PART TWO l – The Townhouse

  "What's her and Lightning have to do with the creepy vibe rolled in and out."

  "Go back, in your memory banks. Older girls. Lesbians. Putting the moves on young girls in the showers. Coaches have to deal with this shit, and it's a minefield."

  "Oh. That was her. Shower moves girl."

  "Its an open secret. We don't talk about certain subjects. Except with mommy, remember?"

  "All coming back now. Lightning was…"

  "Yeah. I put a stop to it."

  "So, you, and Bootsie. Not really friends."

  "If I didn't have my moderate speed, my moderate ball handling? I'd basically be Boot. She's my other starting fullback. She's left handed, which makes her left-footed. Which makes her particurly effective on the right side of the field. She's kind of a permanent goon. She's a great fullback, but only on her side, and no other utility. We need each other, the team needs her."

  "Lightning does not need her."

  "No. Lightning wasn't raped, but she was being… its hard to expin. She doesn't force herself on them. But she's kinda creepily moving in. Its hard to put into words. I told you how I had to take a young girl under my wing, the older girls were gonna run the new girl out of town?"

  "Yeah."

  "Lightning. I was her big sister, I fought her battles. I… made it so she could stay, until she could be so important, she is what she is now."

  "You didn't see…"

  "Boot? Slick operator. She read the situation, like, some kind of professional criminal. She pyed big sister. Protection. Arm around the shoulder. The kiss on the cheek. Next thing you know… the hug in the shower is feeling creepy… Little Lightning is, she has no experience dealing with this shit. She was already traumatized by the older girls and their abuse, physical and verbal and emotional. Were close to first game, we got me fixed the other girls, now she won't come out of her room, she's too ashamed to tell anyone. Took me all weekend to pry it out of her, so I could handle that. Not to mention… she's now looking at me. The big sister protecting her? Questioning my motives now too. When am I gonna get creepy. I'm living with her."

  "You don't hear about this shit on TV."

  "No. You can't say boo about gays. Everyone's hands are tied. Bootsie had to find out she's not the toughest girl on the cell block, contrary to both popur opinion and her own. While Bootsie's ad campaign is that she hits like a man? I actually do."

  "Violence just solves everything on this team, doesn't it? Christ don't that beat all."

  "It was complicated. Bootsie, went from hero, to smirking she's gonna py the victim card. Boo hoo, some mean straight girl beat me up? Just for being gay."

  "What headed that off at the pass? That's an effective strategy on her part. Smarter than I gave her credit for. Slick."

  "I went to the coach. He can't do shit. I said new strategy. Call me in, when she says this. My story will be? No no. Lightning is my girlfriend, and this one was moving in on my girl. Forcibly. I was protecting my, ahem, gay young friend, from being molested against her will. Since I am now gay as well? No more victim card. Victim cards cancel out… we are left, with two against one, accusations of attempted strong arm molesty touchy feely… which, no administration wants to hear a word of. They will cover their ears like little kids and say  , until it just goes away."

  "Aha. This is how rumors of your… "

  "Bingo. One more pinch of violence? Solved that. Done!"

  "Now?"

  "Bootsie knows her pce. Me and a couple other girls? Keep an eye on her in the locker rooms, in the showers, and at parties if a young girl gets tipsy and she's around… she'll try to lead them into a bedroom to let them rest and be helpful, she's so noble."

  "She's a creepy… girls call a guy like that, a creeper? She's a girl creeper."

  "More of a creepy guy with tits, really."

  "Pffft."

  "This conversation never officially happened, dear."

  "Light is… really comfortable around me now?"

  "Yeah. She… if something seems weird to her? She backs off. You putting your hands in the air, jumping away from her, freezing… but once you expined it? You saw, she immediately was like, okay, I see. He's not creepy, he's the exact opposite of creepy. Honey?"

  "Yeah…"

  "I know that look she gave. That looking up, smiling, the innocent kid look. Remember I was the big sister? I put my arm around her, I protected her, and I didn't want anything from her… I just, I know that look."

  "What are you saying?"

  "I'm the big sister. I think…"

  "Oh. I'm… being sized up to be the big brother?"

  "My guess. Mommy can trust you with her vulnerable little sister, right?"

  "I am scared shit-less of what mommy would do to me. If you want to bel my abject fear, as trustworthiness? Sure."

  "You're being funny, or silly. You? Are not scared of me. Not really."

  "Yeah. I'm using my comedy? To cover being uncomfortable."

  "Lightning makes you uncomfortable?"

  "Not exactly. You come home, we're watching a movie on the couch. You pick up some vibe… far better rule? Men and women can't be friends. Lovers or nothing. Anything else is… weird, and leads to at best nothing, and at worst, to some kind of issue."

  "I, actually understand that rule. If I'm the big sister, can't you be the big brother? Once school is back in session, there's gonna be days and times I'm not around. You? Just… do what you think I would do. Use your best judgment. Mommy trusts you."

  "Little sisters, can't hug their big brothers, or kiss them on the cheek, or hold their hands. They can do those things with the big sister."

  "Oh. Light and Right are both scared of mommy's example I set. Example. Boot is at the door. Lightning comes to you spastic. What do you do?"

  "Oh. She's not coming in."

  "Right. Another example. I'm at a night css. Then at the coaches house a couple more hours. Happens. The girls have a couple guys over. Things are okay… Lightning comes and says she was taking a shower, she's just walking from the bathroom door to her door, its only a couple steps. She says nothing happened, but… the guy says he was just waiting for the restroom. Then she says she didn't like how he was standing and smiling, and she had to brush past him, with just a towel, to get to her room. What do you do."

  "Hey, guys? We have this house rule. No guys, are allowed upstairs when any girl is showering. Period."

  "Aha. Number three? Will loudly expin how that's not a rule, she lives here, you're just staying with someone else, you have no authority… etc. I seen this a million times."

  "She's mistaken, she forgot. My rule stands. When mommy gets home? She can decide. You'll handle number three, when you get home. Until then, she can get ignored and pout to her room or leave. I don't care. I'm not real big on criminals and creepy guys, coming over in the first pce."

  "Join the club. Problem is? All the girls, like bad boys. Right up until the problem occurs. This scenario happens over and over. As is so often repeated. I am simply an insufferable cunt, I exist solely to keep the girls from having any fun. I'm the mom. Welcome to my world."

  "This is little kid shit. These are goddamn adults."

  "What does the coach call me? I'm the adult… you call me the den mother. They call me the momma bear. Hun? This stuff is comparatively uncommon and somewhat rare. I can't forbid the girls to go out and do things. They're over 18. I just put out the little fires as they happen. We only have to hold the fort down, and wing it as each thing crops up, again not often… another two years. Then? We'll be in our own townhouse."

  "Wait a minute. You? Are 20. The girls? How old?"

  "19ish."

  "How the fuck are they going out to the bars, and closing the bars down? Parties, I understand. Bar hopping and cruising the meat markets? I don't."

  "Oh. You're a boy. You? Needed either fake ID, a bartender or bouncer friend, a cook to let you in the back door. You needed a strategy to get in, and stay in and not get carded."

  "Right."

  "They have tits. No bar will card any girl, in a college town. Why? simple equation. For every girl in any bar? There are ten guys come in. What's a bar called, that has no girls in it?"

  "Oh. A sausage pace, we called it. Old man's bar."

  "And where did you go instead?"

  "Oh… wherever, uh, the girls were at. Huh."

  "See? The fun and freedom you didn't have till you were 21, and hopefully were a tad more experienced and mature enough to handle it? They get thrown out of nowhere at 18. I'm an adult! I can do what I want! The bars let any girl in, I swear a 12 year old can get in if she wears makeup, its ridiculous."

  "Where are those guys, you know the ones. They drive those painted cars, the funny lights on top, they dress like the mailman, but with a gun? What do you call those again? Where the fuck are they at."

  "Dear? The men's magazines put out those top 20 lists of the best party schools. If you're not on that list? You don't attract the best football pyers out of high school. Proven fact."

  "Is this a top university, offering the most expensive, hardest to get degrees? Or… is it a giant beer commercial, in between almost-pro sports. What am I missing here. What the fuck. Are we the only two people in this whole townhouse pursuing a degree? Or is there something wrong with me. God. I'm only 24, hun. I'm too young, to sound like my dad when he was te middle aged. Christ almighty."

  I ughed and couldn't help it. I kissed him and smiled.

  "What was that for."

  "For being an insufferable cunt, and the sole purpose of your existence, is to get in between kids and fun."

  He sighed. He got quieter. More reserved. A sort of half defeated sense about him.

  "Wait a second… where is all the money coming from. How do they just go out to the bar to all hours whenever they feel like it. Are they dealing drugs? Are they hookers? What."

  "Oh. Girls don't need anything but a cover charge, dear. Guys just take turns coming up to talk to them, and they each buy them a drink, then send chips over if the girls smile and wave for the chip. This goes on all night. Then, they dance some. They make out with a few guys. The cycle repeats. All night. They keep going into the restroom together, to talk about all the boys, who wants who, who gets who, all that. Eventually, they all come home, or… one or more grab one of the boys, point at them, and off they go."

  "18. No ID, no money. Just walk into any bar, free drinks all night, we just take turns making out with whoever. Then either come home, or go out and turn tricks for free in the backseat of a car or some apartment."

  "Yeah. Where you been. This is SOP. That means…"

  "I know what it means. And they all do this, so, it seems normal."

  "Pretty much. I think I'm the only one, who doesn't think this is what you do anytime you can't find a movie to watch and the sun is down."

  "Does this shit quit, or at least go down to a dull roar, when csses are in?"

  "Yes and no. Practice the next day? Stops it, for the most part. Games, and other stuff too. Weekends, if its not a game weekend? Pffft."

  "Why is everyone going to college then? Whatever happened to going to college to get a goddamn degree."

  "The parents are convinced the kids will get an education, and it leads to a better career and life. So, they want them to go. The kids? Want number one, out of the house. College is for fun, when you're majoring in basket weaving and advanced basket weaving. Me? You? We're doing real work. Them? Not so much."

  "You? Got it worse than me. You have your schorship and the sports to worry about. That's your job right now. Plus? You got all these other responsibilities associated with it on top of that. Then, you add the actual real degree work in."

  "We're actually the same. I'm doing the schorship sports, while simultaneously doing the degree. You separated it. First 4 years in the service. You changed and matured. You worked and had structure and rules and guidelines and examples to see and try. Then, you came here and focus on the degree. Athletes on schorship? We don't get to separate it."

  "They substituted the basket weaving for the real degree… all of a sudden, they py sports and its four more years of high school all over again. With all adult privileges, usually reserved for people over 21."

  "I knew we were compatible. I was where you are in this right now? Oh, a year and a half ago."

  We were all going in now. People watching the goal scoring one time contest, were filtering off. The girls were all smiles. They were hyped up. They felt ready for the season, and they hadn't even been through preseason torture camp, and into the grind of early season over-training. They felt raring to go now, and they knew that after that preparation, they would be up into their next level of py. Which excited me and both of them equally.

  Every pyer gains experience and ability and instincts and timing, each year. Last year's freshman stars were about to step up and impress more as sophomores, and by the time they were seniors? They could be supernovas, and there was no telling. Hello, championship. Dare I dream of back to backs? It could happen. Seniors would move on and retire for all purposes to our world. New recruits would be funneled in. But now? We were building. These two, were going to attract more of themselves to them. Girls that knew they were just like them or close? They existed around the country. These two freshmen starting so hot had made a spsh. Most importantly, they did it at our school, in our program. If you were at this level or even close, and you wanted to see if you could make a spsh, where would you go? Easy. Here.

  There could be a dynasty in the making, beginning now. You never knew when it would start, maybe this was it? Maybe it would fizzle. We all couldn't wait to find out. Me? I must be a masochist, I'm eagerly looking forward to getting the ever loving shit knocked out of me every game. I'm volunteering for this abuse. It reminded me somehow of my boyfriend. My own willing victim. I'm dominant, he's submissive, right? Then I was volunteering to be victimized, and called it fun and hard work. That's a dominant person? Gee. It doesn't feel like it. Like I keep telling you, him and everyone else. I'm only "dominant" in the bedroom. My boyfriend? The so called submissive? Only in the bedroom.

  He didn't get knocked around in his sport. His sport was academics, and he was the 350 pound goril. He was the wizard. The guy that performed degree level work in other fields, as a hobby. Now, that's "dominant". Then I remembered, he had separated things. When he was supposed to be a computer programmer in a uniform for four years, he had added learning to fight as his hobby. He said it wasn't like people thought. He swore, you got knocked around at first and that it was fairly constant. The knocks slowly subsided, and were slowly repced by competency and finally if not mastery of it, something that passed in your personal estimation of it. You had gotten what you wanted out of it, you had hit the level you wanted or needed. There. That was his… what the hell was that even?

  It started out kind of submissive. You get abused voluntarily, but it slowly changed to dominant. Or something like it. Weird. Everything in life wasn't either one or the other. There were grades and shades and ramps and pteaus and valleys, and everything in between.

  Few things in life are so cut and dried. Maybe that's why people like me and him? Both had a craving for something that was so cut and dried. I will decide what to do and when. You? Will do it. We were both happy with that. It was definitely a hobby as well. We were on some sort of adult naughty fun trip, and the destination clearly wasn't the point. It was the hike. If we knew exactly where we would end up? Wouldn't that take half the mystery and fun out of it. That was for regur people, and their regur sex. This is boink night. That? Is blowjob night. Hey, this article says we need new positions? Okay. Yeah, that one. Okay, pencil in you on top on Tuesdays. Should this be before or after yoga, dear?

  That's not adventure and excitement, that's a part time job. If you're reading this? I know what you're thinking right now. What the fuck. How did this… exciting, spontaneous, wild… thing. Turn, over X number of pages, into such a fuddy duddy right at this moment. Listening to me and my boyfriend's conversations py back in my head, he had been sage-like and right. We did sound like thirty somethings, wondering what in the hell was wrong, and wondering what the hell to do, what even could be done, with the new breed of out of control 18 year old kids. I realized he was far too right. We were that at the moment, if only temporarily, fuddy-duddied. Is that even a word? It is now. You, just read it. Sue me, see what you get.

  But I knew how to cure this rut I felt I was in, didn't I? Sure I did. I'm not 36, I'm 20 turning 21. I don't even drink enough to be excited to turn 21. When I want some? I just ask someone, they go to the store and pick mine up with theirs. Cheap apricot brandy. Maybe one day, I would get the better apricot brandy, but whatever. It was sweet, it was fvorful, it was strong enough… but it wasn't by any stretch 80 or 100 proof liquor. I never stocked regur cases of beer. Hey, the case is low, pick two more up on your way back. He didn't have that system either. Another reason I liked him, I had learned this about him through gossiping and investigating about my crush before I closed on him as a deal.

  We just had to go somewhere, like our third date. Or? Something in the basement. I know, maybe a new toy. The willow twigs had been a bst, as good as any expensive naughty toy at any price. Come on, its a stick you smack a boy's ass with, how expensive does it need to be. Willow I thought I had heard was the best, the most feared, whatever. Maybe try hickory? No. It was a new length I needed. Wow, I felt my mood changing already. Short ones, were too short. The thin short was all but useless. The thick short was… too thud producing. It would be all damage and too little surface mark and burn-sting.

  Long was the shit, but you needed to be standing to use it. You needed a certain dimensions to use it. You're swinging something fairly long around, after all. There's geometry involved. The chair was hot. Whoever said that the over the knee was the gold standard position, the most intimate? Had certainly hit the nail on the head. Before chair activities, were whatever and designed to produce primarily burn-sting. It merely set up the whole chair, which was the intimate centerpiece of the whole operation.

  The suddenly powerful hand. Hot. Then the belt, that had been genius. Then, talking about the switch had been hot. Threatening it, using the word a lot, had been something spicy to add. Was using it going to be though? It would be the long one, of whatever thickness or thicknesses. Threatening that switch's use was hot, but… off the chair was required. Sure, I could have him kneel on the chair, and when he wouldn't sit still, I knew how to make him sit still.

  We'll try that, but ultimately I wanted switch and the over the knee on the chair. That, would be smoking hot. I needed some medium length, to combine switch and over the knee and chair into one. I had handcuffs cross my mind several times too many, so I simply had to try them. See if handiness and speed, would win out over the intimacy and ritual of the tying. Ritual and intimacy are not to be underrated, but I had to find out. Just the right medium length was going to be the way to go. I could go slightly longer than closet use length, car length. Just not full length. Then I had to figure out the thickness. Simply to try them all, was how we did it originally. Okay, my blood was racing now, and I had a pn. This felt just like the pn around the third date. Rope and riding crop in the trunk, because jokes and innuendo would come up, so it would be time to talk about what was certainly no statistical accident. Namely, it came up every time, it was uncanny.

  Now, I could go back into my grind… for now.

  We were back in the living room, and talking about the girl's performance. I was proud, and definitely showing them off. I sat back and noticed the two star girls all happy, they hadn't lost "it" over the off season break. Whatever "it" was? They still had it. They would be cheered, they would be marveled at.

  Light wanted to know what my boyfriend thought. He looked at me. I smiled, and waved my hand dismissively. Go on, its fine. He smiled, shrugged and gave a mild rave. How he hadn't seen anything like it, how he felt that as the non professional observer that was so duly impressed, it had to be really something.

  "No. Your man on the street view is what I want. Its good?"

  He assured her, that he was no expert, and it was impressive. I saw the look on her face. I knew her for the st year intimately as a big sister, she valued this. Ever since she had his hands in the air, freezing up, and throwing himself away from her expined? She had been a whole different person. I waited an appropriate length of time, to point out to him. Honey? Off season. She's an off season porker right now, she's out of shape. Her body is recovering from the season's over training and rigid control and use.

  "What?"

  "Just wait till you see her out of the gate after preseason camp. But then hell, wait till you see me. Hun, we're just fooling around right now."

  His face showed the mild shock of wondering what could be better and more impressive. He asked idly, what were the differences between me and her, pying the same positions. Me and her both ughed. We knew, he didn't. Out of nowhere, Right elbowed Light, who pretended to be irritated, then smiled and drove her face in close to smile and ask what. They shared some look and some whisper, then they seemed to decide Light was to ask.

  "So. Earlier. Before the contest outside happened. You asked what was on for today. Did… anyone ask him anything…?"

  That was my cue.