Summer Girl (4 page)

Brad pulled himself out of Brie and put his
hands underneath her, effortlessly carrying her out of the room and
into the master bedroom. He dropped her onto an overstuffed
king-size bed, diving back into her, pistoning even more
feverishly, calling out her name while Brie's loud exhortations
were collapsing to just moans. “I can't last...” blurted Brad.

“It's okay...” said Brie, “its okay,”

Brad bucked hard. “Yessssss....” he yelled.
Brie felt hard streams of warm semen coating her insides, his eyes
locked with hers, his dark hair still wet with the rain. She could
feel the spurts filling her as she wrapped her hands around his
bull neck, stroking his damp hair. She tore open his buttoned
shirt, revealing his massive barrel chest coated in fine down. She
slid the flat of her palms over his pecs while his seed continued
to fill her. When Brie could feel no more, Brad’s beefy frame
collapsed on top of her. His weight was crushing. Brie twisted out
from underneath him and rolling to the other side of the bed. Brad
was asleep on his stomach. She reached over and stroked his hair,
studying him. She was thrilled that she had drained him of his
juices, but she hadn’t orgasmed and wanted to wake him and go
again. But he looked so sweet like this, his hair covering his
face, this magnificent object of desire lying here next to her. She
could feel his cum draining out of her pussy, onto her thighs and
dripping onto the sheets. He looked so vulnerable that she felt
like she could put him into a little box and carry him around,
available to her whenever she wanted. He could never leave.

Fifteen minutes later Brad awoke. “I'm
sorry,” he said, groggily. “I haven't come that hard that since I
was teenager.”

“Don't be sorry— don't be sorry for
anything,” Brie whispered. “But we have to wash these sheets.”

“Right,” said Brad.

And we got to cover those windows.”

“Using what?” said Brad weakly.

“Do you have any wood panels in the garage
left over from when the house was built?” Brie said, stroking his
hair and whispering.

“I don't know. We can check.”

“Do you have like a chop saw or something?”
Brie said patiently, enjoying being in the driver's seat.

“What the hell is that?” said Brad, lifting
his head off the bed and looking up at her.

“A saw for cutting small pieces,” she
smiled.

“We have something in the basement that I
borrowed from Tony but I don't know what it is.”

“Then lets get to work,” Brie said, her
take-charge demeanor couched in the warm tones of a lover.

“I want to fuck again,” said Brad.

“After we do our chores we can fuck
again.”

Brad sat up on the bed, his large cock
semi-erect—his balls hanging down like a steer.
Then again,
maybe I can't wait either...
But before Brie could reach for
him, Brad had his shorts on.

“Oh crap!” she said suddenly, “My clothes are
in the pool!”

“But you are right here,” said Brad. “You can
always get new clothes.”

“And my phone! I bet my parents were trying
to call me! Give me your phone.”

Brie dialed. “Hi Mom.... yes, I'm okay! I'm
over here at the Evans waiting out the storm... nope, don't worry,
I won't leave until it’s over... Love you!” Brie handed the phone
back to Brad.

“Tamera has some shorts and tops in that
large dresser,” he said. “I think you guys are about the same
size.”

“I'm not going to wear your wife's clothes!”
said Brie, her dulcet tone now gone.

“Well, why not?” Brad said putting on his
shirt.

“Because I'm sleeping with her husband!” said
Brie.

“You feel bad about that?”

“A little! And I'm not going to twist the
knife by wearing her clothes too.”

“I'm glad you have a moral center but don't
worry, she's not going to care. In fact, I'll tell her.”

“You're going to tell her?” said Brie.
“How?”

“I'll just tell her that you and I were
having sex and your clothes got blown away by the storm.”

“No you're not.”

“Sure, I am,” said Brad. “We don't keep
anything from each other.”

“You're going to tell her about us?” said
Brie, sitting lying on the bed.

“If you must know, she's the one who pointed
you out to me,” said Brad, “She saw you mowing the Fugleson's yard
a few weeks back and mentioned how lovely you were and what a nice
companion you might be for me when she was out of town.”

“Your wife is pimping for you?!”

“Well, we also needed a new lawn service— so
it worked out nicely.”

“That is so fucked up,” said Brie, seeing
that she was still dripping onto the bedspread. She leapt to her
feet to grab a tissue from the bathroom.

“I told you that Tamera and I had flexible
relationship.”

“Why even be married?” Brie yelled from the
bathroom.

“I love her,” said Brad.

Brie came out of the bathroom and sat down on
the edge of the bed, still naked, her breasts curving upwards. “So,
I'm just some fun while the wife is away?”

“No! Don't ever think that,” said Brad,
picking her up and twirling her around the room, the two of them
kissing as they spun around in circles.

“You just like showing off how strong you
are,” said Brie, her anger softening.

“But you like that, don't you? You love how
strong I am.”

“Yes...” she said burying her face into his
neck. She loved his strength, all that potential energy, coiled and
ready to strike, power that could both protect and subdue her. She
would accept both.

Scooped up in his arms, they sat back down on
the edge of the bed. Brie pulled her head back from his shoulder
and touched his face, partially out of affection, but also trying
to ascertain him. She then twisted herself out of his arms in a
gymnastics-style leap and in an instant was standing in front of
him. “If you don't get these windows fixed your living room will be
your new indoor pool.”

“Clever.”

“And your drywall will turn into wet
chalk.”

“Not as clever.”

Brie opened the top drawer of Tamera's
dresser and looked for some clothes

They found some plywood paneling in the
garage and a small circular saw in the basement. “Wow, you know how
to use that, huh?” Brad said, trying to talk above the screaming,
thirteen pound circular saw that Brie was wrangling with one hand.
She cut the wood paneling into two rectangles, matching the
dimensions of the broken window openings. The saw came to a fast
stop.

“Like you said, it takes forever to get help
in this town,” said Brie. “Its best to learn how to do this stuff
yourself.”

“I wouldn't know where to begin,” said
Brad.

“Yes, you would if you weren't a rich
attorney with the money to hire other people to do your chores,”
Brie said, grabbing the cut panels. “Okay, these are ready to go.
Too bad you gave that nail gun back to Mr. Fugleson yesterday. We
could really use it.”

“Would a hammer and nails work?” said
Brad.

“You actually know what a hammer and nails
are?” said Brie.

“I'll look it up on the internet,” Brad said
smiling. They both bounded upstairs, Brad following behind her,
noticing how well Brie filled out Tamera's clothes. “You don't have
any panties under there,” said Brad.

“Let's concentrate on the matter at hand,”
said Brie.

“Your ass is the matter at hand,” he said
smacking her hard from behind.

When they got to the living room the wind was
still blowing though the broken window, but the rain was no longer
coming inside.

“Here, hold this in place,” Brie said as Brad
held the slightly oversized wood panel up to the broken window. She
pounded nails along the parameter the panel, affixing it to the
wall. “Mr. Fugleson's nail gun would have taken twenty
seconds.”

“Yes, bad timing,” said Brad.

They moved next to the kitchen, Brad holding
the panel in place and Brie pounding the nails. “Man, you are one
impressive chick,” Brad said, grabbing her ass and lifting her onto
the matte-finished silestone countertop. He squeezed her breasts
and kissed her full-on. “You haven't come yet,” he said.

“That's right,” Brie said as she pulled off
her top. “But we still need to pick-up the glass and I have to
pee.”

“What?” said Brad, fumbling with his
pants.

“It’s hard to come with a full bladder, Mr.
Merle,” Brie said as she jumped off the counter top and ran out of
the kitchen to the bathroom, traveling through the living room to
the back hallway. It was the first time she had noticed the
interior of the house. It was all clean lines and light wood grain
paneling that she guessed was of some exotic species, but what did
she know? There were some photos on the wall just down from the
bathroom. Though she needed to pee, Brie made a detour. Something
caught her eye. Three framed photos of different sizes all featured
the same subject. One appeared to be formal portrait: a woman in
her late twenties, blond, in a grey blouse against a white
background.

Tamera.

Brie caught her breath. This was impossible.
She had never seen a more beautiful woman in her life. Brie
included TV, movies and the internet in that assessment. Brie was
flattened. The photographer was a genius. The make-up person had to
be brilliant. To make you look this good. And you expect that sort
of thing from a professional shoot. Women surely don't look like
that naturally. You've got to have perfect lighting —and most
definitely PhotoShop. Brie was sure she could look almost as good
if she went to that same guy and was willing to pay whatever Tamera
paid.

Brie looked at the other two photos. They
were taken on some far away beach. They were definitely not
professional and most likely taken by Brad. In the second photo
Tamera was wearing a sarong with a white bikini top. A third photo
featured her and Brad together, taken at some bash. His wife was
wearing a clingy blue gown that wrapped around a perfect body (Brad
looking gorgeous in his tux). The two of them were smiling smiles
that broadcast success and happiness to all the people in the world
who didn't need to be reminded that they were not in possession of
those things. But in these other two pictures, Tamara didn't look
any different than she did in that professional photo. Even outside
of a studio, in the harsh light of day— or the harsh light of a
camera flash— Tamera Evans looked like a goddess.

Impossible. Not fair.

The full bladder that Brie had managed to
blot out for a minute made itself known. She ran to the bathroom
and dropped down on the toilet seat.

Washing her hands, she looked in the mirror
and started to cry. Brie hated herself for thinking that she had a
chance with Brad; for thinking that his marriage was somehow
unsatisfying and that Brie could somehow wedge herself inside that
open-minded, open marriage of theirs. And if Brad had any holes in
his life, there were certainly none that she could fill. Brie might
be what every guy in Trestle wanted but for people who roamed the
world, not so much.

And what the hell was Brie doing wearing
Tamera’s clothes?! How fucking presumptuous is that?! She wasn't
worthy of using Tamera's Kleenex. Brie scrunched her face and
forced the tears to stop. She wiped her nose and grabbed control of
her composure, taking deep breaths.

When Brie returned to the kitchen, there was
a highball cocktail glass waiting for her on the counter. “I wanted
to celebrate your handyman skills. I made us Mojitos,” said
Brad.

“Oh,” said Brie, sitting down on bar stool in
front of her drink.

“I want to get you drunk and take advantage
of you.”

“You don't have to get me drunk to do that,”
said Brie.

“'Brie, what's wrong?”

“You didn't tell me your wife was so
beautiful.”

“Well, okay... I mean, it’s not something I
go around bragging about.”

“No, Brad— she's fucking PERFECT. What the
hell are you doing screwing around with me and cheating on
PERFECTION?”

“But I'm not screwing around.”

“You're a freak! Cheating on a woman who
looks
like that
?”

“I'm not cheating, I told you—”

“—If you're not satisfied with her
,
you'll never be satisfied with anything. You certainly won't be
satisfied with me!”

“Tamera's not mine, Brie.”

“What?! Are you divorced?”

“No,” said Brad. “She's mine some of the
time, just not all of the time.”

“If she's not yours all the time, then she
was never yours.”

“I don't have a choice in the matter. Those
were her terms. I knew it going in. It was the only way I could
have her,” said Brad.

Brie shook her head, “Why would you do that
to yourself?”

“I'd rather get a small piece of perfection
rather than a whole piece of imperfection.”

“Then what am I, Brad? A big piece of
imperfection?” Brie tossed her Mojito at him and ran out the
kitchen and out the front door. There was light rain. She saw her
phone on the pool deck and grabbed it, hitting the button and saw
that it was still working.
“Yes!”

She ran out into the yard and stopped in her
tracks. The yard was covered in storm debris. Branches and leaves
matted the newly-mowed grass. Several trees were down in the yard.
One tree had crushed one of the lawn terrace berms.

Brie ran to her truck and lifted the mower
into her pick-up, the wet metal almost slipping out of her hands.
She drove home in tears, kicking herself for her stupid temper. She
was too impulsive, too “of the moment”.

She walked into the house and saw an envelope
on the counter. It was from East Lancaster State. She opened it.
“Thank you for applying to East Lancaster State, however
unfortunately...”

“Is that you Brie?” said her mom from
upstairs.