Double Time
Chapter 83
“There might have been a little crying. But mostly… she danced.”
—Cora Carmack, Losing It
“AMO, AMAS, AMAT. I love, you love, he, she, or it loves.” I figured that if I didn’t retain anything else from my Latin class, I’d remember that for as long as I live. I love. Rachel amo. Beca amo. Joan amo. Desi amo. Livy amo. Em amo. Brittany amo. Et diligere caritatem. I love to love. Amo amari. I love to be loved. Ego sum plena stercore. I am full of shit.
No matter how I cut it, I was daydreaming through my classes thinking of my girlfriends and impatient for Saturday afternoon when we’d all be together for our study group. It was nice that Livy had no basketball games the first week of the semester. Of course, her team was practicing every afternoon, but so was I. In fact, Thursday, she called dibs for taking me home after our practices and drove me straight to her house. It was really getting too cold to park—especially in the Wrangler.
“Taking a shower!” she called to her brother and sister in the living room. They watched us disappear down the hall giggling.
“Are you saying you want me to scrub your back?”
“Yeah. And every other part of my body you can reach. You can reach my body, can’t you, Jacob?”
“Every part, Livy, my love.” I proceeded to wash her back and her pretty tits and under her arms and between her legs. The whole time, we stayed connected lip-to-lip and tongue-to-tongue. Eventually, we connected cock to pussy. Once in the shower and again on her bed. When we finally came out of her room, her mother met us in the hallway.
“You’ll have dinner here, Jacob,” Eva said. “Livy can take you home after we have a nice family meal.”
“Um… family meal,” I repeated blankly. With Livy and her parents, Eva and Randall. And with Donnie and Barb, her younger siblings. I wondered if I was going to be the main course or just an appetizer.
It turned out to be just fine, though Barb and Donnie periodically looked at the two of us across the table and snickered. Just wait, brats. Your time will come. Before Livy took me home, Randall called me aside.
“It’s getting cold out here,” he said. “Are you managing to keep running every day?” We stood on the deck and he lit one of those propane heat lamps. A few snow flurries melted in the heat. That’s all we’d had so far this season. Nothing was stuck to the ground.
“Yes, sir. Nanette, my running partner, picks me up each morning and we usually go over to The Plex to run on the track,” I said. In fact, running with Nanette every morning was one of the great parts about having the holiday behind us and returning to some sense of ‘normal.’ We’d been working intensely on interval training and she was trying to get my mile time down under six minutes. This morning I was only a second off.
“I suppose it seems a little strange that we’re so accepting of you and Livy,” Randall said. “Or of Rachel and Livy. Or… any of the others. I can imagine what would have happened if I’d gone to Eva’s house and was having sex when her parents got home. Eva and I might have stayed together, but we wouldn’t have children.”
“Why is it, sir? Not that I don’t appreciate it. It’s difficult for us to get together even under the best of circumstances.”
“You probably don’t realize it, but not all of us are equally in favor of the 28th amendment. Basically, it changed everything that everyone in our generation grew up believing. Our parents and grandparents fought in wars and some of them were drafted right out of high school. But it wasn’t the norm. And no matter what you hear about soldiers getting ‘Dear John’ letters, they were rare. Most of the men came home to their high school sweethearts, got married, and lived miserably ever after. I’m kidding about that.”
“I have an uncle who…” I started. What had Uncle Dave fought in? It wasn’t World War II in this timeline. But was it Vietnam? Or Afghanistan? Why hadn’t anyone mentioned him since I woke up? “He never could stay married,” I finished lamely.
“Well, it’s worse now. The amendment was sold to us under false pretenses, which should be a lesson to your generation about how things are worded. The amendment just dictates that every American Citizen upon reaching the age of eighteen will serve two years of civilian or military service prior to his or her twenty-first birthday. It was the incoming congress that fixed the laws about how that would be implemented. No one anticipated how existing relationships would be affected. No one saw the intentional prevention of unions being formed. Or the poor wage that would be paid. Or the low level of post-secondary education that would be offered. Or the loss of jobs in the open market.”
“We’re supposed to be trained in skills we can use when we get out of Service,” I said.
“You could, if the next class of NS conscriptees wasn’t moving into the jobs you vacated as soon as your service ended. Did you know the number of non-Service persons currently engaged in road repair and construction has dropped by fifty percent since National Service began its infrastructure repair mandate? And none of those young people working on roads and learning heavy equipment can get jobs in that field when they leave.”
“Crap!”
“I’d put it more strongly than that,” Randall said. “Jacob, we don’t know what will happen to your pod over the next five years. Your parents and the parents of your girlfriends have met and we’ve agreed that we will support your natural growth together in any way we can. Um… Not every parent considers sleeping with their daughter to be natural growth. But some of us believe that the only way we’ll survive the social disruption of 28 is to support the formation of a new society. Yours.”
“Thank you, sir. I never considered that National Service could create such a social upheaval.”
“I might suggest… Jacob, you may lose a member or more than one member of your pod. Breakups are a fact of life. Hopefully, it will be before he or she gets tattooed,” he laughed. “We’ll support you through the hard times, too. But you might consider… Well, just a thought. There are some advantages to having a range of ages in your pod. Right now, you are all fifteen to nineteen. Closing in on sixteen to nineteen. Think about the stability a broader age range could give you. Someone who’s already past Service age. Or, in the future, someone younger. I’m not a sociologist, but I’ve been doing some reading and the prevailing thought is that a broader age base in a multiple-person household gives a sense of stability that there is always someone to come back to, someone keeping the home fires burning, so to speak. Well, just a thought. I know your parents have said this and I add my voice to theirs. Act responsibly. You do that and the parents will do what they can to help.”
10 January 2020
I guess that puts it in perspective. I couldn’t believe how accepting the girls’ parents were of us having sex. Periodically, the old man inside me gets on a soapbox and lectures me about what an immoral bastard I’d become. “I didn’t come here to fornicate my way through life!” he’d yell. Oh, come on. Isn’t that what every SOL story is about? Of course he did. And the truth was, despite his old man pedophile guilt, he was never happier than when my cock is plunging into Livy or Rachel or Joan or Desi.
That doesn’t mean I don’t still have a protective instinct for the ‘girls’—especially Beca. Even though we have made out and touched each other, it was really for Joan’s benefit, wasn’t it? Beca’s a lesbian. I’m not going to violate her. That would be like…
Well, like Cindy. She’s fourteen and almost as small as Beca. I wonder where all the air comes from that she blows into her flute. I wouldn’t think her lungs could hold that much. The thing is, I would take a bullet for her. She has a future, a talent, a place to go. All I want with Cindy is to not mess things up for her. I need to be the best I can be when we’re playing our music. But beyond that? She’ll never be a member of our pod. She’s just too young.
On the other end of the spectrum, however, I could see having an older, more stable adult in our group. As long as she was as good with the girls as with me. Like Nanette. We’ve been talking while we run. A lot. She’s been divorced three years. No children. Happy with her job and devoted to running. And a little lonely. Lately, the friendly little kiss we’ve shared when she drops me off has been getting a little longer. Not passionate, but relaxed and comfortable.
I’ll just play it by ear. All the girls like her, even though she isn’t around them as much. An older woman would be good for our pod. And the old man inside wouldn’t feel guilty about her.
Old man? I hope the girls don’t start considering adding a man to our group. I don’t think I could take it. Or Beca.
“It’s game night at your house tonight,” Rachel said as she sat next to me. I wondered how the girls decided who was going to sit next to whom at lunch. I never thought about it, but it seemed like almost every day either Rachel or Beca was beside me. Today, Rachel was on my left and Livy next to her. Brittany was on my right and pressing against me like she was glued there. Across from us, Beca was sandwiched between Joan and Desi. But every day was different.
“Um… is that going to be our date tonight?” I asked. I’d been thinking of something a little more intimate. I hadn’t been able to make love to Rachel since she spent the night last week. I was hoping for a repeat since our parents didn’t seem to mind. Too much.
“No. That’s our parents and little brother and sister’s date tonight,” she giggled. “I’m going to go over after school and help your mom get dinner ready. It’s not fair for her to rush home from work and try to fix a meal for guests on Friday night. You’ll have to get home after rehearsal on your own. And not via Livy’s house.”
“I thought you said you didn’t cook,” I said.
“Your mom decided I need to learn. She’s been giving me tips and I agreed to get the prep done for dinner tonight.” My mom was giving Rachel cooking tips? I love her dearly, but Mom only really has about six things she can consistently prepare well. I guess if Rachel learns to cook those, I’ll at least have my favorites occasionally.
“So, we all have dinner together and then you and I go out?”
“Mmmhmm. And just think. My parents and Richard will be at your house playing cards. My house is going to be empty and deserted. It will be so lonely without someone there to warm it up. Poor house. Whatever can we do?”
I didn’t bother playing along with her little game. I just leaned toward her and kissed her. It was going to be a good evening. With luck, all night.
Brittany didn’t unglue herself from my side, even while I was kissing Rachel. If anything, she was stuck closer. I finally turned and put my arm around her.
“What has you so lovey today, Britt?”
“Can’t a girl just hang on her boyfriend at lunch for a while?”
“Of course she can. I just thought you were… unusually attached today.”
“Jacob, we need to do it this weekend.”
“We need to… Do what?”
“Sophie.” I stared at her, not comprehending. “She’s going back to New York next weekend. If we don’t show her we want her with us, we’ll lose her. I don’t want to lose her, Jacob.”
“Brittany, what… I mean… I like Sophie a lot. But is she really interested in us? As a group? Or just you?”
“Don’t be dense, Jacob. Do you think each of us didn’t have a little time with Sophie on New Year’s Eve? I saw you kiss her after that last dance,” Beca said. “She might have only slept with Brittany but she’s been waiting for you.”
“We didn’t sleep much,” Brittany giggled. “We’ll plan tomorrow during our study time. I think you need to prepare Flamenco music for Sunday morning.”
As it turned out, after dinner, Rachel and I got roped into a game of six-handed canasta with the parents, which can take a while. Still, when the game was over and our parents were shuffling up the deck for another game, Rachel and I put our chairs back in the living room and bid everyone good night. She supervised me in packing my gym duffle with all I’d need for an overnight stay.
We got to her room, which was in its usual semi-chaotic state. I keep my room neater than she keeps hers. But we weren’t here to video me playing guitar. Nonetheless, when we walked into her room I automatically grabbed the bra strap hanging out of her hamper and tucked it into the laundry basket.
“Am I too messy for you?” she asked. I turned toward her and found her skirt was already pooled at her feet. Her hands were under her lavender peasant top and I watched in fascination as she pulled arms inside then back through the sleeve holes with her bra in one hand. She tossed it at me and I just held it for a minute before she pointed to the hamper. “Well?” she asked.
“Messy? I didn’t notice.”
She stuck her iPhone in a slot on her desk and music started playing. I recognized it. That’s something. At eighty-one in my head, I recognized a popular teen song—Twenty One Pilots’ ‘Stressed’. It was a little louder and faster than I was prepared for but Rachel started moving and dancing toward me in just her panties and peasant blouse. I couldn’t help but start swaying with her and dancing. She kicked her skirt out of the way and we danced closer and closer to each other.
When I touched her waist, she spun around, not trying to move away from me, but letting my hands glide across her tummy and back as she turned between them. Feeling her skin beneath my fingers short circuited every other thought in my brain. We didn’t just strip and fall in bed. We danced to all this popular music, getting hot and sweaty in the process.
And touching. We kept touching each other and bit by bit, my clothing joined hers in a pile on the floor. Her beautiful breasts with a strand of beads clinging between them. Her red bush as the panties fell. The little spray of freckles. The slipperiness of her skin as it slid against me. Her lips as they pressed against mine. Her tongue as it demanded entrance to my mouth.
We fell on the bed and wrestled each other for the dominant position, which I eventually surrendered to her. She pinned my hands down with hers and slid our torsos together. Then she rose slightly and drove her sex over my cock. She was every bit as wet there as between our chests and I glided in smoothly.
“Sometimes, sex just needs to be hot and sweaty,” she whispered as she continued to slide on my body. Her lips met mine again and I joined her dance as I joined her fluids.
I had a new stool that I packed in the car Sunday morning along with my computer, guitar, and recording equipment. Brittany had been insistent and Mom approved me borrowing her car to take my gear so I could do my Sunday morning broadcast from the Adams’s living room.
I expected the family to all be there, but they were leaving for church when I arrived and said they’d be back to join our group for dancing in the afternoon. I thought it was awfully trusting of them to leave me alone with Brittany. I wondered what the little minx had up her sleeve. She had all the furniture pushed back the way they did for dancing and set my stool sort of in the front center of the room with lots of open space behind it.
I wanted to practice my position on a stool for Cindy’s recital so there wasn’t going to be an opportunity for Brittany to cuddle up on a beanbag. I wasn’t sure how we were going to arrange that. She simply produced a straight-back chair from the dining room and set it just behind and to the right of my stool. We tested it and she could lean against me even though her face would be hidden behind the guitar body most of the time. I thought.
My music for the morning was all tangos by Astor Piazzolla. I’d also discovered he wrote a lot of music for guitar and flute I was going to share with Cindy. After we’d done our tests and I was about ready to start, Brittany broke my rule of silence.
“You can come out now,” she said loudly. I looked around, expecting my girlfriends to all come trouncing out to watch the recording. Instead…
“Sophie? What are you doing… dressed like that?” I squeaked. She was gorgeous. I’d appreciated the fact that Brittany was dressed in her quinceañera after party dress. It was cute. Sophie was… sex. She wore a black layered skirt that just reached her knees with mesh stockings and high heels. The red form-fitting top was off her shoulders and left a gap between the skirt and the hem of the blouse. When she spun around, the skirt flared out and whipped about her upper thighs. She also showed that the blouse was scooped much lower in back. Her black hair was pulled back tight against her head. She was every inch the Sophie V1 remembered from thirty years ago… about the time this Sophie was born.
“I’m dancing. I won’t disturb you. I’ll be back here. We are ready whenever you are, Jacob.” Oh well. It wasn’t a live stream. If I screwed up, I could always re-record. It bummed me, though, that I wouldn’t be able to watch her dance.
“Live,” I said as I flipped the camera on with the remote. I felt Brittany lean in toward me and Sophie fade back behind me somewhere. Then I launched into ‘Apasionado.’ From that point on, I was wrapped up in the music, the rhythm, the passion. During ‘Libertango,’ I heard castanets and Brittany moved back away from me. I just stayed focused on the music, doing my best not to imagine what was going on behind me. But during ‘Oblivion,’ my fantasies got away from me. My fingers moved automatically as I imagined the moves Sophie made behind me, spinning, throwing her head back, arching her back so her breasts were thrust out, grabbing Brittany and dragging her around the floor in a passionate duel of dance steps. ‘Preparense’ found me thinking of her clothes flying off as she spun around, dominating the scene behind me. I had no qualms about what she was doing to the recording. She was a professional dancer and V1 had danced tangoes with her many times. I finished with ‘Tango Etude No. 6,’ a piece originally composed for flute that I wanted to do in duet with Cindy.
As I let the final notes reverberate, I felt Brittany kneeling on the chair beside me with her head on my right shoulder. Sophie draped herself across my left. We held the pose a few seconds and I thumbed the remote under my hip to turn off the camera.
Sophie moved her face so our lips touched and Brittany took my guitar. I heard her snap it into its case as my tongue met Sophie’s. There was no mistaking the passion. Brittany was hugging me from behind and used her hand to guide mine to Sophie’s bare breast. I sincerely hoped it had stayed covered during our taping but I wasn’t about to complain about the feel of it in my hand.
I’d worn a black button up shirt today and Brittany continued to work as she unbuttoned it and slid her hands inside to caress my chest. The stool was scooted out of the way as I stood and we began our own dance—three people moving to their own rhythms.
Brittany’s bedroom had always been off limits on my visits but I found myself propelled into the room shirtless, Sophie’s bare chest pressed against mine from the front and Brittany’s from the back. There were a few stuttered steps as we worked ourselves free of our remaining clothing and fell onto the wide bed but our passion carried us through the awkward places until we were fully naked together. I was embarrassed to realize that I was more familiar with Sophie’s body than with Brittany’s.
“You feel it, too, don’t you lover,” Sophie said. “From the first time you held me in your arms and danced, I felt it. I knew that somewhere in some existence we had danced together before and that it led to this bed.”
“I felt it,” I whispered. I couldn’t say any more because Brittany turned my head and kissed me. I’d never seen her naked and she attempted to smother me with her body.
“And I am proof that some things in your life are brand new,” she said. “But I know that Sophie and I were lovers before. Now we are all three together.”
“Brittany, are you…?”
“Today is for Sophie. You and I will make love to her. Another day, we will make love to each other.”
I filled my hands with Sophie’s breasts, with her dancer’s butt, with the wet core between her legs and, following my girlfriend’s guidance, filled her vagina with my penis.
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