Trapper and Emmeline (16 page)

“Trapper, I am
so
turned on. You know what? I’m stretching now. I’m arching my back and throwing out my chest.

They’re
all
staring at me. Let me try a few more stretches as I pretend you’re talking to me.”

Her voice went tight for a moment, and I envisioned her flexing herself in the doorway. The sort of unconscious movement that girls don’t associate with sexiness, but which is completely sexy. Whether I answered or not, it didn’t matter. Emmeline could find a way to carry on without me.

Her chirpy phone voice was discordant with my mood. “Don’t worry. You’l get a repeat performance. For your apartment. I mean you have roommates, right?” She paused to let that sink in. “Imagine me spending a whole weekend in nothing but this old wife beater and some lacy underwear. The whole weekend. Curled up on the sofa with your perverted roommates. Asking them to rub my feet. Watching movies with my head resting on Saul’s lap. Do you like that?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“You sound a little over-stimulated. You should take care of that. I hope I gave you enough to work with.” She giggled wickedly. “But before you go, I was thinking about something else.”

“You’re kil ing me…”

“Just hang on. We have the rules for skirts, and how they have to show off my legs and ass, like we wanted.” I liked how she said ‘we.’ “But we’re not giving my breasts the same treatment. Shouldn’t I be showing more of my chest, too?”

“Yes!” I blurted. It was almost a bark. “Sorry about that. But yes, I think you’re right. You should show more of your breasts.”

I wished she was with me, or that I was over there, being served beers with the scary guys on her sofa. Some more sane part of me was glad I
wasn’t
there... I’d take things too far, too fast. Emmeline would know when to cut herself off.

“So make a rule for me,” she prompted. “Tel me a new rule.”

How was I supposed to think? But then I realized she hadn’t just been teasing me. She’d been leading me toward this.

“How are you with bras? Can you go without?”

“That’s what I was thinking, too. My tits are fake, and they’re not going anywhere. I guess you know everything about my chest already. Usual y when I don’t wear a bra, nobody notices.”

She wasn’t being entirely honest about that. When she went without a bra, people noticed from a block away. Most of them didn’t mind.

“Here’s the rule, Emmy,” I said, “You can only wear a bra if you’re in a sheer dress or blouse. And on class days, you can’t wear any tight blouses... they have to be loose, so people can peek into them. Wear tank tops, half-shirts, button-ups.

But leave a lot of buttons undone.”

“This is so fun,” she said, throwing me off. I’d been expecting at least token resistance. “Yesterday, two guys on the subway bumped heads when they tried to look down my top. Just imagine the shit I’m going to put you men through. Oh—

what about the skirts?”

“You stil have to wear your little skirts. I think everybody in Manhattan loves your skirts.”

“I’m going to start right away,” she impulsively. “I’m going to wow you on Monday with something incredible. That’s also the first no-underwear day, you know.”

“I know. I’m nervous and scared about it.”

“
You’re
nervous? Al you have to do is look good standing next to me. I’m the tease who is going to have no secrets from the world.”

I had a surprise planned for her. A bouquet of flowers, a carriage ride through Central Park. I am usual y completely useless with romantic shit but I couldn’t wait to make her feel like a princess. I took it as a sign that I was final y mature. If she was going to be wearing nothing but an il egal wisp of clothing, the least I could do would be parade her through the city as a romantic gesture.

“Trap, I have to go.”

“Bye, honey.”

I put the phone down. I realized that I might have the rest of the weekend to wonder about what she did with those four men in the next half-hour.

I wanted to block it out with her. I had so much direction to give. Let the panties droop off your hips. Let them help you get dressed. Snuggle in among them. Perch on a knee. Have them hold the compact as you do make-up. Get them to button up the back of your dress. Fasten a necklace behind your head. Mission: make them die of longing.

Then another thought occurred to me. I had always been present during our dumb little games. Was she ready to operate alone?

Wel , this wasn’t brain surgery. By this point in our relationship, I knew I could trust her to have these ideas herself. The real question was, whether
I
was ready for her to be alone. If she’s my girlfriend, I asked myself, and she’s being sexy with a bunch of older men, and I’m not there… what precisely am I getting out of this?

To have anything except my personal fantasies, I’d need to interrogate her about what happened with her father’s friends. It was too much of a turn-on for me to
not
ask her about it. As pathetic as it sounds, I wrote down al my questions.

Emmeline later told me everything that happened. It was a jam-packed forty minutes before her father came home.

She felt like she had to hurry, and thankful y, the men did too. She met little resistance as she moved things along.

It was surreal at times, because she had known two of the men her whole life. She could see their conflict. She could imagine how they stil saw her as a little girl, juxtaposed over the woman she had become. They respected and loved her, but then again, she was also a hot girl of legal age flaunting her slamming body. They were torn. The other two men, newcomers, simply ate up whatever she gave them.

Despite their unspoken agreement and al her precautions, the day almost ended in a heart attack—hers. Because her father came home, and she didn’t hear until he was stomping down the hal to her room.

This was a problem, because at the time,
she was cheating on me.
She was completely naked, and had some other man’s dick buried in her pussy.

Emmeline’s voice was warm and breathy on the phone that night as she rol ed out the story. She stretched the phone cord into the hal closet, like in her high school days, and was whispering so her father couldn’t overhear. He crashed around the kitchen, cursing the dirty dishes as if it would get them clean faster.

Emmeline’s Words

The whole farce began when I hung up the phone with you. I turned as if I were headed back to my room. The boys were not going to let that happen!

“Emmeline, we need you for something,” said Petro.

“Real y, guys? I’m not even dressed.” I came back to the door and leaned against it.

“I’ve seen you naked a thousand times,” Petro said. The two newer friends gave him a questioning look. He explained,

“Ever since she was a baby.”

“Fine,” I said. “I’l come in. Besides, you know what Daddy wil do if you touch me.”

Petro’s face went serious. “It’s true, guys. You don’t want to tick Sam off. Getting fired is the least of it.”

“So what do you need?” I asked.

I stood in front of them, and they muted the TV. I didn’t think they could tel , but I was enjoying myself. There were four big men in my living room, packed like a fancy chocolate variety sampler on the sofa. They seemed out of scale with everything else. The room had never felt so smal . Perhaps it was because I had their strict attention. There was no fidgeting; there were no side conversations. They were preternatural y focused on me, and what I looked like standing in front of the light source of the TV. If they had had fox ears, they would have been pricked forward.

Sure, they were rough and scary guys, but I couldn’t take them seriously just then. I watched them wrack their brains for an excuse to make me stay.

One of the newcomers, Bil y, started with a question. “What are you getting ready for? Aren’t you going to watch the game with us?”

“I’m just here to keep you entertained until Daddy comes,” I said innocently. “After that, wel , hmmm…”

I bit my lip and looked up thoughtful y. I crossed my arms behind my back, to lift my chest up. When I glanced down I saw they weren’t interested in my answer. They were staring thanks to Dad’s wife beater: it provided less coverage than Medicare. I’m a mil ion times smal er than my Dad, so on me it consisted of two bands of thin, ribbed cotton running down my chest. The sides of the shirt dropped down to my hips. The fabric wasn’t real y fabric, either—my white panties were visible
through
the shirt. I forced myself not to monitor how the how the fabric shifted and stretched on my chest. If it slid off my nipples, then so be it. That’s the risk a girl takes when she answers the kitchen phone.

I loved that risky feeling. I always get it, and it always gets me going. It’s like Russian roulette, only instead of dying you have an orgasm.

I flashed on an idea.

“I’m getting dressed for a date,” I told them.

Petro looked me up and down. “A date at a strip club?”

“No! Gross!” I laughed. “I just threw this on when I ran out to the phone. I can’t exactly run around naked in front of everybody. What if Daddy found out?”

“He’d kil us,” Petro said. “Of course, he’d kil us for what you’re wearing now, too.”

I pretended that this made me thoughtful. “So there’s no difference?”

The huge blonde guy at the end, who everybody cal ed Thor, said, “Then you should get naked.”

Bil y elbowed him, but it was like elbowing a Ford Explorer. Only the elbow cared.

“I walk around the house naked al the time. Daddy’s fine with it. I also sunbathe nude in the front yard.” I could tel they didn’t believe me. “It’s true, guys! This is Queens, and al the houses are pushed up against each other. We don’t have backyards, we only have hedges. But you see tan girls walking around everywhere, don’t you? So do the math. We just lie down close to the hedges. Most of the time, nobody sees us from the street.”

I watched them mental y reconstruct my front yard. They clearly didn’t know much about tanning salons, not that I could afford such luxuries.

“You would be in ful view of al the houses around you,” Petro said.

“I’ve only ever caught two guys watching. The old man next door, but he’s been staring for years so it doesn’t count.

And the fourteen year old who plays computer games at his window. And I forgot—every now and then, a deliveryman or a meter reader who walks right up to me. I’m not going to be locked down because of them.” I swal owed my pride, and added, “YOLO!”

“But you’re a woman now!”

For drooling horn-dogs, they seemed awful y shocked about how women got ful -body tans. When wil men stop thinking I’m so innocent?

“Gosh, thank you, Petro!” The best way to stop a lecture is to misunderstand everything. And I could tel he was preparing to lecture me about the dangerous world. Al the while hypocritical y raking my body with his eyes. If his eyes had been a lady’s razor, I would have been completely hairless by then.

“Look,” I prompted. “I have to get dressed, so if there’s nothing else…”

Desperate looks flashed between the men.

“Wait! What are you going to wear?”

That was Bil y, saving everything for us.

I said, “I don’t exactly know. Can you guys help?”

He said, “Sure! How? You want advice?”

I said, “I have a choice between two dresses.”

He said, “You’re going to model them for us?”

“Do you mind?” I fluttered my eyes at him. “It would be so helpful.”

Bil y and I were so efficient! He wanted to steer me to something, and I was already there waiting. It was no problem to come off as innocent, and let him maneuver me around.

But Petro looked alarmed. Or half alarmed, half aroused. I could tel he was about to break in again, and I was losing my patience with him. He was the closest thing to a father I had, if you didn’t count my actual father. Come on, Uncle P! Cut the cord! People change and grow! At some point, a man has to step back and let a woman be a woman.

Before he could open his mouth and destroy everything, I said, “Let me go get the dresses.”

I turned, glanced at the TV reflection, where I saw them staring at my ass, and sashayed quickly from the room.

Trapper, you know my ass-walk. Where I pretend to be a model? Nobody ever cal s me on it. They don’t even know I’m being funny. They just stare at my ass.

I heard them arguing quietly as I fetched my dresses. They quickly convinced Petro that this was al good fun. They were helping me. I was perfectly safe. This was better than the fucking footbal game anyway.

I came back with two light summer dresses on hangers and a handful of panties.

“What are the panties for?” Thor asked.

“They’re for you guys,” I kidded. But then I watched with bemusement as they each took one. “That was a joke, people.

With these dresses, you can see the panties through them. That’s the style. But it’s not supposed to be obvious, so I have to try a lot of panties to find a good match.”