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From: Nick Scipio <nick_scipioSPAM@BLOCKyahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} "Summer Camp - Book 3" by Nick Scipio - Ch 15 (MF, teen, oral, anal)
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Date: Tue, 25 Jan 2005 17:10:02 -0500
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Author: Nick Scipio
Title: Summer Camp - Book 3: Kendall
Part: Chapter 15
Universe: Summer Camp
Summary: Coming-of-age story about a teenager whose family spends 
their summer vacations at a nudist camp.
Keywords: MF, teen, oral, anal
Revision: 1.0
Word Count: 12,831
Web Site: http://www.nickscipio.com/summercamp/book3/
FTP Site: ftp://ftp.nickscipio.com/summercamp/book3/
Discussion Forum: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Scipio_Forum/

*****************************************************************
                       STANDARD DISCLAIMER

This piece of fiction is intended as ADULT entertainment. It 
contains material of an adult, explicit, SEXUAL nature. If you 
are offended by sexually explicit content or language, please DO 
NOT read any further.

All characters in this story are fictitious; any similarity to 
any persons, places, individuals or situations is purely 
coincidental. The author does not necessarily condone or endorse 
any of the activities described in this story.

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without 
the written permission of the author, Nick Scipio 
(nick_scipio@yahoo.com). This story may be freely distributed 
with this disclaimer attached.

Copyright (c) 2004-2005 Nick Scipio. All rights reserved.

*****************************************************************

Summer Camp - Book 3: Kendall
by Nick Scipio

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

For the rest of the week, things were mostly normal.

Gina and I apologized to each other for getting angry. She was 
still upset with Kendall, but she knew that I shared some of her 
frustration. For her part, Kendall refused to even discuss the 
party or its aftermath whenever I brought it up. So I stopped 
bringing it up.

When I arrived at Kendall's apartment on Thursday afternoon, she 
greeted me as if nothing were amiss. And she was wearing her 
white bathrobe, which always meant she was horny. I was surprised, 
though, because she practically attacked me.

After fooling around on the living room couch for a few minutes, 
she shed her robe and began pulling off my clothes. When she had 
me naked, she knelt between my legs and gave me an extra-long 
blowjob. Then I gently pushed her to her back and spread her legs. 
Her smooth pussy simply begged to be licked, so I went down on 
her, teasing her until she cried out in ecstasy.

When we recovered, we went to the kitchen to get something to 
drink, but ended up having hard, frantic sex against the counter. 
Afterward, we got the drinks we came for in the first place and 
then relaxed in the living room.

We were both still in the mood, and she began teasing me. I 
chased her down the hall and caught her before she could make it 
to her bedroom. She was laughing as I bent her over her desk and 
gave her ass a few playful swats.

Then she wiggled her hips and gave me a suggestive look. In an 
instant, I was hard. I fucked her long enough to get my dick 
completely lubricated, then pulled out and set the tip at the 
rosette of her ass. She groaned as I pushed past her sphincter 
and entered her. Slapping noises filled the hall as I thrust into 
her. After my orgasm, I collapsed against her and we lay panting 
on the desk.

Later, we took a shower to cool off, but I ended up fucking her 
from behind, her breasts crushed against the ceramic tile as I 
thrust into her. I didn't come, but that didn't stop me from 
reaching around and playing with her clit until she had a 
shuddering orgasm.

After our shower, as we relaxed on her bed, we talked about 
everyday things. I desperately wanted to talk about our 
deteriorating three-way relationship, but I didn't want to spoil 
the mood.

So I settled for idly fondling her. Her breasts were as 
responsive as ever, and she quickly grew excited. When I went 
down on her, she ran her fingers through my hair and writhed in 
ecstasy.

After licking and sucking her to two mini-orgasms, I knelt 
between her legs and rubbed my hard-on along her slit. She was 
puffy and slippery with arousal, and begged me to fuck her. I let 
her beg for almost a minute before I slid into her. When I did, 
she groaned softly and wrapped her legs around me.

We fucked for almost thirty minutes, in a half-dozen different 
positions. When I finally reached the point of no return, she 
wanted me to come on her face. I pulled out, knelt over her head, 
and began stroking my pussy-slick cock. As I worked myself toward 
release, she played with her clit, her fingers a blur.

With a groan, I erupted. When the first spurt hit her cheek, she 
cried out softly. The next spurt landed on her lips and chin, and 
she cried out again. After that, I kept stroking, but only a few 
gushes came out. Finally, I used the head of my cock to spread my 
semen over her face. As I did, she tensed up, her climax imminent.

When she came, she came hard. And I mean _really_ hard. Her face 
and chest flushed as she held her breath. Then she groaned deep 
in her chest. Finally, she cried out in release, her body 
quivering with pleasure. Her orgasm seemed to last forever. As I 
watched her shudder in its grip, I rolled and tugged her nipples, 
driving her higher still.

Afterward, we cleaned up and then relaxed in her bedroom. Abby 
was due back by 5:30, so we reluctantly got dressed.

In the span of little more than four hours, I had come four times. 
And I'd lost track of Kendall's orgasms and mini-orgasms. In a 
way, it seemed that Kendall had been in a Gina-like state of 
sexual overdrive. I wasn't about to complain, but I _did_ wonder 
what caused it.

-----

That weekend, the UT football game was against Memphis State, in 
Memphis. Gina, Regan, and a bunch of other Chi O girls drove 
across the state to go to the game. I was disappointed that Gina 
and I wouldn't be together, but I knew she'd have fun.

Trip and I went down to Kendall and Abby's apartment to listen to 
the game. Luke and Tara joined us as well. To our surprise, Jeff 
asked if he could bring someone. We said yes, of course, but none 
of us expected him to actually show up with a _girl_.

Her name was Meredith, and she was a Phi Mu pledge with a sunny 
personality. She had blonde hair and blue eyes, and in spite of 
being a little pudgy, she was cute. Jeff was practically beside 
himself simply being near her.

I didn't know when Trip had done it, but he and Abby had 
obviously had a talk. According to Kendall, Abby was disappointed, 
but she understood why he didn't want to get serious.

Trip sat with his arm around Abby, although it was comfortable 
and friendly, nothing more. Abby looked happy, and Trip quietly 
mentioned (later) that she understood his situation.

During the commercials, Luke told Boudreaux and Thibodeaux jokes, 
which kept us in stitches. I don't think Meredith knew what to 
make of Luke, but she was having a good time. Jeff was as goofy 
as ever, which seemed to endear him to her even more.

UT won the game easily, and we went out for pizza and beer 
afterward. Luke and Tara had to leave for a post-game party with 
his fraternity, but the rest of us had a good time.

-----

Unfortunately, the next month seemed to be a steadily worsening 
series of headaches.

Gina and I had another fight. Once again, it was about Kendall.

Kendall and I got into a heated discussion about, you guessed it, 
Gina.

Gina accused me of spending too much time with Kendall, and 
Kendall quietly resented my time with Gina.

Worse, I didn't have _any_ idea what to do about the growing 
friction in either of my relationships. Susan had told me that 
I'd have to figure it out on my own, but I didn't seem to be 
doing very well.

As a matter of fact, I was doing a _lousy_ job.

So I had to balance my time between the two girls. Neither of 
them wanted to have anything to do with the other, and I was at 
wit's end. I loved them both, but the strain was tearing me up 
inside.

Unfortunately, the rest of my life was just as stressful.

In Calculus, Professor Tow started teaching derivatives of 
inverse trigonometric functions, which I'd never done before. So 
I had to do dozens of sample problems and study hard to keep up. 
Aside from Design, Calculus was my most challenging class, and I 
was determined to make an A.

In American Literature, we began studying Late Nineteenth Century 
authors, and I had a lot of reading to do. I'd gotten an A on my 
Faulkner paper--as expected--but I wanted to _earn_ my A for the 
class overall. I even had to stop reading my for-pleasure books, 
since I had so much to read for class.

Professor Spielman's Intro to Architecture class was a welcome 
relief; it was easy. We were studying the architecture of the 
Roman Empire (the _Western_ Roman Empire; Byzantine architecture 
was covered in Intro II). I already knew enough about the period 
that I didn't have to do much to keep my grades up.

Art History wasn't that bad either, although Professor Dubois was 
as dull as ever. We were studying early Christian art in Western 
Europe, from the Merovingian and Carolingian dynasties. It was 
interesting, but not something I wanted to spend hours looking at.

Out of the blue, Professor Ledbetter assigned me more "extra 
credit"--even though I was already making an A in his class. He 
wanted me to do more drawings, and to pay attention to details, 
of course. I suspected that Joska was behind the assignments, but 
what could I do?

On top of all that, Professor Joska assigned us another team 
project. Not surprisingly, it involved drawings as well as 
critiques of our teammates' drawings.

For our drawings, we had a choice of several buildings in 
Washington, D.C.: the Washington Monument, the Jefferson Memorial, 
or the Lincoln Memorial. Not only did we have to create plan and 
elevation drawings of one of the monuments, we had to include the 
grounds and other public spaces. It was a daunting task, 
especially given the scale of the sites.

We also had four more intramural football games. To my surprise, 
we won all four games and made it to the quarter-finals, thanks 
in large part to Trip's skill as a quarterback. The Pike team 
also made it to the quarter-finals, and we were scheduled to play 
them the Monday before Thanksgiving break. The winner of our game 
would face the winner of the SAE versus Morrill Second Floor game.

I was excited that our team had done so well, although it was an 
added responsibility. I had a ton of schoolwork to do, but I 
didn't want to let my teammates down--even T.J., the little 
weasel.

In addition to everything else, I finally worked up the nerve to 
check my weight. The Sports Bubble had a nice scale (the kind you 
find in a doctor's office), and Kendall and her roommates had a 
small bathroom scale.

On the Sports Bubble scale, I weighed 179 pounds. That was less 
than my wrestling-days high of 185, but still more than I wanted 
to weigh. On the bathroom scale in Kendall's apartment, I weighed 
174 pounds. I trusted the Sports Bubble scale more than the 
girls' bathroom model, so I adjusted theirs to read 179, to be 
accurate.

(The day after I adjusted it, _all_ of the snack food in the 
girls' apartment disappeared. They replaced it with rabbit food: 
lettuce, carrots, celery, radishes, etc. I didn't eat snacks 
anyway, but I still chuckled at the thought of Kendall and her 
roommates panicking because they suddenly "gained" five pounds. I 
never admitted what I did, though. I simply reset the scale and 
mentally added five pounds to whatever it told me.)

While I hadn't gained weight, I hadn't lost much either. So over 
the course of a month, my schedule was gruelingly simple. When I 
wasn't doing schoolwork, playing football, or spending time with 
Kendall or Gina--but never Kendall _and_ Gina--I was working out 
and venting my pent-up frustration. I was exhausted, but I didn't 
know what I could give up.

Siobhan's drawing class was the only consistent bright spot in my 
life.

Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, immediately after Design 
class, I went to Studio 6 and sat in the hallway. Christy usually 
got there about the same time I did. She took out her sketchpad 
and I took out mine. While I drew buildings or design elements, 
she drew sketches of me.

My drawings were simple. I focused on tightening my style and 
paying attention to details. I heard Professor Ledbetter's voice 
in my head, _"God is in the details, Paul."_ It was a weird turn 
of phrase, but it stuck with me. And, of course, I heard 
Professor Joska's sibilant voice, _"You'll have to do better than 
this, Mr. Hughes."_

In the course of a month, I must've gone through half of my 
sketchpad. I drew everything from simple roof styles to facade 
elements. Christy sketched at least a dozen of my expressions: 
concentration, melancholy, delight, pensiveness, and more.

I was always amazed by how she captured my mood. In some drawings, 
I could see the tension in my shoulders or jaw. In others, I wore 
an expression of childlike wonder and concentration, and I knew 
that I must've been completely absorbed by my own drawing.

Once, when I was particularly upset (after an argument with Gina), 
I looked up to see tears in Christy's eyes. She smiled bashfully 
and wiped her cheeks, her charcoal-smudged fingers simply adding 
dark smears. Impulsively, I reached out and tried to clean her 
cheek. My hand had pencil smudges on it, though, and I only made 
things worse.

We ended up laughing about the situation, the release of tension 
almost palpable. After we cleaned up and washed our hands, I 
asked her why she'd been crying. She wouldn't tell me. When she 
asked why _I_ had been so upset, it was my turn to demur.

"We've both got our secrets," she said softly.

I nodded.

"Maybe I'll tell you... someday."

Her smile was so sad that I wanted to put my arm around her and 
comfort her. When we got back to the hallway outside Studio 6, 
neither of us returned to our sketchpads. Instead, we sat and 
talked about everything but what was _really_ on our minds.

During the drawing class itself, Wren and I played a little game. 
After an initial period of taking turns undressing in the studio 
office, we decided that it was a waste of time and simply shared. 
After all, we'd both seen each other nude. Each day, as we 
undressed, she teased me and tried to provoke a reaction.

Once, she bent over in front of me, giving me a good view of her 
pussy and ass (she trimmed her pubic hair, so I could easily see 
her labia). Another time, she absently tweaked her nipples as I 
was getting undressed. Yet another time, she "accidentally" 
brushed against my dick.

While we posed, she was almost as bad, although she couldn't do 
anything _truly_ outrageous. She would occasionally look at my 
dick, make eye contact, and then moisten her lips. Other times, 
she would take a deep breath and subtly thrust her breasts at me 
when she knew I was looking. Once, she even managed to sit 
through an entire class while giving me a fantastic view of her 
pussy (she was sitting with her knee tucked under her chin, and 
my body blocked the view of her sex from the rest of the 
students).

Then, for an entire week, we had to pose standing next to each 
other; I stood behind her with my hands on her hips. My dick was 
perilously close to her ass--close enough that I could feel the 
heat of her body. Siobhan wanted her students to draw the 
contrast between our bodies. For three days, Wren teased me with 
subtle movements and not-so-inadvertent contact.

When we posed so close together, it took a fantastic degree of 
willpower and control not to react to her antics. A couple of 
times, I felt my dick begin to swell. The first time, I got 
myself under control. The second time, nothing I did seemed to 
work. I spent at least ten minutes with my hard-on squarely 
planted in the crack of Wren's ass.

She turned and grinned at me, but then grew annoyed that she 
couldn't actually _see_ the fruit of her labors. At last, I 
imagined Professor Dubois droning on about illuminated 
manuscripts, and that did the trick.

When my dick finally shrank, Wren turned and made a mocking pout, 
her lips pursed. I closed my eyes and kept my mind _firmly_ 
occupied.

Treacherous organ.

When Wren got dressed after each class, she took her time putting 
on her clothes. I think she enjoyed looking at me as much as I 
enjoyed looking at her, but we always had our little game to play. 
Since I didn't respond the way she expected--usually--she took it 
as a personal challenge.

Each day, Siobhan had to leave shortly after class, but Christy 
was always waiting for Wren and me when we emerged from the 
office. Afterward, the three of us would walk back to Morrill, 
sharing Christy's bag of snacks. (For such a petite girl, she had 
a voracious appetite, and she always had food with her, from 
carrot and celery sticks to fresh fruit and granola. In my head, 
I started thinking of her as "Bunny," since she ate like a 
rabbit.)

While we walked, we talked, and those were the times I enjoyed 
most of all.

Wren and I talked about growing up and going to school in the 
suburbs of Atlanta. Her father owned a half-dozen successful 
restaurants, and I was familiar with several of them. She was on 
the swim team in high school, and had come to UT to be a swimmer. 
After a bad bout of mononucleosis when she was a freshman, 
however, she decided to give up racing and focus on her health 
and classes.

Christy had also been a high school swimmer. She raced in the 
relays, but her primary focus was diving. Unlike Wren, she had 
come to UT to study with Siobhan (whom she'd met at a gallery 
opening in San Diego). The auburn-haired professor had originally 
been teaching at Notre Dame, but when UT lured her from South 
Bend to Knoxville, Christy applied to Tennessee.

Christy and I also talked about growing up with fathers who were 
pilots. While my father left the Navy and took a job as a 
commercial pilot, hers stayed in and rose through the ranks to 
command his own squadron. In Japan, he commanded an Air Wing. 
When Christy told me that his current job was as a commander of 
an entire Carrier Battle Group, my jaw nearly hit the sidewalk.

"What _is_ your dad," I asked, "some kind of Admiral?"

"Why yes," she said, her blue eyes dancing with laughter, "he 
_is_."

"So you're the Admiral's daughter?"

"The Admiral's _only_ daughter," she stressed, her eyes still 
twinkling.

"The Admiral's only daughter, huh? Then I bet your boyfriend must 
be completely squared away."

To my surprise, Wren snorted.

"What?" I asked.

"Simon?" the brunette said to Christy, ignoring me. "Squared 
away? Ha!"

"_Wren_," Christy warned.

"What?" I asked, more confused than ever.

"Simon's actually her fiance," Wren explained, "which makes it 
even worse."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because he's _hardly_ squared away, if that means what I think 
it does."

"Fiance?" I asked, my throat inexplicably tight.

Christy shyly held up her left hand and flashed her ring finger.

I'd seen the small diamond ring before, of course, but its 
significance had never occurred to me. I guess I just couldn't 
imagine someone her age--my age--being engaged.

"Simon's the least 'squared away' guy I can think of," Wren 
continued.

"Wren, _stop_," Christy said.

"Why? You know how I feel about him. I don't like him any more 
than your father does. Besides, you don't love him."

"Yes... I... do," Christy said. "He was there for me after... you 
know."

"After what?" I asked.

The girls completely ignored me.

"He took advantage of you," Wren said.

"He did _not_," Christy shot back.

"He did _so_. He knew what you were going through and he _still_ 
asked you to marry him."

"Going through _what?_" I asked, my curiosity completely 
overwhelming my manners. Once again, the girls ignored me.

"He loves me," Christy said.

"Of course he does," Wren said. "But do you love him?"

"Yes."

Even _I_ wasn't convinced.

"Wren, please, I don't want to talk about this anymore," Christy 
said a moment later. "You _know_ how I feel about Simon."

Wren looked like she wanted to reply, but she shut her mouth and 
simply scowled.

In the awkward silence that followed, the girls looked at each 
other, an entire unspoken conversation passing between them. 
Finally, Christy seemed to remember that I was there.

"I'm sorry," she said. "What were we talking about?"

"I don't remember," I said.

She looked like she wanted to say something, but when she gazed 
back at me, her eyes suddenly filled with tears. She tried to 
blink them back, but they just kept coming. At her look of 
anguish, I started to reach out to her. She offered a wan smile 
at my gesture, but then her emotions finally overcame her.

Before she broke down completely, she turned and raced into the 
dorm. Wren looked at me helplessly and then chased after her 
friend.

I simply stood there, more puzzled than ever.

-----

"Hey," Trip said as he pushed open my door. "Whatcha doin'?"

"Reading about the Jefferson Memorial," I said absently. "I wanna 
make sure I've got my portico laid out right."

"You know it's right," he said. "You've checked it... what... ten 
times?"

"God is in the details," I said, unconsciously echoing Professor 
Ledbetter. "Which reminds me," I added. "I've still gotta do 
critiques for Samantha and Antonio's drawings. I hope Samantha 
forgives me. If I want a good grade on the critiques, I've got to 
tell her the truth. Her drawing's not bad, and I've tried to help 
her as much as I can, but she's probably our weakest draftsman."

"She knows she is," Trip said. "And she can handle the truth. 
She's a lot stronger than you think."

"Maybe."

"She is. Trust me. Just be honest and don't get personal. She 
knows you're a good designer, and she respects your opinion."

I nodded. I'd been surprised to find that Samantha turned to _me_ 
whenever she had a drafting question. What's more, Trip and 
Antonio did as well. Antonio could remember virtually anything he 
read, but he wasn't the best draftsman either, so he often sought 
my advice.

I had sort of become the team's official design expert. Trip was 
our leader, without question, but when it came to design, 
everyone deferred to me. Samantha scheduled our time--sometimes 
to the minute--and Antonio was a walking resource library. As a 
team, we'd really come together over the past month. We rarely 
argued, and we all respected each other.

(Since the four of us spent so much time together, I finally 
threw decorum to the wind and asked Antonio about the strange 
combination of his looks, name, and twangy accent. He simply 
laughed and explained that he was Korean, but had been adopted. 
His parents were Hispanic, obviously, and had given him his 
adopted grandfather's name. "And don't _everybody_ talk like me?" 
he asked with a grin.)

I'd begun to wonder how much of our team's cohesiveness was luck 
and how much was Joska's planning. The man was crafty. I still 
didn't like him, but I'd gotten a feel for his way of doing 
things. Contrary to what I'd thought at first, he _didn't_ set us 
up to fail. He set us up to succeed, and then threw dozens of 
challenges at us.

He still taunted me constantly, and I usually felt like I was one 
comment away from lunging at him. Even though I answered all of 
his questions, he seemed to mock me. He wasn't nearly as hard on 
my classmates (except Gracie Fisher, perhaps), and he seemed to 
save his really biting comments for me.

"Hello, Paul?" Trip was saying.

I shook my head to clear it.

"Are you with me again?" he asked, smiling.

"Yeah, sorry. I guess I was daydreaming."

"You've been working too hard," he said. Then he sighed. "We all 
have. Anyway, that's what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Yeah?"

"Look, with Samantha cracking the whip on our schedule, we're 
ready. We're disgustingly early, too. Even Gracie's team isn't 
close to being finished, and they're really on the ball."

I nodded.

"So I was thinking...," he said.

"Yeah?"

"Let's all get together tomorrow night. We'll pull an all-nighter 
if we have to. I'll review everyone's critiques to make sure 
they're honest and comprehensive. While I'm doing that, you can 
help Samantha and Antonio put the finishing touches on their 
drawings. Then we can write up our final critiques and make any 
changes to our drawings that we need to."

"Dude," I said, "the projects aren't due 'til Monday. Why pull an 
all-nighter on Friday if we don't have to?"

"Because we need to take the weekend and recover. We've all been 
killing ourselves on this project. Not to mention the fact that 
we've all got four or five _other_ classes we've had to keep up 
with."

I nodded.

"And besides," he said, "you've been running me ragged with our 
workouts. I know they're good for us, but you're still driving 
pretty hard. And you work out about twice as often as I do. 
That's too much."

I started to shake my head, but he held up a placating hand.

"I know you've had a lot on your mind, with Kendall and Gina and 
all, but still, you gotta take a break, man."

I felt my shoulders sag in agreement.

"Anyway, I was thinking," he continued, "let's pull an all-
nighter if we have to, and then we can take the weekend off."

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea," I wearily admitted.

"And there's something else I wanted to ask you," he said.

I lifted my head and looked a question at him.

"My little brother Dale's birthday is this weekend, on Saturday. 
He'll be five, and my dad wanted me to be there for his party. I 
told him how hard we've been working, and he suggested I bring 
you along. So... are you up for it?"

"What?"

"Come home with me this weekend. You can meet my dad and step-mom, 
and my little brothers," he added. "We can relax, enjoy the 
birthday party with a bunch of five-year-olds, and do _nothing_ 
the rest of the time."

"Birthday," I mused, something tickling the back of my mind. Then, 
"Oh, shit!"

"What?" he asked, suddenly concerned.

"What's today? The nineteenth?"

He nodded. "Why?" he asked.

I explained that November 19th was my father's birthday, and I'd 
completely forgotten about it.

"See?" Trip said. "You've been working too hard."

I reluctantly nodded.

"Listen, call your dad and then come on over to my room. I've got 
this great concert tape a friend sent me. It's a group from your 
neck of the woods, the University of Georgia. They're called 
R.E.M., and they're _amazing_. 'Radio Free Europe' is totally 
cool, man, even if you can't understand a word the lead singer is 
saying."

"Okay," I said.

"Think about this weekend. My dad and step-mom really wanna meet 
you. And I know my little brothers would get a kick out of having 
you there. Besides, we need the break, man. Exams start after we 
return from Thanksgiving break, and we need to be fresh for 'em."

"Okay, I'll think about it."

"Cool. I'll see ya in a few."

With that, he patted my shoulder and then left.

When I called home, Dad and Mom were getting ready to go out to 
dinner. They were meeting the Coulters and another couple at a 
classy restaurant. Leah was spending the night at our house and 
my parents were planning to return to the Coulters' house with 
the other couple. I didn't know who the other couple was, but I 
grinned when I imagined what they'd be up to.

Dad was dutifully surprised that I called. Mom was relieved; 
she'd been worried that I'd forgotten (which I _had_, but I 
didn't tell her that). They needed to leave, however, so I wished 
Dad a happy birthday and then said goodbye.

After I hung up, I thought about Trip's offer. Nashville was only 
a three-and-a-half-hour drive away, and I could use the time away 
from Kendall, Gina, and all of my frustrations.

Things hadn't improved between the girls. In spite of their non-
existent relationship with each other, however, neither of them 
pressured me to stop seeing the other. I think _none_ of us 
wanted to open that can of worms.

As long as I didn't talk about the other girl when I was with one 
of them, things were fine. But any time I brought up the other 
girl, all bets were off. Gina was snippy about Kendall, and 
Kendall calmly pointed out that Gina manipulated me.

I was still having sex with each of them, but even then, things 
were changing. Gina spent more and more time with Regan. The 
blonde had broken up with Rod and then gotten back together with 
him. When she wasn't dating him, she monopolized Gina's time. In 
other words, when Regan's relationship was in a shambles, mine 
was too.

Kendall, on the other hand, was a calm, quiet presence (as long 
as I didn't mention Gina). She and I had breakfast together every 
day, as well as our Thursday afternoons. We spent a lot of time 
together, since Gina was usually off doing something with her 
sorority or studying with Regan.

I was watching Gina slip away from me, and I didn't know what to 
do about it. I'd been in love with her since I was thirteen, and 
we'd been together since we were fifteen. She was an integral 
part of my life, and I hated what was happening to us.

I simply didn't know how to fix things.

Kendall, who was normally so insightful, wasn't any help. She 
usually didn't go out of her way to point out Gina's shortcomings, 
but her actions certainly emphasized them.

In reality, I wanted some time away from _both_ of them, so 
Trip's offer was perfect.

"Okay, I'll go," I said when he opened his door.

"Cool," he said. "C'mon in."

"When did you wanna leave on Saturday?" I asked.

"As early as possible, but that really depends on how late we're 
working on Friday night. If we get to bed early... say, midnight... 
we can get up and be on the road by eight. The party's at two, 
but we gain an hour, since Franklin's on central time."

"Three o'clock, two central," I said with a grin.

"Friday nights. CBS."

We shared a grin at Luke's expense.

"If we're up really late," Trip said, returning to our travel 
plans, "we can leave as late as eleven-thirty, but that's cutting 
it close."

"Hey," I said. "I've got a great idea."

"What?"

"Let's fly to Franklin."

"_Huh?_"

"Let's _fly_ to Franklin," I repeated.

"Like on Eastern Airlines?"

"No," I said, "like on _Cessna_ Airlines."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I forgot... you're a pilot!"

"Uh-huh. And it's been months since I've had a chance to fly. 
I've been so busy that I haven't missed it... much... but this is 
perfect. Besides, I could use the flight time."

"Okay," he said, leaning forward. "How's it work?"

"We can use my family's plane... but... no... I'd still have to get to
Atlanta to pick it up. So we'll rent a plane."

"You can just _rent_ a plane?" Trip asked, genuinely shocked. 
"Don't you have to have a license for that or something?"

I gave him a reproving look.

"Oh, yeah," he said sheepishly. "You've got one of those."

"We can rent something cheap, like a Cessna 152. The wet rate 
should be--"

"Wet rate?"

"Yeah," I said, nodding, "the wet rate. It's the price for the 
plane, including fuel and oil. It's standard," I said, shaking 
off the interruption. "Anyway, the wet rate should be something 
like thirty bucks an hour," I finished.

"Thirty bucks an _hour?!_ We'll need the thing for _two days_," 
he said. "We can't afford anything like that."

"You only pay for tach time... the time the engine's running," I 
explained with a chuckle.

Then I held up a hand to forestall his next question and started 
doing math in my head. A Cessna 152 cruised at about a hundred 
knots. Franklin was two hundred miles away, but those were 
_statute_ miles. Nautical miles were longer than statute miles. 
At a hundred knots, 1.15 statute miles per nautical mile, 115 
miles per hour...

"An hour and forty-five minutes," I said at last. "That's the 
flying time from here to Franklin. We can take off from Island 
Home Airport--it's near downtown--and be there less than two 
hours later. God, I love flying. And I really miss it. It's... 
relaxing."

"And you could _definitely_ use some relaxation."

I nodded earnestly.

"So," he said, "two hours each way, at thirty bucks an hour. If 
we split the cost, that's sixty bucks apiece. It's more expensive 
than driving, but if it relaxes you, I'm in."

"Can your dad pick us up at the airport?" I asked.

"Absolutely."

"Then we've got a plan, my friend."

"We do indeed," he said with a grin.

-----

"What're you doing this weekend?" Wren asked.

She, Christy, and I were walking back to Morrill after Siobhan's 
class. I was _supposed_ to be working with Trip and the team in 
the A&A building. I knew I shouldn't be spending so much time 
with the girls, but something about them--Wren especially--drew 
me like a moth to flame. Christy and I had become good friends, 
but Wren was the fuel of fantasies (even though I did my best not 
to let _her_ know that).

"A friend and I are flying to Nashville," I said, returning my 
thoughts to Wren's question. "It's his little brother's 
birthday."

"Why're you flying?" Wren asked. "I thought you had a car."

I explained the situation with our project and the time 
constraints.

"So _you're_ flying?" she asked, surprised.

I nodded.

"You can fly?"

"Sure," I said. "I've had my pilot's license for more than a 
year."

Christy smiled slyly at her friend.

"We're going to rent a plane and fly to Nashville," I continued.

"Cool," Christy said.

"Have you ever done it in a plane?" Wren asked me.

"_Wren_," Christy blurted.

"I'll never tell," I said. Of _course_ I'd had sex in an airplane, 
but I wasn't a blabbermouth. Not only did Gina and I have sex 
during the flight to Europe, but we'd had sex a couple of times 
when I was flying our family Cessna. (I think it's a requirement 
for every young, horny pilot.)

"That means you _have_," Wren said.

"No, that means I'm not answering, one way or the other."

"What's it like?" she asked.

"Lorelei _Wren_," Christy scolded.

"Lorelei?" I asked, glad for the opportunity to change the 
subject. I didn't _mind_ talking with Wren about sex, but the 
change in subject would drive her crazy.

She grimaced indignantly.

"Wren's her middle name," Christy said.

I looked a question at Wren.

With a frown, she realized that I wasn't going to let the 
conversation go back to sex in airplanes. "My mother has a 
penchant for obscure German mythology," she explained.

"It's a pretty name," I said.

She actually blushed. "Thank you."

"What's your middle name?" I asked Christy.

"Marie."

"Christina Marie? Or Christ_ine_ Marie?"

"Christine," she said.

"Dean," I said.

"Huh?" Wren asked.

"His name," Christy said. "Paul Dean Hughes." Then she glanced at 
me for verification.

I nodded.

"You're still Mysterious," Wren said.

"And you're still Beautiful," I replied, flashing the cockiest 
grin I could work up.

Christy silently tittered at Wren's expression.

"But I gotta go, Beautiful," I said, looking at my watch. "I'm 
already late."

"You were late because of li'l ol' me?" she asked flirtatiously.

"Well," I said, still grinning, "because of you and Bunny."

"'Bunny'?" Christy asked suspiciously.

"That's what I call _you_," I said, grinning wryly. "In my head, 
that is."

She huffed.

"Well, you eat like a rabbit."

"That's not _all_ she does like a rabbit," Wren said.

"Lorelei _Wren_ Hilliard," Christy blurted, her face turning a 
deeper shade.

Wren merely grinned from ear to ear.

"Bye, Beautiful," I said. "Bye, Bunny."

Christy tried to work up a towering fury, but it was more like a 
petite fury. When I kept grinning, she stomped her foot.

"Yes?" I asked, my eyes laughing.

"I want a better nickname than _Bunny_," she said.

"Sorry, kiddo," I said, "that's what you got. We're Mysterious, 
Beautiful, and Bunny. Now, I _really_ gotta go. Have a nice 
weekend, and I'll see you Monday."

With a wink at Christy, I turned and headed toward the A&A 
building.

"This is all _your_ fault," she said to Wren. She tried to sound 
angry, but she just couldn't pull it off.

Wren merely snickered in reply.

-----

The work on our project didn't take all night after all. Samantha 
really _was_ a whiz with scheduling, and we were all more or less 
finished with our drawings. Trip analyzed our critiques and made 
comments on them. While he did that, I worked with Samantha and 
Antonio on final touches for their drawings.

We had a quick dinner and finished everything by eleven o'clock. 
Exhausted, we walked back to the dorms together (Antonio lived in 
Reese Hall). At the courtyard, we said goodnight to each other 
and then headed our separate ways.

"Did you call the airport?" Trip asked as we waited for the 
elevator.

"Yeah," I said. "I called this morning. They have a Cessna 152, 
but they keep it booked for training, and they don't want to let 
it go for the whole weekend. Not for just four hours tach time, 
anyway."

"That's okay," he said. "We can still drive."

"Not so fast," I replied, grinning. "They've got a 172 we _can_ 
rent for the whole weekend. It'll cost more, but it's also bigger 
and faster."

"How much does it cost?"

"About forty-five bucks an hour," I said. "Since it's faster, 
though, we won't put as much time on the engine, and that's what 
we're paying for. But I'm willing to pay the difference, just to 
get the flight time."

"No, I'll cover half of it," he said.

"Thanks, man."

"So," he asked with a nod, "what's the plan?"

"We need to be there by nine o'clock. I'll have to take an exam 
and a checkride, but that's normal. It should take about an hour 
and a half. And then we've got the plane 'til Sunday evening. The 
FBO closes at six, though, so we'll need to be back by then. 
Besides, I don't have my instrument rating yet, so I'm not really 
comfortable flying after dark. I mean, I _can_, but... you know."

"FBO?" he asked. "Instrument rating?"

"Fixed Base Operations," I explained. "It's the place that 
operates the airport. And 'instrument rating' is actually an 
Instrument Flight Rating."

"So you can't read the instruments yet?" he asked, incredulous.

"Of course I can read the instruments. An instrument rating just 
means that I can fly using _only_ the instruments. I could fly at 
night if I _had_ to, but I still want the IFR training before I 
do it. I guess I'm just cautious."

He nodded in approval.

"But we'll be flying in broad daylight, both going and coming," I 
said. "And when I called the FBO, I asked 'em to check the 
weather for tomorrow. We'll have good visibility all weekend. So 
we're cool."

"Cool."

When we got to the fourth floor, we walked to our rooms in 
silence--we were both worn out from working all afternoon and 
evening. We said goodnight and then headed to our separate suites.

Billy was lying on his bed, reading. He looked up when I entered. 
We silently greeted each other and then I dumped my backpack and 
carrying tube on my bed. Under the guise of combing my hair, I 
stared at myself in the mirror.

Was I gaining weight? I knew I _wasn't_, of course, but I wasn't 
losing it either. I was constantly aware of how much I ate, and I 
worked out all the time, which helped. I was a little worried, 
though, because my shirts were actually getting tighter through 
the chest and shoulders (although my pants were ready to fall 
off).

_Maybe Mom and I can go clothes shopping during the Thanksgiving 
break,_ I thought.

I still had money left over from the summer, but it was dwindling. 
And it certainly wasn't enough to buy a new wardrobe. Besides, 
the stores in Knoxville didn't have the latest fashions, like the 
ones in Atlanta did. Izod was around, but Polo was _just_ 
starting to appear in Knoxville, while I'd been wearing them for 
at least a year. I wasn't exactly a fashion maven, but I _did_ 
like to dress nicely.

With a sigh, I took one last look at myself in the mirror and 
then headed back to the foyer. Kendall wanted me to call if I got 
home before midnight, so I dutifully dialed her number. Then I 
pulled the long phone cord into my room and closed the door 
behind me. She answered on the third ring.

"Hi," I said. "I'm home."

"Did you get everything done?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"It's before midnight, do you want me to come up?" she asked. "Is 
Billy there?"

"Um... yeah," I said, flicking my eyes at my roommate.

He seemed preternaturally aware of what I was doing, however, and 
noticed.

"Is that your girlfriend?" he asked. (I was pretty sure he had 
figured out that I actually had two girlfriends, but he was 
circumspect when he didn't know whom I was talking to.)

"It's Kendall," I told him, covering the mouthpiece.

"Oh, that's too bad," Kendall said in my ear. "I was hoping I 
could come over and spend some time with you."

I darted another glance at Billy.

"Um...," Billy said hesitantly, "I can take off, if you want."

I shook my head. "It's almost midnight," I said. In reality, I 
_did_ want him to leave, but it was his room too, so I wasn't 
about to ask him to go.

"Seriously," he said.

"Do you want to come over here?" Kendall asked. "We can hang out 
for a little while."

"We're working on a new play,_ Inherit the Wind_," Billy said. "I 
can work on lines with Jamie. It's no problem."

"Hold on a second," I said to Kendall, the two conversations 
finally overwhelming me.

"You don't have to go, dude," I said to Billy.

"I don't mind. I'll just spend the night at Jamie's. I'm cool."

"Are you sure?" I asked, giving him one last chance to stay.

"Yeah. It's no problem," he said. Then he closed his book and 
started putting on his shoes.

"Thanks, man," I said. "I really appreciate it."

He shrugged, a little embarrassed.

"Let me call you right back," I said to Kendall.

"Is everything okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, everything's fine. Lemme call you back in... two minutes. 
Okay?"

"Okay," she said, a little confused.

Billy smiled diffidently and then used the phone to call his 
friend. I thanked him again, which made him blush. Then he 
grabbed his backpack and headed out.

A moment later, I picked up the phone and dialed Kendall's number.

"What was that about?" she asked after we greeted each other.

I explained.

"Do you want me to come over?" she asked. "You're not too tired?"

"Yes and no," I said. "In that order."

"I can spend the night, if you want."

"Yes and yes, in that order."

"Let me pack a few things. Meet me in the lobby in ten minutes?"

"I'll see you then," I said.

Fifteen minutes later, I ushered Kendall into my room and shut 
the door behind us. She immediately flowed into my arms.

"You look so tired," she said, caressing my face. "You've got 
dark bags under your eyes."

I shrugged.

"You should take better care of yourself."

"I haven't been sleeping well," I said.

"Still..."

"Well," I said testily, "I've been working my _ass_ off with, oh, 
let's see... trig derivatives, Henry James and Mark Twain, early 
Christian art, which is boring as hell, by the way, 'extra 
credit' drawing projects, late Roman architecture, a _major_ 
design project, modeling for a drawing class, working out, 
intramural football, and two girlfriends who don't talk to each 
other. Did I leave anything out?"

"Shhhh," she whispered, caressing my face again. "I'm sorry. I 
know you've been working hard." Then she leaned her forehead 
against mine. "I love you," she said softly.

"I love you too," I said. Then, "I'm sorry I snapped at you."

"It's okay. You're under a lot of stress."

I nodded.

"I was thinking...," she said. "Maybe I could give you a long 
backrub to help you relax. And then afterward..."

"Afterward...?"

"If you want, I could give you a long _front_-rub to help you 
relax," she said.

"That sounds like a _great_ idea," I said, with a tired nod.

After I locked the door, Kendall slowly took off my clothes. With 
each new patch of skin she revealed, she kissed it tenderly. When 
I was finally nude, she kissed the tip of my penis and then 
smiled up at me.

"You've got too many clothes on," I said.

"I know," she said softly. "But we'll get to me in a minute."

With that, she wrapped her lips around my manhood. Since I was 
still mostly soft, she could get my whole dick in her mouth. I 
sighed when I felt her nose press into my pubic hair. Her chin 
brushed my balls as I held the sides of her head. A moment later, 
she began moving her tongue over my flaccid shaft.

No matter how often she tried, she couldn't deep throat me when I 
was fully erect. She could only swallow about three-fourths of my 
length; more than that and she gagged. I know that disappointed 
her, but it was more than enough to keep me happy.

Since I knew she liked having all of me in her mouth, I closed my 
eyes and tried to stay soft as long as I could. To keep from 
getting hard, I thought about my design project, going over my 
drawing in my mind's eye. My body reacted predictably, but with 
my mind on the Jefferson Memorial, it took me several minutes to 
reach full erection.

Kendall moaned in frustration when my hard-on finally triggered 
her gag reflex. She withdrew a bit and then compressed her lips 
around my shaft as she pulled back slowly.

"Oh my goodness," she said, breathless. "You took a long time to 
get hard."

"I know how much you enjoy that," I said. "So I was thinking 
about my design project."

"While I was...?" she asked in disbelief.

With a grin, I nodded.

"You're _horrible_," she said. "How could you think about a 
project when I'm... you know?!"

"I did it for you," I said as earnestly as I could. But then I 
cracked a smile. She didn't know whether to laugh or scowl, so I 
reached down and pulled her to her feet. "You've _still_ got too 
many clothes on," I said. "Let's see what we can do about that."

A minute later, her clothes rested in a pile next to mine and I 
pulled her against me, my hard-on bent between us.

"Thanks for coming over tonight," I said softly. "I know I've 
been busy lately, and I appreciate you being patient. And..."

"And what?"

"And it's tough splitting my time between you and Gina," I said.

Her eyes grew hard. "You don't _have_ to spl--"

Before she said something we'd both regret, I kissed her. Hard. 
As my tongue sparred with hers, I felt her nipples harden against 
my chest. When I broke the kiss, she was panting softly.

"What was that for?" she asked, her eyes still closed.

"Because I love you," I said.

"I love you too. And I love you _more_ th--"

Once again, I kissed her. I'm ashamed to admit it, but by then, I 
was horny. And I wanted to have sex, not an argument. If Kendall 
finished her thought, we'd argue. Guaranteed.

"Paul," she asked when we pulled back, "why won't you let me 
finish? You _know_ she doesn't--"

My lips crushed against hers, and I shamelessly used her body's 
reactions to my advantage. Instead of breaking the kiss, I put 
her hand on my cock. Then I started playing with her smooth pussy. 
She quickly warmed to my touch, and I teased her hooded clit with 
two fingers. Finally, I broke the kiss long enough to look at her.

"I want you to suck me," I said softly. "Take me as deep as you 
can."

At my gentle touch on her shoulder, she sank to her knees and 
wrapped her lips around my shaft.

_I bet you can't criticize Gina with my dick in your mouth, _I 
thought cynically. Was it chauvinistic and underhanded? Probably. 
Was it true? Definitely. Regardless, I enjoyed the sensations as 
she slowly sucked me. I felt a little guilty for manipulating her, 
but her lips and tongue soon made me forget all about it.

For a few minutes, I simply watched as she fellated me, her lips 
gliding smoothly over my rock-hard shaft. Occasionally, she took 
my cock out of her mouth and kissed along the underside ridge. 
But for the most part, she sucked me, her tongue dancing over my 
sensitive skin.

Finally, I pulled my manhood from her mouth. She looked up at me, 
her blue eyes glassy with lust. Wordlessly, I lifted her to her 
feet and we headed to my bed. As she lay back, I moved between 
her thighs, my dangling erection bumping her pussy. I held myself 
above her and we kissed for several long, delicious moments.

We were still kissing when I felt her hands move between us and 
caress my shaft. Then she began rubbing the tip against her 
slippery folds. When she set the glans against her opening, I 
lowered my hips. Her pussy was tight, hot, and wet, and she 
moaned softly as I forced myself inside her.

When I finally bottomed out, I groaned softly. She was so snug 
that I was sure I felt her pussy's inner ridges. I tried to bury 
myself deeper, but my hips ground against her pelvis.

"Oh my goodness," she gasped. "I love how you fill me completely. 
Your dick was made especially for me. I just know it."

A moment later, I began thrusting, slowly at first, but with 
mounting speed. When I was close to my release, I buried myself 
inside her and waited until the feeling passed.

I stopped and started two more times. Each time I let my 
impending orgasm subside, I sucked Kendall's nipples, driving her 
wild. When I started thrusting after the second interlude, I felt 
Kendall's pussy flutter around my shaft. She pulled me to her 
chest as the flutters turned to spasms. With her breasts crushed 
between us, I rocked my hips, sliding my cock in and out of her 
deepest recesses.

When she came, she grew quiet; the sound of her breathing was all 
I could hear. Her pussy squeezed and relaxed, gripping my shaft 
as I moved within her. Finally, she let out a low moan and 
wrapped her legs around me, her inner muscles clenching wildly.

After her orgasm subsided, she tightened her legs and held my 
hips in place. I supported myself on my elbows, my arms under her 
shoulders. Her breath whispered in my ear as she panted. I 
grinned to myself as her pussy quivered with aftershocks.

Finally, her breathing returned to normal and I lifted my head to 
look at her.

"Wow," she said.

I nodded, smiling smugly.

"I bet you're pretty proud of yourself, huh?"

Once again, I flashed her a smug smile as I nodded.

"Wow," she said again, her eyes drooping shut.

After a minute or two, I experimentally moved my hips. She gasped, 
but didn't stop me.

"Come inside me," she whispered. "I want to feel it."

I nodded and picked up my pace. She was still sensitive from her 
climax, and I quickly drove her to another set of smaller orgasms 
(glorified aftershocks, really). When I reached the point of 
release, I started pumping madly, my dick jackhammering into her. 
Finally, I felt my cock swell with the first surge of orgasm.

With a grunt, I buried myself as deep as I could and then tried 
to force myself deeper still. As I emptied my balls into her, 
time stood still. Pleasure raced along my nerves, assaulting my 
brain and redoubling with each passing moment. I closed my eyes 
as my senses overloaded. Finally, I sagged against her, 
completely sated.

"Every time I think it can't get any better...," she said softly, 
her legs still wrapped around me, "but it does."

I kissed her shoulder, inhaling the scent of her skin as we held 
each other.

"One day," she whispered, "when you come inside me, we're going 
to make a baby."

My eyes snapped open.

She sighed contentedly.

_Did she just say what I _think_ she did? Baby? B-A-B-Y, baby? 
Holy shit! I'm eighteen years old. I'm _way_ too young to be a 
father._

"You'll make a good father," she said softly, as if reading my 
mind. "I just _know_ it," she added. Then she kissed my shoulder.

I tried not to tense up in panic.

She continued planting tender kisses on my shoulder and neck.

Was she still on the pill? Would she even _tell_ me if she 
stopped taking it? What would I do if she _did_ stop taking it? 
Would I go back to rubbers again? Could I come in her mouth 
_every_ time we had sex? Would she get suspicious if I did? How 
could I find out if...?

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"What?"

"You got tense all of a sudden," she said.

"Oh, sorry... um... I was starting to get a cramp."

"Oh, bless your heart. Do you need to move?"

"I'm fine now," I said. Then I had _another_ panicked thought. I 
was still hard, and I was still inside her. How much sperm was 
still in my shaft? What would happen if it leaked into her? _Calm 
down!_ I mentally shouted. I had just _filled_ her with semen, 
what difference would another couple of drops make? Still...

"Where's your cramp?" she asked. "You're still tense."

"My back," I lied.

"Do you want me to rub it?"

Letting her believe that my back was tense was better than the 
alternative--explaining my panicked tenseness--so I agreed. When 
I pulled out of her, she looked into my eyes and smiled. I 
desperately hoped she couldn't see what I was _really_ thinking.

"Lie on your stomach," she said. As I folded my arms beneath my 
chin, she straddled my thighs. Then she laughed, soft and short. 
"Oops," she said. "Your come's leaking out. Oh well, no baby 
tonight," she joked.

I hoped she didn't feel me grow even _more_ tense. My mind raced 
as she cleaned herself with a wad of tissues.

"Where does it hurt?" she asked at last.

"It's easing off," I fibbed.

As she started rubbing my back, I tried to relax. Unfortunately, 
visions of a pregnant Kendall paraded through my imagination.

-----

The next morning, I woke up early. I hadn't slept well--I _never_ 
slept well when Kendall and I shared a bed. Unlike Gina, she 
didn't spoon. Worse, she seemed to take her half of the narrow 
bed out of the middle. I tried to get comfortable and go back to 
sleep, but it was useless. Finally, I climbed out of bed, taking 
care not to jostle her.

I cast about for something to do and then decided to work out. I 
took out my weights as quietly as I could. Then I watched myself 
in the mirror as I did biceps curls. Since my body was on 
autopilot, my mind wandered. As I thought about the night before, 
I tried to forget Kendall's comment about getting pregnant.

I wanted to be a father, but on my _own_ terms, and when I was 
ready. I _definitely_ wasn't ready. I wanted to finish college 
before getting married, much less starting a family. And the 
night before wasn't the first hint that Kendall had dropped about 
our future together.

Kendall wanted me to herself. I didn't have to be a couples 
counselor to figure that one out. And unlike Gina, Kendall _was_ 
the type of person to give me an ultimatum. I didn't think things 
had reached that point, but I saw the writing on the wall.

How would I react if she _did_? I don't think anyone likes being 
told what to do, and I certainly wasn't an exception. I think 
Kendall realized that, however, and she wasn't willing to risk 
our relationship by making demands that I wasn't willing to 
accept.

Worse, I don't think she understood how much I loved Gina. The 
dark-haired, dark-skinned beauty was my first love, my first 
_true_ love.

I wanted to ask when life had become so complicated, but that 
would just be whining. Instead, I drowned out my misgivings with 
mindless exercise--I reversed my grip on the curling bar and 
started doing shoulder presses. After that, I did sit-ups. Then I 
did push-ups. At last, I stood up and studied myself in the 
mirror.

My stomach was _finally_ starting to gain some definition. 
Abdominal muscles are very dense, and it takes a lot of work to 
shape them. My shoulders, chest, and arms were already well-
defined, and my legs had never really been a problem. I still 
wanted to lose a few pounds, though. The dreaded "Freshman 
Fifteen" were only a few heavy meals away.

"What are you doing?" Kendall asked from the bed.

Startled, I turned.

"Were you working out?"

"Yeah," I said. "I woke up early, and... well..." As I trailed off, I 
shrugged. Then I grabbed a dirty t-shirt and wiped the sheen of 
sweat that covered my torso.

"Do you want to come back to bed?" she asked.

I shook my head. "I need to get in the shower," I explained. 
"Trip and I have to be at the airport by nine. And I've still got 
to pack."

She frowned.

"What?"

"Why don't you just _drive_ to Nashville?" she asked. "It's only 
four hours."

"Because I miss flying," I said.

"But it's so dangerous."

"It is _not_. I'm a good pilot."

"I'm sure you are," she said. "But what if the plane breaks down? 
Or what if you run out of gas?"

"The plane's not going to break down. And I know how much gas we 
need to take. We'll have a comfortable reserve. The useful load 
on a 172 is more than enough for me, Trip, and all the gas we'll 
need," I explained. Then I realized that she didn't know "useful 
load" from a hole in the ground. "Don't worry about it," I said.

She frowned again.

"_What?_"

"Nothing," she said.

"No, not 'nothing.' What's the matter?"

"What if something happens? What if some piece falls off the 
plane or something? Can you land in a field? What if you don't 
see another plane until it's too late, and you crash into each 
other? What if--"

"What if you worry too much?" I asked rhetorically, cutting her 
off. "It's safer than driving a car." When she set her jaw and 
shook her head, I looked at her in astonishment. "Hold on, have 
you ever flown before?" I asked.

She shook her head.

"Never?"

Another headshake.

"Not once?"

"I think I'd know if I'd ever been in an airplane before," she 
snapped.

"Whoa," I said hastily. "I was just asking."

"I still don't see why you can't just drive," she said.

"Because I _like_ flying."

"I don't see what's so special about it."

"Let me take you up sometime," I said. "You'll love it."

She turned pale and immediately shook her head.

"It'll be fun," I urged. When she still looked like I was asking 
her to kiss a rattlesnake, I shook my head in disbelief. Then I 
laughed. "I thought 'fear of flying' was a metaphor," I said. 
"You're afraid to _fly_, aren't you?"

"No," so answered immediately. "I just don't see the need. And I 
don't see why _you_ want to do it either."

"I want to do it because it's fun. It saves lots of time. And 
besides, it's relaxing," I said. "I've got to concentrate on 
flying, so I don't have time to worry about all the things in my 
life that I can't control." _Like a girlfriend who doesn't want 
me to fly,_ I thought sourly. "Now, I'm gonna take a shower. Do 
you wanna join me?"

"You go on," she said, shaking her head.

"Suit yourself."

With that, I grabbed my towel and shower basket and headed into 
the foyer. I'd forgotten to put on a pair of shorts, but I didn't 
think T.J. or Glen would catch me.

Halfway through my shower, I started playing with myself. Kendall 
might not want to shower with me, but my balls still expected to 
be relieved. Before I worked up a good rhythm, however, I heard 
my door open. A moment later, Kendall tentatively pulled the 
shower curtain open.

"Do you mind if I join you?" she asked.

"C'mon in," I said. "The water's fine."

"That's not _all_ that's fine, I see," she said, grinning at my 
erection.

I shrugged unrepentantly.

"I... I'm sorry about earlier," she said softly. "I just don't want 
anything to happen to you."

"Don't worry about it," I said, pulling her into my arms. "I'm a 
good pilot. I don't have a whole lot of hours yet, but that means 
I'm doubly careful. I don't wanna die, trust me."

"I know, but I still worry about you."

"I'll be fine. I know what I'm doing."

After a pause, she nodded.

"Now," I asked, "do you want me to wash your hair?"

"Yes, please."

"I've got a special cream rinse," I said, hefting my erection for 
emphasis. "Maybe you'd like the cream before the shampoo?"

"You've got a one-track mind," she said. "Do you know that?"

"When I've got my girlfriend in the shower with me? You bet your 
sweet ass I do. Now, speaking of sweet asses..."

-----

When Trip and I got to the airport, I told the man at the FBO who 
we were. While Trip leafed through magazines in the small waiting 
area, the man made a copy of my pilot's license and medical 
certificate. Then he handed me the renter's exam.

The exam was an open-book test, using the Cessna 172's manual. 
The questions were simple. _What is the total useable fuel 
capacity? What is the aircraft max gross weight? What is the 
stall speed?_ And so on. As I answered the questions, I learned 
about the plane (which was the whole point).

It took me about thirty minutes to finish and then the man behind 
the counter graded it. Needless to say, I didn't miss a single 
question. As I filled out the rental agreement, another man 
entered the building.

"Hey, Doc," he said to the man behind the desk. "I'm supposed to 
have a ten o'clock checkride."

"This is him, Earl," Doc said, pointing to me. "Paul... Hughes," he 
added, reading my name from his copy of my pilot's license, "meet 
Earl Walker. Earl here will be your checkride instructor."

After Earl and I shook hands, we walked out to the waiting Cessna.

"How old're you?" he asked.

"Eighteen."

"And how many hours do you have?"

"Ninety-one," I said. My father had several _thousand_ flight 
hours, but I was proud of my ninety-one. It might not seem like a 
lot, but for a young pilot, it was more than twice the required 
hours to get a license.

Earl asked me about my experience, but as soon as I told him my 
father was an airline pilot, he grew wary.

"Did your father teach you to fly?" he asked.

"No, sir. I went to ground school and had a regular flight 
instructor."

"Your father's got good sense, then," he said. "Too many guys 
think they can teach their kids to fly. And there's a reason some 
guys are instructors and some guys fly busses. No offense," he 
added.

"I'm sure my father would agree," I said dryly.

As Earl and I went through the Cessna's preflight inspection, he 
quizzed me on the plane. What was the correct fuel grade? What 
was the proper fuel color? Where were the fuel tank drains 
located? And so on. He was gruff, but conscientious and thorough. 
I answered his questions, and he seemed satisfied with my answers.

The checkride itself was fairly straightforward. Earl and I spent 
an hour in the air, going over stall speeds, emergency procedures, 
and more. My landing was a little rougher than I would have liked, 
but it was still pretty good.

"Well," Earl said when I rolled to a stop and killed the engine, 
"I reckon you pass."

"Thanks."

"You should come out and fly more often, though," he said.

"I wish I could," I said. "But without my family's plane, I can't 
just go fly whenever I feel like it. Besides," I added, "I'm on a 
college student's budget."

"Why not join the Flying Club?" he asked.

"The Flying Club?"

He nodded. As we walked back to the FBO, he explained about UT's 
Flying Club. The students got discounts on aircraft rental, 
instruction, and more. Not surprisingly, he was one of the club's 
instructors.

"How much does it cost to join?" I asked.

"Fifteen bucks a quarter," he said. Then he gave me the name of 
the on-campus club sponsor. "And we can give you the club rate 
for your trip today," he added. "It'll save you ten bucks an 
hour."

"Wow, thanks."

"Don't mention it. I reckon you're just the type of person we 
want in the club. You're not a hotdog, and you take flying 
seriously."

"I try," I said, my cheeks warming.

"Sign him up, Doc," Earl said when we entered the FBO. "And give 
him the UT club rate."

"You got it, Earl," Doc said, grinning. Then he leaned forward 
conspiratorially. "He's a crotchety old coot," he said to me, 
"but he's got a soft spot for young pilots."

"Doc," Earl warned, "my hearin' ain't what it used to be, but you 
don't talk as quiet as you used to either."

With a friendly scowl at the man behind the desk, Earl shook my 
hand, nodded to Trip, and went into the office to fill out 
paperwork.

Twenty minutes later, Trip and I were airborne. He was a little 
nervous at first, but when he saw how serious I was, he relaxed.

I had originally planned on an hour and forty-five minutes flying 
time, but it was only 140 nautical miles to the airport closest 
to Trip's house. So the flight would actually take a little more 
than an hour. The plane didn't have an autopilot, but the day was 
bright and sunny, with enough chill in the air that there wasn't 
much turbulence. In other words, it was a _perfect_ day for 
flying.

Trip's father, Frank, picked us up at the airport. Like Trip, he 
was tall and lean. We talked about school as we drove to his 
house. On the way, Trip pointed out one of the houses he'd bought 
and renovated.

"Trip tells me you two are going into business next summer," 
Frank said.

"Yes, sir. That's what Trip tells _me_ too," I said, grinning at 
my friend.

"You don't have to call me 'sir,'" Frank said. "It makes me think 
you want a recording contract."

"I don't think I'd know what to do with one," I said. "I can't 
sing to save my life."

The rest of the way back to Trip's house, he and his father 
talked about music. Frank was a country music producer, and even 
though I didn't _listen_ to country music, I did recognize some 
of the names he mentioned.

Trip's house was a little bigger than I expected, but definitely 
not a mansion. It was simply a nice house in an upper middle-
class neighborhood, just like any of the ones I grew up around.

Trip actually had a small apartment over the garage, which he and 
his uncle had built. His uncle was a general contractor, which 
explained how Trip had begun his home renovation business in the 
first place.

After Trip and I threw our things in his apartment--which his 
step-mother had prepared for our stay--I called Kendall to let 
her know that we had arrived safely. We talked for a minute and 
then said goodbye (I didn't want to run up Trip's long-distance 
phone bill). Next, I called Gina's room, but no one answered.

Finally, Trip and I headed to the main house. When Trip was 
mobbed by his two younger brothers, Frank introduced me to his 
wife, Darlene. She was an attractive brunette in her late 
twenties or early thirties.

"Paul," Trip said, "I want you to meet Dale and Josh."

"Hi, Dale," I said, dropping to one knee. "I'm Paul."

"I'm pleased to meet you," he said politely. Then he stuck out 
his small hand.

"Are you excited about your party?" I asked him as I shook his 
hand.

He nodded.

"How old are you today?" I asked.

"Five," he said. Then he got a mischievous look. "Did you bring 
me a present?"

"_Dale_," his mother chided.

"Of course we brought you presents," Trip said, coming to my 
rescue. "But you can't open 'em 'til your party."

I nodded seriously.

"Paul," Trip said, "this is Josh."

I stood up and held out my hand to the little boy Trip held.

He buried his face in Trip's shoulder.

"He's kinda shy around strangers," Trip said. Then he looked at 
his youngest brother. "Can you say hi to Paul?" he asked.

Josh shook his head.

"Well, we can get to know each other later," I said to Josh.

When Darlene offered to take him, Trip shook his head.

"I've got him," he said, "C'mon, Josh, let's give Paul a tour. 
D'you wanna go with us, Dale?"

"Sure!"

-----

I didn't know what to expect from the party itself, but I 
actually had a lot of fun.

A party for a five-year-old is actually a party for the _parents_ 
of other five-year-olds, where the kids can play together, and 
the parents can rotate who's on duty to watch the kids. 
Consequently, I met a lot of Trip's parents' friends. They were 
all couples in their thirties, and they seemed like a nice group 
of people.

Trip and I spent most of our time in the backyard with the kids, 
roughhousing and generally having a blast. I didn't think about 
Kendall. I didn't think about Gina. I didn't think about 
Professor Joska. I didn't think about _anything_ that weighed on 
my mind. As I dodged the horde of rampaging five-year-old boys, I 
silently thanked Trip for his foresight.

When it was time to open presents, we all trooped back inside. As 
Trip and I stood on the periphery of the group, he leaned close 
and quietly explained that I'd gotten Dale a set of Legos. Trip 
had bought them, of course, but it was his "gift" to me for 
flying us from Knoxville.

"Besides," he said, "you've had a lot on your mind lately. I 
didn't wanna add buying a gift for a five-year-old to your list."

"Thanks," I said. "But when did you get to the mall to buy 
Legos?" As far as I knew, I was the only one of our circle of 
friends who had a car.

"Abby's parents let her use their car last weekend," he said. "We 
went shopping and then had dinner with Luke and Tara."

The weekend before, Gina and I had a big argument (about Kendall, 
and then Regan, and then too many other things to remember). 
Consequently, I spent the entire weekend in the design lab, the 
Sports Bubble, or alone in my room. I guess I shouldn't have been 
surprised that Trip had gone out with Abby and I didn't know a 
thing about it.

"She needed to buy something for her grandmother's birthday," he 
explained, "so it was a good chance for us to go to the mall. And 
when you said you'd come this weekend, I just chose a couple of 
my extra presents and put _your_ name on the cards."

"Thanks, man. I really appreciate it," I said. Then, "Hold on... 
you had _dinner_ with Abby? Like... a date? I thought you two 
weren't serious."

"We're not," he said. "She knows we're just friends. I know she 
wants to be more than friends, but... I guess I'm not ready for 
that. And..."

"And?"

"And she's not really my type. She's nice and all, but she's... 
well... she's too... conventional."

"Conventional?"

"I know this is gonna sound kinda weird," he said, "but I guess I 
like girls who're a little bit... I dunno... wilder. I don't mean a 
'wild and crazy kinda girl,'" he said, "but a girl who's... 
exciting. That's not the right word, though. Abby's a really nice 
girl, but..."

"I think I know what you mean," I said.

Before he could say anything else, Josh came running toward us.

"Look," he said, holding up a Tonka dump truck.

"Oh, I forgot to mention," Trip said. "You bought Josh a gift 
too."

As I picked up the three-year-old--who had warmed to me--I looked 
a question at Trip.

"You can't have a birthday party for a five-year-old without 
getting presents for his little brother too," Trip explained.

"Look," Josh demanded again, holding up the truck.

"Do you like it?" I asked.

With a grin, he nodded. Then he hugged me. The little metal truck 
banged me in the head, but a hug from a happy three-year-old will 
make up for almost anything.

"I think you're gonna be a good daddy," Trip said, smiling 
indulgently.

At my shocked look, his smile turned to laughter.

"C'mon," he said. "Let's get back to the party. I think it's time 
for cake and ice cream."

"Yeah, time for cake!" Josh yelled. Then he looked at me. "Do you 
like cake?"

"I sure do," I said. "Now, let's go see if we can _find_ some!"

-----

The rest of the weekend was blissfully relaxing. After the party, 
we hung out with Trip's parents. For dinner, we all went out to a 
nice restaurant in neighboring Brentwood. Josh insisted on 
sitting next to me, and I discovered exactly how talkative a 
three-year-old can be.

Later, after the boys went to bed, Frank and Darlene opened a 
bottle of wine and shared it with us. Trip and I brought in two 
loads of firewood and built a fire.

The next day, we had a _big_ breakfast. Darlene cooked eggs, 
sausage, biscuits, gravy, grits, and pancakes. I ate too much, 
and I knew I'd have to work hard to keep the calories from going 
straight to my stomach, but it felt good to simply enjoy a meal.

We spent the rest of the morning doing a lot of nothing. Dale 
played with his birthday presents and Josh insisted on showing me 
his toys, one by one. When he was done, the playroom was littered 
with Tonka trucks, Weebles, stuffed animals, and more. I don't 
know what it is, but there's something mindlessly relaxing about 
playing with a three-year-old and his toys.

By the time Trip's family drove us back to the airport, I felt 
happier than I had in a month.

-----

Copyright (c) 2004-2005 Nick Scipio. All rights reserved.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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