Fear No Evil

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

Another Year, Another Birthday

With Lavinia almost an invalid, I worked my butt off running the Bed Breakfast. Times had changed the nature of the family business and our big frame house with the ten bedrooms was more of a boarding house than a B B. It had been announced that a large military factory was being built five miles down the road. Suddenly every old house, every motel along the highway and every apartment building for ten miles were packed with workers streaming into the area. This should have meant a big economic boom for a community that had suffered when the resort business fell off. But the sudden transient nature of the community turned our once untroubled world into something very different. Packed residences were populated by a lot of disgruntled workers. Rough bars sprung up to smooth off the edges of grueling days. Everything from playful rough-housing to violent fist-fights became part of the coastal scene. Women had to either be as tough as the men, or a lot more cautious where they went at night.

Since I was so busy taking care of business at home, that is where I stayed. Jack and Lydia were no longer there to protect me, so I consigned myself to becoming a virtual hermit. I ran errands in town for groceries, but then, with the exception of a few trips to the library, I headed back home, avoiding the cafés and bars and usual places where young people in town gathered. Once Spring began to show its face some time in mid April, the entire focus of my thoughts was on the return of Jack and Lydia. They promised that they’d make it home for our annual birthday celebration.

The days just prior to the solstice had me restless, not just because I anticipated Jack and Lydia’s arrival. The same raunchy s****l desire that had been triggered the year before was suddenly ignited once again. In fact, it had not ceased to burn for even a single day since early May. I wanted s*x so badly that I could taste it on my lips. My tongue burned to lick the lips of a lover, to savor the essence of a clit or c**k. My p***y clenched as I glanced at men’s crotches, or a woman’s ass or breasts. I worked even harder, scrubbing floors to take that edge away. But it didn’t do much good. For eleven months since my virginity was taken, I’d suppressed the need to repeat that act. But there was no suppressing once I realized that my lovers, my best friends would be returning soon.

With the summer solstice just a day away, I expected Jack to arrive in the morning. I was almost giddy at the thought of resuming the s****l adventures that made our eighteenth birthday so memorable. Some days I worried that what I’d experienced was no more than a fantasy, driven by my own powerful need for s*x. But my body did not lie. I was no longer a virgin, not in any physical, mental or emotional way.

I couldn’t wait to see Jack’s face, though I was less sure of a reunion with Lydia. She had always been the wildcard in our threesome. Her bold sometimes caustic personality, the flaming in-your-face politics and her need to control always made me quake in terror. But I couldn’t help but love her deeply, she was a soul mate, my female twin, and the timeline of our lives would always intersect over the strange circumstances of our birth.

I was actually thinking of Lydia, not Jack, as I carried a laundry basket of clean clothes up the basement steps. On turning the corner into the hall, I abruptly stopped short, seeing Jack casually leaning against the wall.

“Jack! What the he—”

“I got done with exams, my commitments were in order, so I took off early.”

I dropped the laundry basket and gave him a big hug. “Yeah! It’s so good to see you. Lydia won’t be here til tomorrow.” I stood back and viewed him. I wasn’t sure it was possible, but he looked even more masculine and sexy than he had the year before.

“So what if she’s not here? It’s not going to stop me from celebrating now.” He pulled a fifth of Jack Daniels from his coat pocket and waved it at me.

“Where’d you get that?”

“I have plenty of friends.”

“I’ll bet you do,” I came back enviously. “You have to tell me everything. You know you’re a miserable letter writer, Jack Wright.”

“Sure. But how about the boathouse now?” In his expression I could see a flicker of erotic heat, the desire for s*x so palpable that it clung to his clothes.

Jack with a fifth of whiskey, a hard c**k and a need for me.

“You can finish whatever you’re doing later.”

He was right, I could.

I tossed the laundry basket onto the kitchen table then called to the part-time girl, Amy. I was going out for a while, I told her, then I strode off to the boathouse arm and arm with Jack. His hand dropped to my ass and squeezed it roughly, igniting a fresh burst of spasms in my hungering body. I wanted to f**k and f**k hard.

Once inside the boathouse, Jack took a swig of whiskey and offered the bottle to me. I gulped down at least a shot, as if I did this every day. The whiskey was warm and soothing as it slid down my throat, helping to loosen my grip on all my pent-up s****l energy.

Jack must have read my body language, either that or he was himself too horny to care about foreplay. As soon as I handed back the bottle, I felt his hard body press into mine. His groin and lips hit me in the same instant, and I started to cry when he pushed my shorts down and thrust his hard rod into my p***y, slapping me hard against the wall. “God, yes!” I heard myself scream. My cry was consent enough for Jack. In one decisive move, he lifted me into his arms and began f*****g me hard against the rickety boathouse walls. I thought the entire building would break from the powerful force of our fast f*****g. We grunted and groaned with an animated fervor. He tore at my t**s, sucked a raw red hickey at my throat, and with the fingers of one hand teasing my asshole, drew out a whole new world of sensation for that forbidden place. I think I exploded first, but he followed quickly afterwards as my spasming love hole milked his c**k with its rhythmic contractions.

“Yes, Priss…God…yes…babe!” Scowling. Hard. Terse. His throaty baritone demanded more.

I gave him more, attacking his erection with my spasming cunt, until he finally came.

“Goddam…fuck…meeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!” he roared, while I wilted inside his arms.

We collapsed to the mat behind us afterwards, his c**k and my cunt dripping wet as they disengaged.

I would have been content to let that be enough for awhile, but before I could catch my breath, Jack’s hand was in my hair, guiding my head to his c**k. My mouth opened, instinctively knowing what he wanted, even though this was my first oral experience. I drank in his smells and mine, contentedly cleaning his organ, licking away every last drop of c*m.

My heart was beating fast when he finally pulled me up. I wanted something more but I wasn’t exactly sure what that was.

“You been practicing your s****l technique?” he asked.

“Only in my mind.” I smiled.

“Really? Here I’d thought you’d be good to go, after what we did to you last year.”

I stared at him, annoyed and worried. “That was special, Jack. You think I’d want to f**k anything that moved?” His mood was darker than I was accustomed to, his face presenting me with a cynical, expression I’d never seen. I wasn’t sure I liked it, though I wanted to understand what it meant.

He ran his hand through my hair, again and again, methodically. As if mesmerized by its silky feel, he drew his fingers through the long locks then starting over again from the top. I finally felt a little love creep back through the darkness of his attitude. What just happened between us seemed born our of desperation, not love at all. Maybe for the first time I understood that s*x didn’t have to be about love. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that possibility.

“I don’t want you f*****g anyone but me, Priss,” he said. “But it’s pretty unrealistic to expect you’ll save yourself for once a year, or whenever I manage to make it home.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“So…?”

“So what?”

“How many guys was it?”

Pissed again, I pulled away. “It wasn’t anyone, Jack! I didn’t f**k a single soul. I f****d in my dreams to the memory of you and Lydia, but I didn’t f**k anyone in the flesh.” I was beginning to hate that word.

He looked a little chagrinned. “You didn’t have to save yourself.”

“I know that. I just didn’t find anyone that was worth my time.”

“So, am I still worth your time?” He sounded so young and sad and vulnerable. I didn’t understand that from a guy who’d be such a hot, macho stud the last few years.

“Of course, you’re worth my time. I’m yours, I always will be.”

“That so?” He smiled and stroked my calf—at the moment, it was all I allowed him to touch.

“I’m just not quite used to this between us,” I admitted.

“Me neither, Priss. We used to just be friends.”

I nervously bit my lip. “You know, I think I’d like to wait for Lydia.”

“Wait? Wait for what?”

“Wait to do… you know, anything else.” I suddenly felt embarrassed being half naked in front of him, so I grabbed my shorts and quickly dressed.

“That’s okay, Priss. I need to go home to mom, she’s expecting me.”

Jack left me in the boathouse before I could leave him. In a manipulative, girlish way I think I wanted him to disagree, or argue, talk me into more s*x, or force it on me…demand it of me as if he owed me. This was a terrible ending, I thought. Although I’d have more s*x soon enough, as in twenty-four hours later.

***

Jack, Lydia and I convened our annual birthday bash at the docks below Lydia’s house.

If I thought there was something rugged brewing in Jack after a year away, I was sure there was something sinister growing in Lydia’s psyche as soon as we met her at Sophie’s Landing. Our hugs seemed terse and brief; and there was obviously something on her mind, although it was almost impossible to pry loose information from Lydia unless she wanted to talk.

“We’re taking the boat out,” she announced without consulting either of us. “I have some food already stored away.”

She jumped aboard the fifteen foot craft where we could see in plain sight two coolers and a large canvas duffel bag.

“When did you do this? I thought you just got home?”

“I’ve been here since last night,” she said.

I gazed at her stunned. “You didn’t call?”

“No, I didn’t call,” she sassed. “I’m not a kid anymore, Priss.”

I’m sure I winced as her barb hit its mark. I was put in my place with so much dispatch, dismissed so curtly, that the hurt would ache for days after, even though what happened that night during our celebration would far surpass this one brusque comment. In fact, what happened that night would rock my private world forever.

I couldn’t stop staring at her. “C’mon, get on the boat, Priss,” she said, doing nothing to disguise her annoyance. Not even my hurt expression affected her, almost as if she were trying to sink a knife into my gut.

“Boy, aren’t we the b***h today,” Jack said, as he pushed past me and climbed aboard. I’m sure the glib remark and wry grin were supposed to diffuse the subtle rift. But I don’t think it worked for Lydia; it certainly didn’t work for me.

We headed ten miles out on Lake Michigan’s silky waters, then anchored the boat and dove off the side for a brief swim. Lydia hadn’t bothered with a swimsuit, so neither did Jack or I. I think she was daring us with the blatant nudity and I was just hurt enough to make it a challenge.

Still, I could not match the testy disquiet reeking from her lesbian bones. While we were drying off, I made some comment like: “I suppose we should eat.” I had no plans for controlling anything, I just needed to fill the prickly airspace with something.