mary Beth parted ways, he met his wife-to-be at a teen dance on the outdoor basketball court of Jefferson Park. The attraction was mutual and instantaneous, and they saw each other every night after that.
At once, amid the sentiment of past romances, the memory of Crystal’s casual wave and her tittering laughter flashed in his mind. He became angry at the contrast. If my damn dick had just cooperated!
He trudged on, his frustration with his son’s unpredictable car and the insouciant hooker making him plant each foot firmly onto the packed earth of the path. Past the school was a wooded area, a buffer between the school and the houses beyond. The path bisected the woods, and there was just enough moonlight to avoid tripping over tree roots and other undergrowth. Just as he emerged from the wood line, what he saw made him stop dead in his tracks: he was maybe twenty yards away from the most beautiful woman he had seen in a very long time…and she was completely naked. Brad blinked hard to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.
The young woman stood on her deck, silhouetted in the light coming through the sliding glass doors behind her. She appeared to be taking in the cool night air, feeling secure in the privacy provided by the trees. She took her long hair in both hands and twisted it into a temporary ponytail, allowing the soothing air to get to the back of her neck. Then, she casually stepped back inside, leaving the door open about a foot or so, and drew the curtain.
My god, she’s gorgeous! Brad’s gaze remained fixed on the doorway, the curtain undulating slightly in the breeze. All at once he was moving forward in a trance, his once heavy footfalls now hitting the grass methodically, with stealth. Whether it was the booze, his frustration with Crystal, his loneliness or whatever, some irresistible force immediately quashed any flash of warning in his brain. He stopped at the first step that led up to the deck, uncertain of his next move. A moment later, he gingerly placed his right foot close to the stringer, so as not to cause the stained pine board to squeak. Three or four equally careful steps and he was standing on the deck.
He looked around to see if anyone was about. When he was sure he wasn’t being watched, he leaned in and peered through the inches-wide opening between the drape and the doorframe. He was looking into the woman’s bedroom. Startled by his reflection in a mirror over the dresser on the far wall, he quickly stepped back. After waiting a few moments, listening to his own shallow breathing, he peered into the room once more.
He was hoping to get a close-up view of that body, and as he stood there his conscience began to prod him, urging him to leave. He needed to get the hell out of there. Repeatedly he glanced over his shoulder, making sure no one could see him. His internal protests were overridden by the desire for just one more look. One more, and then I’ll leave, he promised himself.
He heard himself gasp: there she was. Her angular, subtle curves were wrapped in a thick, nappy white bath towel. Another of the same was wound about her head. He watched lasciviously as she tucked the towel more firmly to the left of her breast. As he prayed for the towel to fall, he felt the blood rushing to his groin. A sleazy feeling washed over him, but he ignored it—in truth he simply went with it, feeling somehow liberated.
The girl pulled a pair of red panties and a matching bra from a dresser drawer, and he began to shake with anticipation. She removed the towel from her head, and began to rub the long brown tresses that cascaded between her shoulder blades. His impatience mounted when she pulled a hair dryer from the dresser. His body began to shake even more as he watched her dry her hair and then brush it out. A voice inside kept echoing, “Leave! Leave now!” His shoes, however, were glued to the pine planks.
She flipped her hair again and fluffed it with her fingers. Brad was reminded of his few trips to strip clubs and the long, drawn-out tease. His wait was not nearly as anxious or prolonged. All at once she removed the towel, tossed it on the bed, and Brad breathed in deeply through his nose, shuddering as he exhaled.
She turned sideways, admiring herself in the mirror. Brad’s mouth dropped open as he took in her full breasts, the size of small cantaloupes, and the large pink nipples. She ran her hand over her flat stomach, a look of doubt flashing over her beautiful face.
Don’t worry, sweetie. You look great—more than great.
She turned around to examine her backside. Oh, sweetheart, your ass is perfect. You don’t have to worry.
He was mesmerized. He struggled to keep himself from either losing it in his pants or fainting there on the spot. In his lustful stupor, he leaned in too far and bumped his head on the glass door. There was just enough of a thump to cause her to look back in his direction and then, to his horror, she was screaming.
He pushed open the sliding door and, heaving his clum
sy body forward, rushed over to silence her. Her eyes were wide-open with terror as he grabbed her and clapped his hand over her full lips. As he listened to her muffled screams her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed in his arms. He cradled her limp body as he looked down at her in horror. Images of a panic-stricken Quasimodo flashed in his head.
Holy Christ, she’s passed out! If her husband or anyone comes running in what the hell am I going to do? He stood motionless, held his breath, and listened. Nothing stirred. The house was silent. She must be home alone.
He scooped her up and carried her to the bed. Overwhelmed with shame he started to cover her, but as he did so his hand came in contact one of her full, welcoming breasts and he froze, his eyes sweeping over her, taking in all of her perfect feminine form.
She was younger than he had thought—she might have been only in her late teens. One could never tell these days. At his age, any woman under thirty looked pubescent. He looked around the room. There was nothing to indicate she was not an adult, no posters or stuffed animals or anything to indicate jailbait. He began to touch her stomach, ever so slowly, running the back of his index finger over her. Her skin was silk.
When she did not stir, his hand moved up to her breasts. He stroked them, softly, resisting the urge to take one nipple between his fingertips. He was fully erect now, unsure of whether his brain or his cock would explode first. The only sound was the blood pulsing in his ears.
Before he knew what he was doing he had unbuckled his trousers and let them drop to the floor, his shorts following suit. Again he gingerly fondled her breast, at the same time rubbing his penis back and forth against her firm thigh. His confidence had returned and he briefly thought of Crystal. If she could only see my stiff cock now.
He climbed onto the bed carefully, trying not to jostle the girl too much. As he leaned over her, he contemplated kissing her breasts and all of her supple, young body. No time for that. She might wake up. Slowly he parted her thighs, trying to control both his breathing and his anxious erection. She moaned slightly and he froze once more. Ten seconds later, when she didn’t awaken, he was easing the tip of his penis between her folds. He fumbled around, feeling like he was thirteen again, until the flesh gave way. Within seconds he had given way as well—the release washing over him like a cleansing tide—and then he let out the longest sigh of his life, his lips forming into a low, tremulous whistle.
I’m still a man.
CHAPTER FOUR
When Brad was fully cognizant again, he was walking back through the woods along the path, headed in the direction he had come. He recounted his actions back in the girl’s bedroom. He had rushed into the adjoining bathroom and cleaned himself with toilet paper, flushing it down the toilet afterward. After grabbing a dry washcloth from the bathroom, he had wiped down everything he thought he might have touched. After covering the girl with the bedspread, he got dressed, pocketed the washcloth, and before he stepped outside he quickly surveyed the room to make sure things looked “normal,” though why he had thought that mattered he had no idea.
He stepped off the path into the trees, stumbling into saplings and tripping over brambles. Turning on the flashlight function of his cell phone, he spied a log on the ground and stuffed the washcloth beneath it. Then he doubled back and began to follow the path again. A dog several yards off began to bark, likely having heard him crashing through the bushes. Brad panted heavily as he quickened his pace along the path. His bewildered and frantic thoughts kept colliding in his mind as he struggled to wrap his head around what he had just done, while at the same time trying to decide what to do next.
Once he emerged onto the street in front of the high school, he started to head in the direction of his house. He stopped short, however, and began to think. I need an alibi. He turned around and headed back to Kelsey’s.
When he arrived at the strip mall, he stopped at Jared’s car and popped the hood. He rubbed a leaky valve cover with his fingers and smudged his face with oil and grease; he made sure his hands were dirty as well. Then he took a deep breath, put an annoyed scowl on his face, and walked into the bar.
“Hey, Brad! Come back to hear the final score?” Bob was still there, so he sat down next to him, waved Kelsey over and ordered boilermakers for the two of them.
“As if things aren’t bad enough that I had to spend my evening with this fish lover here and be let down by the Skins, but then I go to leave and that piece of shit car of my son’s won’t start. I just spent an hour futzing with it to no avail. I’ll have to bum a ride home.”
Kelsey and Bob chuckled at his tale of woe. Brad belted down the shot and washed it with a big pull on his beer, then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. He looked up and saw his reflection in a mirror behind the bar and abruptly turned away.
“Is it turning over?”
“Huh? What’s that?” Brad said, hearing Bob’s voice and shaking his head once or twice to bring himself back in the moment.
“Is it turning over, the engine?” Bob repeated.
“Aw, hell no! Just a grunt, no more. Probably needs a new battery. I’ll deal with it tomorrow when I get my car back from the kid. I should probably just tell him we should junk the thing and look into something newer.” Brad was getting into his ruse of a surly, put-out parent.
“Well, I’ll give you a lift home, buddy. Bob looked at his watch. “Hell, it’s almost one o’clock, time to head home anyway. Besides, it’s the least I can do since I took your money, right?” Bob let out a guffaw and slapped Brad on the back. The slap sent a shockwave through him. Somehow, the sudden bodily contact with someone else gave him a sick feeling in his stomach. His mind flashed back to the image of the girl on the bed.
“Thanks, asshole,” Brad said with a smirk and finished off his beer.
On the ride home, Bob gave a blow-by-blow account of the parts of the game Brad had missed. He paid little attention as he internally recounted his actions only minutes ago. Brad’s only responses were an occasional “yeah.” When they pulled into Brad’s place, Jared was pulling up in the Lincoln at the same time. Brad thanked Bob for the ride and he drove off.
“What happened, Dad? Where’s my car?” Jared asked.
“Back at Kelsey’s,” Brad replied. “Not sure what’s wrong with it. Won’t start. We’ll get it tomorrow.”
They walked into the house together. After some idle chat about their mutual evenings, they both retired.
Brad took a hot shower, standing under the rain head until the water turned cold, his eyes fixated on the white tile wall. His mind was reeling. When he climbed into bed, he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. His body was charged with electric fear and sleep eluded him until the wee hours. When it finally came, it was shallow and agitated. His mind never disengaged from feelings of terror and self-loathing.
The next morning he awoke with panic shooting through his body. The window revealed a clear autumn day, with lots of sunlight and white clouds sashaying across an azure sky—an incongruous contrast to the events of the night before: scenes of flesh and lust that looped through his mind again and again. A tear ran down his cheek. He hoped, really hoped the young woman didn’t remember anything or somehow thought it was some kind of bad dream.
He grabbed the remote from the nightstand and clicked on a small television in the armoire across from the bed. “Good morning, Washington! Here’s the news at the top of the hour for this Tuesday, the seventeenth day of September….” He sat on the edge of his bed and listened intently, barely able to breathe…nothing. Maybe she is still asleep; maybe she is too ashamed to tell; maybe she doesn’t know…yeah, that’s it—she saw a man coming at her through the door, passed out and thinks her attacker ran away—she must have gotten into bed half-conscious and didn’t remember. That thought brought a smile to his otherwise worried expression, and then it faded quickly when he remembered that she had seen his face up
close, just before she blacked out.
He began to consider what he would do if the crime were reported. He would have to leave the area, for sure. He could say he was retiring—he had mentioned moving to the southwest before. He could give the house to Jared, as he had plenty of money. The thought of living far from his son did not set well with him, however.
He skipped his usual exercise routine that morning and moved to the kitchen where he made coffee and texted Maggie, saying he would be in late. He managed to get a little coffee down as he sat in the living room and continued to watch the local news. Jared was sleeping in so he kept the volume low. Finally, the boy, clad only in his boxers, emerged from his room.
“Hey, son. How about after you get some breakfast in you we run down to Donavan’s Auto and grab a battery? I think that’ll solve the problem.” Brad forced a smile as he looked into Jared’s yet sleepy eyes.
“Sure, Dad. You’re the one who knows cars, after all. I’ll grab something and throw on some clothes.”
They made small talk as they rode to the auto parts store. Brad had the radio on the entire time, tenaciously listening for any news reports, while at the same time he feigned interest in Jared’s conversation. When they arrived at Donavan’s, they both went inside and Tony—a stout, pot-bellied, long-time employee sporting the standard uniform of a golf shirt with an embroidered nametag—assisted them.
“Hi, Tony. We need a battery for a 1972 Monte Carlo for my son’s old car.” Brad threw his credit card on the counter.
“I’ll be right back with that.” Within five minutes Tony was back, battery in hand.
“Hey guys, did you hear what happened?” Tony said excitedly.
“No, what?” Jared responded casually.
Brad was certain this was it. Panic raced through his mind. He was bracing his facial muscles for a shocked expression when Tony’s phone, ringing in the back office, interrupted them.