“You can say that again.”
She grinned at the deliberate straight line. “We’re pretty much overachievers.”
“Exactly. Now come on, Little Bit. Time for bed.”
“Together or separate?” she teased. “I know,” she added quickly,
“separate. Baby steps.”
“Right you are.”
We turned out the lights and went upstairs. Then we lingered at her bedroom door.
“I had fun this weekend,” I said. “I like your family.”
“I’m glad. I knew you would.” She smiled up at me hopefully, and I bent to give her a kiss. She hugged me after and pressed her cheek to my chest.
Then she inhaled deeply and sighed.
I kissed the top of her head and breathed in the scent of her too.
We parted slowly.
“Sweet dreams,” I said at last.
She smiled. “Of penises.”
“One in particular, I hope.”
“Mmm hmm!”
I kissed her one last time before she closed the door.
I went to my own bedroom and did the same. Then I kicked off my shoes and flopped on the bed.
Part of me was happy—ecstatic, even—but part of me was worried.
Christy and I were moving awfully fast. We were already hinting at a future together and kids. Yet she didn’t really know a thing about me. She didn’t know my family were nudists. She didn’t know we were swingers. She didn’t know the real me, the private person on the inside.
I lay there for a long time thinking about it. Then I tried to distract myself by reliving the weekend in my head. But once I started thinking about it, I began to see a pattern.
Christy had come out to the porch on Thanksgiving evening, but I’d made the decision to take off her pajamas. Once we were under the covers, I had put my hand under her camisole. And then I’d told her to take out my hard-on and play with it. In every case she’d been passive while I was active. She’d been willing, but I’d made all the decisions.
The pattern repeated for our walk on the beach and everything we’d done on the blanket. She was willing and even eager, but I took things to the next level. The same was true for our walk to clear my head, even though we hadn’t fooled around.
I thought back through the past few weeks and couldn’t come up with many times when she had been the one to start things. A few times when she’d been drinking, but she rarely made a physical move. They were usually invitations, although never explicit ones.
I couldn’t help but think about something Wren had said, that Christy had seduced her. At the time I’d thought she was just trying to convince me that Christy was a lot more uninhibited than I thought, but now I wasn’t so sure.
Christy had a devilish ability to get what she wanted, without asking for it. Oh, she did ask for things, but with hints and suggestions more than actual requests. And everything that had happened in the past four days really drove that point home.
In a weird way it annoyed me. She never had to take the credit or blame for her decisions. Things just happened to her. She never made the first move. I didn’t want a girlfriend who simply gave in to my desires. I wanted one who was an active participant. She didn’t have to be a take-charge type or anything like that, but passive wasn’t the same as submissive.
Still, I couldn’t help thinking that Christy was perfect for me in many ways. I also liked that we’d become friends (again) before we became lovers.
But I still had plenty of doubts if we’d be compatible in bed, especially in the long run. Would lust and attraction lay the foundation for a committed relationship?
She couldn’t just smile and passively become a nudist, much less a swinger. At some point she’d need to make a decision. An active one, I told myself.
The little head thought I was being silly. If she did what I wanted—what it wanted—what did it matter? But the big head wasn’t so sure. Relationships were full of compromises, but what if they all went one direction? Was that really a relationship? A healthy one? One that would last?
I didn’t have any answers. And I wasn’t likely to find them if I kept the questions to myself.
Chapter 9
Monday began the final mad rush to the end of the quarter. Trip and I both had design projects due and Wren had to finish two research papers. Christy’s quarter had more or less ended with the art exhibition, so she chipped in to help the rest of us.
She and Wren spent that evening in my bedroom working on the computer, revising the first of Wren’s papers. I was a little surprised at how well Christy could type. Her small hands practically flew over the Commodore’s keyboard.
“Where’d you learn to do that?” I asked on one trip past.
“What? Type?”
I nodded.
“High school. All the girls had to take typing and home economics classes.”
“How very enlightened,” Wren said sardonically.
“You wanna type this yourself, Miss Secular Know-it-all?”
“Whoa! I didn’t say that.”
“Then don’t give me a hard time about Catholic school.”
“She may be little, but she is fierce,” I said with a grin. “Y’all want anything from downstairs? A snack? Drinks?”
“A Coke, please,” Wren said.
“A glass of juice,” Christy said. “And maybe some carrots and celery?”
“So, rot your teeth and bunny food. Coming up.”
Christy’s smile lit up, so I stepped into the room and gave her a kiss.
“The best boyfriend ever,” she said.
Wren rolled her eyes.
“Hey,” I told her, “it’s your fault.”
“Which reminds me…,” Christy said as she turned to her. “What have you been telling him about me?”
“Uh-oh, someone’s in trouble.” I mock-saluted Wren and left her to her fate. Downstairs, I surveyed Trip’s drawings on the dining room table.
“How’s it going?”
“Okay,” he said. “Just need to make sure my proposal matches the revised drawings.”
“Want some help?”
“You mind?”
“No problem. I could use the break, to be honest. Lemme make a snack for the girls and then I’ll join you. Sound good?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
In the kitchen I cut up Christy’s vegetables and then on a whim decided to make dinner roll mini-sandwiches for Wren. While I had the ingredients out, I made regular sandwiches for Trip and me.
“We’re gonna need these,” I said as I set the plates on the dining room table.
“Yeah, probably. I’ll start some coffee too.” He followed me back into the kitchen.
“Grab a Coke for me,” I said. “And lemme run this up to the girls. Then we’ll tackle your proposal.”
“You got it.”
I carried a loaded tray up to my room.
“Thank God you’re here,” Wren said as I appeared in the door. She looked unusually chastised. “Feed her, please!”
“My pleasure.” I slid the tray onto the corner of my desk. “I made a snack for you, too.”
“Oh, I could kiss you!”
“Gotta take care of my two favorite girls.”
“And don’t you forget it,” Christy said as she nabbed the plate of veggies.
“Not a chance.”
She smiled her thanks, and Wren sagged in relief as she took a long drink of Coke.
“Anything else?” I said. “Trip needs my help, so I’m headed back down.
Don’t work too late.”
“We won’t,” Christy said. “We’re almost finished anyway. Thanks for the snacks.”
I gave her another quick kiss.
“You two are so cute,” Wren said without a trace of sarcasm.
“Don’t you forget it either,” Christy said to her. “Now, where’s the next page?”
I grinned and headed back down to Trip. It was going to be a long night, but I couldn’t think of better people to spend it with.
Christy stuck her head into my studio on Tuesday evening. I finished cutting a piece of foamcore and then slid the cap onto my X-Acto knife. (You shouldn’t need an accident to learn that lesson.)