Chapter 29

Friday-Saturday, June 1-2

Morgan grabbed her dress and scampered for the bathroom, while I hurried to pull on my slacks, not taking time for my boxers. I pulled on my shirt and drew back the curtain to take a look.

Arlene stood just off the step grinning like the Cheshire Cat. On the edge of the shadows, a couple stood huddled close. It looked a lot like Arturo Benavidez and Melinda Hernandez, but in the low light I couldn’t be sure.

“May I help you?” I asked Arlene as I slid the door open a crack.

“I’m not interrupting, am I?” she asked, struggling to contain a laugh.

“Just the postgame cuddle,” I said. “Morgan’s in the bathroom. Give us a minute and we’ll be right out.”

“Take your time,” she said. “It’s not like you’re about to miss curfew.”

Morgan came out of the bathroom pulling her sundress into place.

“Arlene?” she asked.

“With a couple of friends, it looks like,” I said, buttoning my shirt.

“I really wish I had time for a shower,” Morgan said, fluffing her shoulder-length hair. “Just in case Mom’s up when I get home.”

“I bet we can sneak into the changing rooms,” I said. “There’s access through the stockroom to the main part of the building. I doubt there’s anyone else around this late.”

“Couldn’t hurt to check,” she said, slipping into her sandals.

I put my shoes on, stuffed my boxers into a pocket, turned off the radio and stepped out onto the small deck.

“I owe you a couple of sodas,” I said to Arlene at the bottom of the steps. “I’ll restock in the morning.”

“Don’t worry about it, Sugar,” she said, leaning in for a hug and an air kiss.

Arlene then turned to Morgan.

“Enjoy yourself?” the older woman asked, causing Morgan to blush furiously. “See what can happen when you’re not in such a rush?”

“Partying with friends?” I asked Arlene, nodding toward the other couple.

“Just providing aid and comfort to young lovers,” she said. “It appears to be a growth industry around here.”

We made our good-byes and headed for the Activity Center building without looking at the other couple. I wanted to be able to deny seeing anyone if asked.

Morgan and I reached the building and, as I suspected, the outside doors to the changing rooms were locked. But we were able to go through the stockroom and into a hallway. Rather than split up and use the designated facilities, Morgan pulled me toward the women’s changing room, which was much more nicely appointed than the men’s.

She slipped off her dress, placing it on a bench in front of a row of lockers, and stepped out of her sandals while I disrobed. Taking my hand, she led me into the shower. The ladies had separate stalls as opposed to the open plan of the men’s showers.

Morgan turned on the tap and stepped under the showerhead, wetting her hair.

“Won’t your mom be curious if you come home with wet hair?” I asked.

“You really are a boy,” she said, grabbing a bar of soap. “We’ve got all kinds of combs, brushes and blow dryers on the counter in the changing room.”

Morgan permitted me to scrub her back, which led to caressing, which led to fondling, which led to ... well, you know. Morgan looped her arms around my neck and ordered me to lift her up. She wrapped her legs around my waist, pulling herself up. Once in position, she again slotted my dick into place.

The girl was so tiny it was almost no effort to hold her up. Still, I leaned her against the wall for a little extra support as our hips once again went to work.

“Didn’t you get enough already?” I gasped as I gripped her little bottom in both hands.

“I think it just made me hornier,” she panted, “and it seemed such a shame to waste the opportunity. Now shut up and do me.”

I did as I was told and began working on my third load of the night. Morgan grunted and squealed as she kept reaching for just one more climax before she had to go home. We were in danger of getting wrinkly before I finally let go, pinning her little body to the wall.

I gasped for air in the steamy shower stall before letting Morgan down to the floor to stand on unsteady legs. Once we regained our composure, she rinsed off and went to grab towels while I soaped up. Morgan flipped a towel over the stall wall for me and went out to wash her face of the little makeup she had remaining and begin drying her hair.

It felt weird walking through a women’s locker room clad only in a towel. I kept expecting someone to jump out screaming about a naked man being in the women’s room.

I stepped up behind Morgan as she brushed out her hair and wrapped her in a hug.

“Not bad for a spur-of-the-moment date,” I said, kissing the top of her head.

“We’re going to have to compare schedules these next two weeks,” she said, leaning back against me. “I’ve got driver’s ed in the mornings, so I won’t be able to stay out late. We might be able to do something Wednesday as a group if we can get everyone organized.”

The sudden emergence of the cabana attendant positions had kind of slowed progress on the group-dating project where Jed and I were concerned.

“We’ll have the next two weekends before you go to science camp,” I said. “I should have things figured out with my work schedule by then. Even Mr. Alvarez takes Sundays off.”

“I’ll also be gone the week after that and the second and third weeks of July,” Morgan said “I’d better stock up on extra batteries for Bob. He’ll have to come out of retirement while I’m gone.”

I looked at my phone as I got dressed. It was getting close to 11.

“I’d better be getting you home before your dad decides to just let me keep you,” I said. “Even with the tips we made today, I don’t think I can maintain you in the manner to which you are accustomed.”

“That’s OK,” Morgan said. “I’ll just wait until you turn 30. That’s only 13 years and six days away.”

Allow me to explain. When I said my family was comfortable financially, I was referring to the immediate family, for which Dad proved a more than able provider. But his dad, Grandpa Robinson, had “Fuck You” money, as Dad liked to say.

While Grandpa listed his occupation as farmer and continued to do most of his own labor, his wealth wasn’t based on what he could coax from the soil. It was what he pulled from deeper underground. Grandpa inherited a section of land that had only marginal prospects as far as agriculture was concerned. It was the oil under the land that enabled him to keep scratching away at farming without having to worry about starving.

Don’t get me wrong. Grandpa was an astute businessman who could gauge market fluctuations almost to the dollar. He always knew the exact moment to sell and was usually able to turn a profit on the farming operation.

That was more than augmented by his oil production. I remember Grandpa saying once that he and Grandma could have a comfortable existence living off the royalties of just one of his wells. That he had dozens on his property boosted the total accordingly.

With so much in the bank, Grandpa had set up trust funds for me, Kacie and his other grandchildren that would mature on our 30th birthdays. I’d never have to work again if I didn’t want to. I got the feeling, however, that Dad, who had grown up on the farm and got his start in construction before moving into development, would do his best to make sure I “wanted to,” or kick my ass trying.