Double Time
Chapter 70
“All existence is in vain: unexplained and sterile. I’ll end up alone with all my doubts that will haunt me forever, even after my death…”
—E.C. Lemus, The Master of the Realities
I’VE ALWAYS HAD TROUBLE being the center of attention at a party. It’s exhausting, like I should be entertaining everyone. This was my birthday party with my six girlfriends. And I felt like I should be the one making sure each of them had a good time. I wasn’t too worried about Rachel and Livy. Livy didn’t want to get sore between her legs, so Rachel and I managed to couple together a couple times during our afternoon spa. Both girls looked scrumptious and extremely well-fucked.
So that left Desi, Joan, Brittany, and Beca, which was a whole different problem. I didn’t want Rachel and Livy to feel like I fucked them and abandoned them either. And, of course, all six girls wore sexy outfits while I was in a simple pair of slacks and a polo shirt. Nonetheless, we were at Joan’s house with her mother conveniently absent as we ate pizza and chips and my girlfriends sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to me.
Every time someone looked at Livy for more than a second, she blushed.
“I think there is no denying what Jacob got for a birthday present,” Beca said. “It’s so nice of you to have sacrificed your virtue to make his birthday happy, Livy.”
“I didn’t even get a chance to sacrifice my virtue,” Livy said. “It was taken from me by two evil geniuses who used me to sate their lust. They seemed to get some dark pleasure out of seeing how many times they could make me come.”
“Poor girl,” Joan said. “Jacob, can you see how many times you can make me come? I want to give you a birthday booty, too.”
“Isn’t it my turn yet?” Desi asked.
“It’s coming soon, love,” Beca responded. “We just need to find a place where we can all observe the deflowering so you can collect your two weeks of sexual slavery from Jacob.”
“Um… About that,” I said. “We might have to make some adjustments to the timing.”
“You aren’t backing out, are you?” Desi wailed. “Please? I know you’re in love with Rachel. I’ll skip the whole slavery thing but please don’t back out.”
“No, honey. I’m not going to back out. I don’t care about the auction or the slavery thing. But I love you, Desiree Whitcomb. I want to be with you. That’s not the problem,” I said.
“What is?”
“Desi’s birthday is next Saturday. The track team will be going to Terre Haute for the State Finals because at the very least, Livy is going to be competing. I would lay money that the girls’ team will all be running and very likely the boys’ team, too. That means we won’t be getting home until at least four in the afternoon.”
“That’s plenty of time for our party,” Desi said.
“We’ll have a birthday party, but…” I sighed. “Em should be home about that time, too. Desi, I can’t spend the night with you and be your sex slave when Em will be here before she ships out to her next assignment. She’ll only be here a week. I have to spend time with her. It will be months before I see her again. All I’m asking is if we can delay another week before we get started.”
“I just want to be your lover, Jacob,” Desi cried.
“I want to be your lover, too, Des. Please believe that.”
“We can’t really blame Jacob for the timing,” Beca said. “We all want to spend time with Emily when she’s home. Tell me you don’t want her to kiss you some more, Desi.”
“Of course I do. And I’m not going to be jealous. I’m not. But…” Desi hesitated. “We’ll have to wait a few weeks to do anything together, I guess.”
“A few weeks?”
“Play rehearsals start the next week. I got cast in The Masque of Beauty and the Beast. It’s a one-act and the finale of three one-acts that the school is producing this fall. But more than that, I am assistant wardrobe mistress—to my mother, of course—and the costumes are incredibly elaborate. I will have no time for anything but the play for the next few weeks. Which brings us to Christmas,” Desi said.
“That could work to your advantage, honey,” Rachel said, soothing our distraught girlfriend. I felt like a total heel. Of course I wanted to make love to Desi, but if she was going to go straight into production, we weren’t going to have any of the two weeks to be together anyway.
“How?”
“Well, if you wait until break, I’m sure we can arrange more time for you to exercise your rights as a mistress. Weren’t you going to spend a weekend with Jacob at PopCon anyway?”
“Um… yeah. I see. I’m just sad,” she cried.
That was my cue. I moved forward and took her in my arms. Desi is not the smallest or lightest of my girlfriends but I managed to pick her up and settle her onto my lap in the recliner. Before she could whimper any more, I started kissing her and petting her. I ramped up the intensity so much that I think she’d have consented to her deflowering on the spot.
“And that begins the next part of our celebration,” Joan said. “Everybody gets some time in Jacob’s lap. Let’s say five minutes each for the first round and see who has clothes on at the end of that. You get to go last,” she said, pointing at Livy. Livy blushed again but I was too busy to pay attention.
We didn’t get naked, but I got two incredibly fun rounds of holding each of my girlfriends with a break for cake and ice cream between. And there were a few delightfully bare breasts tossed into the mix. I’d have to say it was the best birthday present my girlfriends could have given me. While I was busy with one girlfriend, the others were busy with each other.
The Semi-State Cross Country meet was held at IPFW Saturday—one of my favorite running venues. It’s just a fifteen-minute bus ride from school and took longer to load and unload our athletic bus than to drive to The Plex. The boys’ team did well, placing third, even though our top runner only came in fifteenth. A lot of schools only had one good runner and even though that runner was fast, the rest of the team placed far down the list of 178 runners. Our third place finish meant a trip to State Finals at Indiana State the next week.
Livy set another school record at 18:50.3 in a ninth place finish. That was forty-six seconds behind her nemesis from Carroll but half the first eight finishers were seniors and wouldn’t be running against her next year. The team’s fifth place finish still earned them a berth in the State Finals.
Monday morning, as soon as I got back from my run, Mom took me to the DMV and half an hour later I walked out with my brand new probationary license. I was a little disappointed that they corrected my height from 5'12", but I was 6'1" now. My memory of V1 told me that was all I would be. I was tall enough to dance comfortably with Livy. And I could pick Beca up and carry her around. So, I guessed I was tall enough. Mom tossed me the keys to her car.
“Drop me off at work and get some driving in today. Alone. Focus on the car and getting home safely. I want to see a hundred miles logged this morning. Get it in the city, interstate, and country roads. Two thousand miles and six months of safe driving and your father will start discussing what kind of car you should have. Perhaps by your seventeenth birthday, you will be able to drive a girlfriend to school yourself.”
I was surprised but I enjoyed driving and headed straight for downtown. After navigating the stupid one-way streets, I hit old US30 and headed east out of town. Just a couple of miles before you get to Ohio, a little sign marks the community of Four Presidents Corners. I pulled off at Indiana 101 and checked my tablet. There’s nothing there, really. It’s like four houses next to a pond. But Wikipedia says it’s where the townships of Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, and Jackson meet. Indiana’s own little bit of enshrined presidential history. I headed back to town and Interstate 469.
I drove myself to meet Rachel and Livy at Joan’s house. Making love to two beautiful teens was already a new experience for me. Adding a third was almost more than my heart could take.
And then our fall break was over and classes were back with a vengeance. It wasn’t until sixth period, after lunch on Tuesday, that things got interesting. Ms. Devine—really her name, as well as her appearance—had an announcement for our Music Theory class.
“We have an unusual opportunity to put Music Theory into practice,” she said. “I want everyone to bring their instruments to class the remainder of this week. I want you to review our Baroque music section and be prepared to play a three-minute piece during class. Yes, I know this gives you very little time to prepare, but it also gives you less time to get nervous. If you are a vocalist and not an instrumentalist, I still want you to prepare three minutes, preferably in the Baroque style. If you don’t have a Baroque piece in your repertoire, don’t let that bother you. Select the best example of your virtuosity you can.”
“Ms. Devine, why are we doing this? It isn’t in the syllabus,” one of the class members asked.
“As I said, we have a unique opportunity. I have been asked to direct the music for a one-act play that will be produced here this fall. It is a very stylized piece and I know it will be a perfect fit for some of you. Everyone will have an opportunity, however. I want you to do your best. You will not be required to participate in the show if you are uncomfortable with it or do not have time in your schedule. However, I will offer a half point override to everyone who does participate in the production.”
A half-point extra in Music Theory was huge. I knew there were a couple of real musicians in the class, but as we were moving into sight reading in the class instead of history, the grades were beginning to show more disparity. I certainly wasn’t at an A-level in this class despite enjoying the subject immensely. I didn’t have a study session with Desi Tuesday night since she was already in first rehearsal. I determined to search my music for an appropriate piece.
I had a raft of classical guitar music from my lessons with Vinnie over the summer. I hadn’t been able to continue lessons while I was running this fall, but I intended to pick them up again soon. Neither V2 nor I had ever been interested in rock guitar or heavy metal. I began to grasp the idea that V2’s only refuge from his tormented mind had been immersing himself in the classical guitar. The fact my parents and sister had been upset when I played for hours one Sunday because that was what I did before I walked in front of a bus had been evidence to me that V2 was indeed tortured. Perhaps only by the dreams that tormented him almost nightly, but also by his love for his older sister. My mental age had helped me cope with the dreams and my disconnected timeline with my family made incest less of an issue to me. I only hoped Em wasn’t tormented like V2 had been.
I chose a seventeenth century Spanish guitar piece called “Espanoletas” by Gaspar Sanz and started working on it. It wasn’t the only thing I played as I worked that night, but my family was all humming the tune at breakfast in the morning.
I was nervous carrying my guitar to school. I didn’t want to leave it in Rachel’s car until lunch and then deal with it adjusting to the temperature difference between outside and inside. Gut strings are far more sensitive to temperature shifts. Of course, it wouldn’t fit in my locker. I went straight to the music room before English class and asked Ms. Devine if I could lock my guitar in the instrument cage. Otherwise, I’d have to carry it with me to all my classes. She agreed and I breathed a sigh of relief as I rushed to class.
“Why haven’t you ever played your guitar for us?” Beca asked at lunch. “It’s like there is a whole side of you that I don’t know yet.” She hugged my arm and looked up at me. “And I’d like to know it,” she whispered.
“I see you hand a special story to Ms. Levy every once in a while, too,” Brittany said. “When are we going to get to read your creative writing?”
“Um… I uh… haven’t wanted to subject you all to my rough playing and writing. Honest, I wasn’t sure I could put a whole sentence together when Ms. Levy read my first story. Her comments were pretty brutal. I’d be embarrassed to let you read that.”
“That still doesn’t excuse you from playing your guitar for us,” Beca insisted. “Bring it to Joan’s Saturday.”
“Not this Saturday,” I said firmly. “I’m going to accompany our local fast girl to Terre Haute for the State championship. Two weeks in a row she’s set a school record.”
“And gotten beat soundly,” Livy sighed. “I swear, no matter how fast you think I am, that girl from Carroll gets even faster. Jock says there were four girls in different semis who ran under eighteen. Can you believe that? A minute or more faster than me. I can’t stand it.”
“You’ll do great. Remember, your effort has kept our whole team in the running. Josie’s twenty-two minute time would have left us out in the cold without your eighteen-fifty,” I said.
“And now basketball practice has started. How do they expect me to train to run when they’re running me to exhaustion on the court? They could have waited a week to start practice. Really.” Livy leaned against my shoulder and I put an arm around her.
“Well, good luck in your playing this afternoon,” Beca said. “But please, Jacob? Even if it is just to sit on your bed with you while you play, I’d like to hear you.”
The idea of sitting on my bed with Beca was not at all unappealing.
I wasn’t sure how the percussion guy was going to audition. For the most part, seventeenth century percussion included timpani, castanets, and tambourine. I was impressed, though, by the number of different sounds he got out of those instruments and the fact that he didn’t limit his solo to the official instruments. He hit everything he could reach, including Ms. Devine’s desk, the trash can, and an interesting sound he got out of rapping on the paper music charts. I don’t know if any of it qualified as Baroque, but I was impressed.
Competition among the pianists was fierce. The cellist just made my heart vibrate with excitement. A vocalist demonstrated her range with an operatic aria.
“Jacob, would you wrap up our session this afternoon? Then we’ll continue tomorrow.”
My heart leapt into my throat as I prepared to play my guitar in public for the first time in my life. My family and Vinnie didn’t qualify as public. I sat in front of the class with the big guitar across my lap and checked the tuning. “Espanoletas” isn’t terribly fast but it moves right along. I love the fingering, typical of Spanish pieces, in which you add a note or a trill by just vibrating a finger of the left hand after a note has been plucked. And my new old guitar was just made for this sound.
I finished and everyone was silent until Tom, the percussionist, started clapping. Then everyone joined in.
“What a beautiful guitar,” Ms. Devine said. “And a masterful execution. I’m sure you don’t want to leave your instrument here overnight but I would like you to bring it again tomorrow if you can, please.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. I didn’t know if that was a good thing or bad.
25 October 2019
Vivid, vivid dreams. I wouldn’t exactly call it a nightmare—not compared to what I’ve been through with dreams of suffocating. Maybe more of an anxiety dream. I woke up with Pey standing by my bed holding my hand.
“Don’t worry, J. Em will be home soon. It’s just a dream.” What a sweetie.
In my dream, I was an old man. More and more, being an old man is like a dream and harder to recognize as a reality I once knew. I was an old man standing on a stage. The audience was packed and they waited expectantly. The lights came down until it was just me in the spotlight and I looked down to see a guitar in my hands.
I knew immediately they must have made a huge mistake. What was I doing here with a guitar? I was a mechanical engineer—a glorified maintenance man. I didn’t know how to play a guitar! I didn’t know anything about music at all. I strummed on the strings and unfamiliar noises came from them. It wasn’t even a guitar. It was a squawk box and I thought immediately of the wheezing sounds of an accordion with too many keys pressed. What a joke. I just stood there in the spotlight staring ahead at nothing with the audience screaming “Fake! Fake! Fraud!”
It’s how I feel most of the time. I look at my girlfriends and how much I love each of them and wonder how long they would stay by my side if they knew I really was an old man hiding in this teenage body. I’d die alone—a hood ornament for a city bus.
“You have all shown me possibilities I didn’t imagine when we started this process,” Ms. Devine said. “Two of you have indicated a willingness to participate but inability to make most of the needed rehearsals. I am going to try to use you for a couple of special spots that we can rehearse in private. Marcie and David, see me after class to set a time we can get together. I have selected a trio for working on the stage. Tom Clemens on percussion, Cindy Marvel on flute and recorder, and Jacob Hopkins on classical guitar. Congratulations. We will begin rehearsals at three o’clock Monday afternoon.”
I’m going to play my guitar on stage. Won’t Desi be surprised!
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