I walked past the blondes and through the doorway like I owned the place. (But more on that later.) I said to Bridget, “What’s going on?”

“These two are Mr. Harper’s girlfriends. They’ve come to take their things out of the house. But I can’t let them do that till the court appoints an executor and he supervises their visits.”

I turned around and faced the blondes. I’ve mentioned that Sherry Benson was blond and ridiculously large-breasted. Well, the other woman had lighter hair and even bigger breasts than Sherry, as well as bee-stung lips. If I didn’t know better, I’d think these two were here to film a lezzie porn video.

I stuck out my hand. “Hello, I’m Marvin Harper. I’m the new owner here, once the legalities get straightened out.”

“If the court rules in your favor, Mr. Harper,” Bridget said behind me.

I acted like she hadn’t said that. I shook the blondes’ hands and said, “Hello Sherry, good to see you again. And you must be Virgilia?”

Just like with Bridget, each blonde changed her expression as I shook her hand.

I turned around and said to Bridget, “I think we can figure out what in this house belonged to a rich old man, and what belongs to an attractive young woman.” I turned back to the blondes. “Besides, you won’t steal from me, will you?”

“Oh no, Mr. Harper,” Virgilia said with feeling.

Sherry said, “You wouldn’t like me if I stole from you.”

I turned back to look at Bridget. “I’m letting them in.”

Bridget didn’t argue at all. “Yes, Mr. Harper, whatever you say, Mr. Harper.”

As soon as I’d shut the front door, Virgilia said to Bridget, “Have you offered Mr. Harper anything to drink?”

“I don’t know what’s available.”

“Tsk,” Sherry said. She turned to me. “What would you like to drink, Mr. Harper? The fridge has Foster’s, Kirin, Dos Equis, and St. Pauli Girl.”

“Just bring me a cola, Sherry,” I said.

“Mr. Harper is underage, you ninny,” Bridget said.

Virgilia stepped next to Sherry and glared at Bridget. “Shift your paradigm, pettifogger. The overarching principle in play here is that Marvin deserves to be served, and that transcends even legislative codes and judicial precedents.”

Sherry said, “What’s a `pettifogger,’ Virgilia? Is she making it foggy outside? I don’t wanna drive home in fog.”

“Bridget? Virgilia?” I said. “Sherry? Only I may speak disrespectfully to any of you. You must speak nicely to each other.”

Bridget and Virgilia hung their heads. “Sorry, Mr. Harper,” each said.

I turned to Sherry. “Now, go fetch me that cola. Bring it upstairs to wherever Virgilia’s clothes are kept. And Sherry?”

“Yes, Mr. Harper?”

“Sherry, I want you bare to the waist when you hand me that cola.”

I said that last part casually, but I was holding my breath. If my theory was wrong, things were about to get ugly.

But Sherry already had her hands on fasteners. “Yes, Mr. Harper, right away,” she said.

Neither of the other women spoke, and no other face showed disapproval. So I pushed my luck a little further. “Virgilia, I want you also bare to the waist. Right now, please.”

Fifteen seconds later, Virgilia was bare to the waist, and a bare-breasted Sherry had walked away, presumably toward the kitchen. But now came the real test of my theory.

You see, asking strippers to take off clothing was not much of a stretch. And Sherry and Virgilia doubtlessly knew, as I did, that all the windows in Uncle Warren’s house were tinted—nobody could see in.

But chances were excellent, Bridget hadn’t noticed the tinting. And chances also were excellent that Bridget had never before gotten naked except in front of a man whom she knew very, very well.

“Bridget,” I said, my voice and manner as casual as I could make them, “you too, please. Bare to the waist.”

Thirty seconds later, I nodded. “Now get back to your inventory, Bridget. Virgilia, go get cardboard boxes or trash bags, whatever you’ll need to move your stuff out of here.”

That’s when two bare-breasted women hurried away, and a third bare-breasted woman walked up to me and handed me a can of Diet Dr Pepper.

Now you see why I wasn’t worried about Aunt Esther challenging the will?

The blondes each had a lot of jewelry here at Uncle Warren’s house. Was all this jewelry real, or was it fake? I couldn’t tell, but I figured that if it was kept in dresser-top jewelry boxes and in dresser drawers, it couldn’t be super-valuable.

Then it occurred to me that I wasn’t thinking fourth-dimensionally. I simply asked each woman, “Real, fake, or don’t know?” It turned out that among all the costume jewelry, Uncle Warren had given Sherry and Virgilia each a genuine diamond necklace with diamond pendant. I casually waved my hand, and each diamond necklace got dropped into a blonde’s trash bag.

The blondes’ possessions also consisted of a mink jacket apiece—I guess Uncle Warren didn’t see eye-to-eye with PETA—lots of shoes with skyscraper heels, every kind of lingerie imaginable, and a vast collection of sex toys.

The time came when everything was divvied up except for a lavender double-headed dildo that was in Uncle Warren’s nightstand.

I said, “What are my options? I could trash it.”

Neither Sherry nor Virgilia said anything.

I said, “Or you two could flip a coin, see who gets it.”

Neither Sherry nor Virgilia said anything.

“Or I let it stay here, and whenever the three of us are in this bedroom, I watch you two use it.”

“You’d let us move back in here?” Sherry asked.

“Yes, once the legal challenges are over.”

I looked at the lavender sex toy, and said, “But right now, I gotta say that watching you use this is a waste of two good pussies.” I had a massive boner when I said that.

Virgilia said, “Mr. Harper, sir, is there something that, um, you would like us to do?”

“Only if you’re willing. If you’re already aroused, get naked.”

They didn’t take their clothes off the way that strippers normally do. No, they ripped their remaining clothing off their bodies as if they had fire ants inside.

When they were naked, I said, “Now get me naked. Do it slowly.”

Then I lost my virginity with them both.

Now, O Reader, you undoubtedly expect me to thrill you with tales of mind-blowing orgasms, rivers of pussy juice and gallons of jism, and acrobatic couplings that the Kama Sutra could only dream of. But that’s not what happened.

I’d come here to spend hours on Uncle Warren’s computer, remember? Since I’d walked in the door, though, I’d not so much as glanced at the silicon beast. And waiting for me at home was homework that was likewise unstarted. And this was a school night. So—

Once Blonde and Blonder got in bed with me, Sherry sucked me erect, I fucked Virgilia (who seemed to enjoy it), then I fucked Sherry (ditto), then the three of us showered together and got dressed. (Does it surprise you that Uncle Warren’s shower could wash three people at once?)

I had Sherry and Virgilia give me contact info (cel numbers, email addresses, Twitter), then I helped them carry their respective trash bags to their respective cars.

Walking inside, I realized I was famished. I told Bridget to fix us both something to eat from whatever was in the kitchen, then I headed for Uncle Warren’s computer.

On the desk next to Uncle Warren’s computer was a flatbed scanner. Well, maybe he used it for scanning and OCRing business documents, him having been a multi-millionaire and all. Yeah, right, whom was I kidding?

Sure enough, once I decrypted the “LAMP” folder and went in, 99 percent of what was there was Uncle Warren porn. After I copied the few files that weren’t photos of Uncle Warren having sex, I’d barely put a dent in the USB stick. So I copied all the photos of Sherry and Virgilia, and then I copied porn pics at random till I reached the USB stick’s two-gigabyte limit.

I had just shut down Uncle Warren’s computer, and was putting the black cap back on the USB stick, when bare-breasted Bridget walked in. She was carrying my food on a tray: ham sandwiches and strawberry yogurt. I told her to bring her own food; I wanted her to eat with me. She was shockingly grateful.

The computer room also had a couch, with a rack of TV trays. I set two TV trays in front of the couch, her tray near mine. Again, Bridget acted like I’d rescued her from a burning building.

I waited till she’d sat down and taken a bite, then I asked, “So what do you think of Sherry and Virgilia?”

“You ordered me not to speak disrespectfully of them.”

“No, I ordered you not to speak disrespectfully to them. Now I’m asking you a question; and whenever I ask you a question, I insist on the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

She nodded. “Mr. Harper, I don’t like how they look, especially because of how things turned out. And I envy them.”

“What do you mean, `how things turned out’? And why envy them?”

“They got to serve you with their bodies! I really envy them that.”

“You know about that? I thought you were in a different part of the house.”

“You three were loud, Mr. Harper.”

“Mm. And why does it bother you, them having sex with me, and you not?”

She turned to stare into my eyes. “I’m afraid that you don’t like me.”

“Hm,” I said. “Go ahead and finish your food while I think.”

A few minutes later, she set her TV tray aside and looked at me hopefully.

I asked Bridget, “How are you at sucking cock?”

She grinned. “I’m great at sucking cock! You don’t become a legal assistant without learning how to research stuff.” Then her face fell. “But I’d be third in line, wouldn’t I?”

“Second. Yours would be the second mouth on my cock. But I’ve never been sucked till I come, and I’ve never come in a girl’s mouth.” Then I leaned toward her and confided, “Actually, until I walked into this house this afternoon, I was a virgin.”

Then Bridget looked down at my boner, and up at my eyes. With a sexy smile, she said, “Just tell me when to start, when to stop, and how fast to go.”

I don’t know if it was an Olympics-quality blowjob, or if it was dime-a-dozen. Nor do I care. Bridget gave it everything she had for ten minutes, then I felt truly wonderful.

I got a glimmer of understanding then, how Uncle Warren could get addicted to this.

I got fully dressed, I gave Bridget permission to get fully dressed—Or otherwise she might go to work tomorrow, bare-breasted?—I collected her contact info, I kissed her goodbye on the mouth, and then I drove home.

Lord, I was tired.

Once I got home, I fended off my parents’ questions with an “explanation” of “Uncle Warren’s computer was interesting, and that’s why I was there so long.” Then I went upstairs to my bedroom.

I started my homework at 10:13 in the evening. Not smart.

Sometime between two and three in the morning I woke up; I was slumped in the chair of my study desk, the desk light blazing away. I set the bedside alarm, pulled off my shirt and shoes, turned off the desk light, and fell into bed, my pants still on.

I had time for only one thought before I fell asleep again: Everything in the room seems smaller.

Tuesday morning, as soon as Miller was out of bed, he went to his wallet and checked his driver’s license. It said he was 5’7”—he’d lost another inch overnight.

Which was certainly bad news. Worse news was when he noticed that his letter jacket was gone, replaced by a red-and-white “Plato Smith Panthers” windbreaker. A windbreaker that any PSHS student with twenty-five bucks could buy.

But Miller got the worst news of the morning a half-hour later, when he was in the bathroom shaving.