Myra Bakewell walked up silently behind her daughter at breakfast and sniffed. She shook her head sadly and then came around into view. "Darla, you had sex with the young man but you're not smiling this morning. Not as good as it should be?"
The teenager was aghast. "I—I don't know what you're talking about. We just . . ."
"Darla, when a woman has had sex she gives off a perfume that some other people can smell. Since you didn't shower this morning you do, and I can so I know you did. Now stop being silly." She took out two coffee mugs and filled them, sliding one to the girl.
Darla accepted the mug with a rueful look. She sighed and replied, "I—alright. We fooled around and I got excited and then he came before I could. So you're right, it wasn't as good as it is supposed to be. It never is."
Myra gave her daughter's arm a comforting pat. "Poor baby. You have all the attributes of an easy woman but the enjoyment."
"I'm not a slut!"
"I didn't say you were a slut; I said you were easy, like I am." The mother's face curled up in a wry grin. "But the first difference between us is that I cheerfully accept and enjoy the fact and you still have issues. Another is that you fumble around in the back seats with boys and I take pleasure in the arms of men. Experience and practice make such a difference, Darla."
Darla almost spewed her coffee across the breakfast bar. "Men? As in plural of man? Mother, does—does Daddy know?"
"Of course. We're totally open about it with each other. Besides, all my lovers are long time friends of ours, just as their wives are his. But not swingers, sweetie, call it an extended family, a group marriage. No strangers need apply." She made a face into her cup and reached for the sweetener.
Darla kept drinking as she tried to come up with a response. Thinking about it, the idea wasn't terribly hard to imagine. Her mother at forty-two was 'a fine figure of a woman' and her lean, fit father started each morning with a 10K run in the dark before showering and leaving for work. That term 'long time friends' brought to mind a picture of a group of unusually attractive people in their comfortable suburb who were all offspring of the Summer of Love Generation, so she had no real reason to disbelieve the story. But this was her
mother
.
"I'm shocked."
"Don't be." Myra sipped her coffee again and nodded to herself placidly.
"So, if my problem is that neither I nor my dates have enough experience to have good sex are you suggesting I should go looking for a—a sugar daddy?" There was just the slightest hint of a curl in Darla's lower lip.
Myra laughed out loud. "I'm not sure you meant that seriously but—well, my teenage years were the same sad story you're living. By the time I got to college I was about ready to give up on men completely. I tried flirting around with other girls without any luck until I found myself in bed with one of my professors. She was wonderful. It was the first time I'd been able to climax during sex. To make a long story short, I fell totally in love, mad mooncalf love. I had all sorts of daydreams about moving in with her and being her bride forever until the day she invited me home for dinner and I found out she'd been happily married for twenty-five years and had children of her own in college. But Esther and Paul were not only kind to me; they were affectionate and loving. The next fall I moved in with them instead of the dorms and the first night they pulled me into their bedroom for a three-way. They put me in the middle and—well, it was a night to remember. I learned a lot from both of them over the next three years and then after I graduated I went to work for Raytheon, met and married your father and the next thing I knew you arrived."
"So, where do I go to find my own Paul and Esther?"
"Funny that you should ask."
*****
Monty sat in the breakfast nook nursing a mug. Frank had told to the barber to reshape his shaggy mop into something more 'romantic and soft—maybe a little vulnerable'. That was followed by a trip to a spa's tanning beds and hot, wet compresses intended to clear up any and all blemishes before the party started. The experience had been interesting as had conversation on the way home.
"Mr. Leu—I mean Frank . . . ."
"Call me Dad. I've been trying to be for years, now."
Monty relaxed. He'd wanted to do that for a long time. "Dad, I'm not really comfortable with this idea of being crawled over."
"Perfectly normal, Monty, objectification isn't in a man's natural makeup. I think for women it's part of their default state but about the age of five or six we start getting annoyed with the grandmothers and elderly aunts pinching and talking baby talk to us. They stop and we don't get it any longer. But back when you were too small to remember, ladies in their forties would pat your face and head and pinch your cheeks. Then you'd flash them a huge smile and they'd just melt. Keep that in mind. It's just that New Year's Eve they won't be patting your head and the cheeks they'll pinch aren't on your face. The big smile, though, should stay. Make it a slightly shy, vulnerable smile with your chin lowered and your eyes downcast. You might even try a half smile. Go to your room and practice in the mirror for a while. Have Molly coach you."
Molly had approved. "All the girls were charmed by that when you were a baby. They'll be even more charmed now that you're eighteen."
"Will it keep them from bringing out the harnesses?" Monty's forehead wrinkled in anxiety.
Molly laughed. "Oh, everyone always
brings
their harnesses. Whether anyone will want to use one on you will depend on their mood. Elsa Mestersmed probably will. She's taller than you are and weighs nearly as much—in all the right places! And if she brings out King Dong consider it a compliment. It means she thinks you're man enough to take it so don't be a sissy. No protests or snivels, understand?"
"
King Dong
?"
"Oh yeah! That thing widens eyes at these gatherings, both the men's and the women's. One night she wore it and the two of us doubled up on your mother. Talk about a night to remember . . .. Anyway, just relax and go with the flow. She's never had anyone refuse a second ride."
"Lisa keeps giggling at me and muttering something about 'man-scaping'."
"Mm-hmm. Saturday morning she's going to take the clippers to you. We'll leave the forearms and shins natural but everything else gets smooth."
"
Everything?
No way. She's not coming anywhere near my crotch with a set of clippers. I can really run when I'm motivated."
"Oh, stop it. If it makes you feel better I'll take care of that part. I used to do myself all the time before I had electrolysis. You will be smooth and very young-looking that night, Monty, but at least you won't be waxed like the girls."
*****
Lisa felt her cell phone buzz and when she saw the number answered immediately. "Hi, Darla. Merry Christmas. What did you get?"
"Oh, you know. Stuff. How about you?"
Lisa thought about that. Was she ready to tell everyone? Was there any reason not to? "I got Monty. We're getting married after graduation in June."
"What? Monty? Monty Kingsford? I didn't—girl, you can't get married, yet. What about college? What about a career? And—and teenage marriages never last."
