I Was a Teenaged Metahuman Ch. 01

"Sorry!" he added.

"Don't be sorry, just don't do it," she growled. "My name is Valerie. Comprendé?"

"Got it. Sorry."

"Stop apologizing. So it was a good date?"

"Yes, it was."

Her eyes narrowed. "She seemed a little... distracted when she came home."

"She did?"

"You didn't notice anything odd about her?"

"No, Ma'am—no I didn't. There's nothing odd about Felice at all."

She gave him a look smoldering with irritation but said nothing further on the subject until, midway through mowing the front lawn, she bid him shut down the mower and join her on the front porch. Handing him a lemonade, she sat and patted the chair next to her. "Let's talk," she said. He tried not to show how worried that made him.

"Max, you've gone on what, four dates with my daughter?"

"Three, actually."

"Things are starting to get a little serious?"

"I guess," he said equably, hiding his dread unsuccessfully—he'd never had much of a poker face.

"Do you know how old I am, Max?"

"No, Ma'am!" he blurted nervously. "Sorry. No."

She ignored his transgression for now. "I'm thirty-five next week."

"Happy Birthday?"

"Shush. Thank you. And Felice is eighteen. So you know that when I was even younger than you two are, I was sexually active."

Max couldn't believe she'd just said that. These people were definitely not from the South.

"Now I love my daughter, and I wouldn't trade her for anything in the world, but it would have been better for both of us if I'd had her later in life. Having a child at my age... well I'm okay now but at the time it was a disaster. Do you understand?"

"Well sure, I—"

"Of course you don't understand. How could you? But I'm trying to make you understand, because this is important."

"I think I under—"

"You don't. Trust me. Just take my word for it: It's an ordeal."

"You seem okay now."

"It's been eighteen very dramatic and tumultuous years." She laughed wryly. "Trust me."

"I haven't had sex with your daughter. I swear I won't get her pregnant."

She practically x-rayed him with her eyes. "You aren't telling me the whole truth, young man."

"Young man? But I can't call you ma'am?"

"Fair enough. I apologize. Now spill!"

"I'm not having sex with Felice."

"Uh huh," she said, not buying it for a second. "What did you two do together?"

"I'm not really comfortable talking about this," he finally said. Weakly.

"It's okay. She told me already."

"What!"

She laughed. "Mothers and daughters talk."

Max blushed fiercely, making her chuckle. "You're not mad?"

"Do I have reason to be?"

"No! No no no no no. No."

At last she relaxed, and the tension drained away. "Good. You're a good guy." She seemed to add, I hope she chooses you but she didn't say it. It was odd, how eloquent everyone's body language seemed lately. At school the previous day, one of his teachers shifted in her seat in a way that seemed to mean she was going to announce a pop quiz, and she did just that.

"Wait, you hope she chooses me?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You hope she chooses me over whom?"

"I didn't say anything."

"Is she dating someone else?" The way his voice rose at the end of that sentence would have been comical, had he not been feeling the way he did.

"I can't say," replied a worried Ms. Eckerson.

"Now you can't say? That's not fair."

"I thought I didn't say in the first place! I'm sorry, just forget it."

"It was Friday night, wasn't it? Last night!" He wanted to break something, or to storm off. He was such an idiot. They hadn't had the exclusivity talk. He wondered if she was fooling around with the other guy, too.

"Hey, calm down," said his host, getting a little alarmed.

It was too bad there was nothing handy to kick, because the way he was feeling, he could punt it into the next county.

Felice's mom was looking worried now; she actually wrung her hands. "Max..." she began but he shrugged her off and went down the steps into the yard.

His yard tools were strewn everywhere. The lawn was half-mown.

He seized the mower and shoved it angrily around the yard, sweat stinging his eyes. As soon as he was done he hurled the mower into his trunk and left.

*

Fourthly

Felice texted him that night, Mom sez you left your $$. I'll bring it to our date Tuesday. :) ;-O

His anger had cooled by now, leaving a sour ache behind. He'd spent the intervening time in his room, brooding and regretting having a temper tantrum at the Eckerson's.

There were salient facts to consider: Firstly, Felice liked him enough to do very sexy things with him. Secondly, he had made her feel really good. While it was possible that her other guy (or guys) made her feel as good if not better, or that she might just be a lucky girl who could have a string of incredible orgasms just because she wanted to, he could at least claim that he could make a woman feel good Thirdly, he was a thoughtful and considerate date, who didn't do the boring old dinner and a movie thing. They'd gone mini-golfing, had a picnic, and even bowled a few frames at the local alley. Fourthly, despite that, she was still dating other guys.

There was only one conclusion to be drawn. He was the side chick. He texted her back, Cool, see you at six.

She replied, What have u got planned 4 me?

He tried not to scowl. All these negative emotions were giving him a tension headache. He sent her another text, Fun in the sun. :) Bring a bathing suit.

It is what it is, he told himself. And it was pretty darned good, all things considered.

*

Fun in the Sun

The water park had recently come out of its winter hibernation and was not yet stuffed full of freely-urinating children. It was a rickety, small-town affair with only a few slides, but they made the most of it in the hour they had 'til sundown. They ran, breathless, up the stairs to the top of the slides again and again, laughing maniacally on the way back down.

Afterwards he drove her to the quarry.

You had to break a couple of laws to get there. The kids who knew about it held their knowledge closely, fearing exposure should the word get out. Only a trusted few had received the knowledge of how to access it, and how to circumvent the chain and the padlock blocking access by simply unscrewing the eyebolt to which the lock attached. The sun was setting spectacularly by the time they got there, and Felice put her arms around him while they watched it.

"This is so romantic," she said. Feeling him stiffen, she asked, "What's wrong?"

Instead of answering, he turned and kissed her long and lingeringly. Then he said, "Felice, do you want to be exclusive?"

He watched her closely in the glorious, fading light and saw what he feared. "You're not happy with the way things are?" she asked anxiously.

"I really like spending time with you. I'm not sure, uh... What would you call this?"

"We're friends who have a good time together."

"Okay," he said, taking care to keep his voice even. "We're sexy friends." He made himself smile.

"Very sexy friends," she replied, and kissed him. They continued kissing, in part because he couldn't think of anything else to say and apparently neither could she. In time nature took its course, and their desires compelled him to again pleasure her breasts until she squealed with joy.

*

Cloud

"So you're telling me it doesn't work like that?" Max asked.

Lynwood stirred his mashed potatoes idly with a fork. "No, Dumbass. Being intimate with a woman doesn't give you insight into what people are thinking."

"Really? Are you certain about that? Have you talked to others about it?"

Lynwood was amused and a little annoyed, Max could tell, but he patiently replied, "Yes. I'm certain. Why?"

"I"m telling you. It's like I've found this missing piece, you know? And with it, the whole picture makes sense. People just make a little more sense now."

"You're more confident."

"That's not it."

Lynwood sipped his two percent milk. "Explain it to me."

"I'll show you. Give me a second." Max looked around the cafeteria. Rather than trying to read everyone, he decided to scan the room until something jumped out at him.

"There," he said. "The girl over there with the pink hair." She was pretty, with an elfin face and a long neck, and her hair was arranged in an elegant cloud atop her head. She was talking to a girlfriend over lunch a few tables away.

"Lydia Bellwendt," noted Lynwood. "Moved here from the big city. She's supposed to be rich or something."

"She's talking about me right now," Max said. He'd noticed that right away. It seemed easier when he was the subject.

"Sure she is. Like all gorgeous rich girls, she has a secret crush on the school outcast." Lynwood watched her out of the corner of his eye.

"She was attracted to me, and now she's curious. She asked her friend about me, and now she's confused."

"Confused why?"

"Because her friend said she wouldn't hang out with me on a bet, and Lydia doesn't get it."

"She did not say that. Max, you're being paranoid again."

Just then Lydia glanced Max's way. He offered a smile, and to his delight she returned it.

Lynwood's eyebrows climbed his forehead. "Maybe you've got something there."

"I think she's a little excited," Max observed.

"You are delusional."

*

Hydra

That Saturday, he was back at Valerie's house. He was just finishing the mowing when her mom came out. "Back again, eh?"

"I owed it to you to finish the job," he said. "Plus, you're more fun than the guys at work."

She favored him with a sunny smile. "Do you drink coffee, Early Bird?"

"Sure," he said. By the time he finished the mowing she was back with a pair of mugs which they took sitting on the back deck.

"How are you holding up?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he said. "Thinking of asking Lydia Bellwendt to the Fall Festival."

"Ooh, is she cute?"

"Quite," he said, making her chuckle.

"What about you and Felice?"

He took a sip of coffee, heavily doctored with cream and sugar. "Felice isn't that into me, but we go on dates and have fun."

"I'm sorry she didn't choose you," she said.

"I'm not. Just between you and me, it'd be nice to find a girl who..." He stopped, surprised he'd been about to get so candid about Felice with her mom, of all people!

"Who what?" She asked slyly, and he was sure she was guessing correctly about what he'd been about to say: with a girl who'll put out.

"Never mind!" He said hastily.

He wondered darkly if Felice had been lying about promising her mom, or at least about her intention to honor such a promise. Maybe she was fucking the other guy.

"Come on," said her mom briskly, and he was grateful for the distraction. They got to work.

Today the job was taming the worst of the wild vines in the backyard, as they threatened the health of the trees there. It was unpleasant and dirty and the vines were famously obstinate, which made them the perfect recipients of his frustrated energy.

After wading into great green tangles of vines and other victimized greenery, one was required to pull, to haul from the very root, lest something snap off and land you on your butt. It was sweaty and miserable work, especially as the vines had evolved to physically irritate those who blundered into them by means of sharp bits and various chemical compounds.

His experience at work was less useful than he'd hoped—there, they used all manner of tools and chemicals, none of which applied to the minimally-equipped suburban single mom. He'd been crouching and hauling on a vine base, rocking it back and forth to help break the rootlets. Though he strained so hard the very ground bulged beneath him, the damnable thing wouldn't come up. Cutting it out wouldn't solve the problem, he knew, but leave it for another day, after the roots grew again like a dirty little underground hydra. He had to pull it up and he had to do it soon, before he ran out of steam.

The vines pricked and stung him all over, making him feel like that iconic Time magazine picture of Monster Joe during his Philippines tour when he'd been ambushed by members of that secret terrorist group, the one with the super-scientists, and covered with a huge wad of weird glop that sapped and strained even his superhuman strength. Just like him, although on a much smaller scale, Max strained at so many clinging vines and never gave up the fight, as hopeless as it had looked at the time.

At least he'd survive the experience, he thought, and not succumb to a depleted uranium headshot like poor old Monster Joe had. And there wouldn't be riots in Manila if he failed.

It was looking pretty likely that he'd fail. He'd already tried every way to improve his leverage on this thing he could think of, but it was too much. The damned thing lived here, after all, you couldn't expect to just pluck it like a daisy. And yet, he strove on, determined to give it his all, even though his skin was on fire and his head swam with heat and exertion.

That's when he felt a nearness, and another pair of hands opposite him hauling on it. Knees brushed against his as his helper achieved a low crouch for improved leverage.

Valerie counted off, and they both hauled as hard as they could.

There was a ripping noise from beneath them and the ground erupted with another two feet of gnarled, nearly indestructible vine root. They'd done it!

They flung their defeated opponent aside and staggered free of the leafy hell.

"Thank you!" he gushed, his head spinning, and wrapped his arms around her.

She hugged him back enthusiastically.

They leaned back to eye each other at close range.

She looked like she'd been rolled in a puddle of stale water and leaf clippings, and he was sure he was just as bad. Yet she was flushed and grinning with triumph.

Releasing him she said, "I think that's enough for one day. Let's get cleaned up."

"Yes, ma'am," he panted.

Dully he registered what he'd said but by the time he could ponderously swing his head around, she'd picked up the hose. "I said not to call me that," she said, and with an evil grin blasted him with water.

It was brief but authoritative, and he was left dripping in astonishment. She tried to summon a conciliatory facial expression but that only redoubled her amusement and she burst out laughing anew.

Growling, he moved forward. Realizing what he intended, she shrieked and ran, and he gave chase.

He caught her on the deck, wrapping his arms around her once again, this time to get water all over her as well.

It was a good strategy. Her tank top had only been damp in a little squiggly vee between her breasts and her shorts were just about dry. Though she was sweaty all over, she still squealed and tried to wriggle away from him, as if he was adding something other than clean water to the mess. It wasn't even cold now that it had coated his overheated body for a few seconds.

She shifted in his arms so they were facing each other from mere inches. Her expression was wondrously inscrutable and she said, "You got me, scoundrel. Now let's go get cleaned up. If you don't mind?"

He bashfully released her and followed her into the house, where the air conditioning gave their soggy, sweaty bodies instant freezer burn. By the time he got to the bathroom he was hopping from foot to foot with hypothermic distress while his companion was similarly afflicted.

He made a snap decision, his head still spinning from the work and subsequent excitement. "Right." He started the shower.

She started to say, "Towels are here. I'll just leave—" but he stopped her with a sharp shake of his head. This was one of those moments. He could feel them come and go, and he knew that if he acted when it reached the right point...

"Shoes off," he said.

She looked at him for a long moment but he ignored that and kicked off his shoes and socks. Then she did the same.

"In," he prompted.

The moment wavered. Wobbled.

"Come on," he said, and stepped, fully clothed, into the shower. She followed.

It was a standard tub and shower combo. She stood closest to the water and he was on the far end. Though she ducked her head under the spray, there were still bits of debris clinging to her hair.

"Hold still," he said, and went over her head carefully plucking out bits of vegetation. She said nothing and merely gazed at him with huge, calm eyes while he worked. He moved down to her face, flicking away this or that bit of debris, finishing with one speck of leaf on her full lower lip. He rubbed it away with his thumb, his palm alongside her jaw, and their eyes met at such a close range he got another spark.

He pulled back a bit, scanned her once more, and said, "I think that's got it."

It seemed like her face was absolutely burning up, though it didn't show. Why, then, did he think so? She recovered her composure quickly. "Now you. Turn around."

He did as instructed. Her fingers traced lines on his arms and shoulders and she sucked in her breath. "Does it hurt much?" she asked of the red stripes that his viney victim had laid upon him before being defeated.

"It just itches."

"We'll take care of that." Her fingers deftly brushed him as she plucked away the worst of the debris. "Just take off your shirt," she said. The sodden, heavy garment fought him. When he got it inside-out, it wanted to adhere to his face. He felt her hands gripping it and helping him drag it upward.

When at last it popped off, he found himself looking into her eyes with their arms over their heads and their noses inches apart. Suddenly bashful, he turned to show her the marks.

Her fingers on his back gave him another jolt. His thing was growing in his pants but he thought of car accidents, history lectures, that time he wet his pants at the department store when he was a small boy.

She turned him and took in the view, and a sudden deep breath. Fetching a washcloth, she used it to do his face and chest rather than using her bare hands. Yes, her face was very hot, he was sure of it.

They disembarked from the shower and toweled off after squeezing most of the moisture from their clothes. She stepped away to change into clean clothes and returned in a loose, wide-necked top over culottes, and they stood silently while she traced his welts with an ointment-covered finger. Every touch made him shiver.

"I've got a dry shirt," he said, and went to his car to fetch it, along with the two potted plants he'd stowed in the backseat.

She was sitting out back, starting in on a bottled light beer when she spied him coming around with the plants.

"What's this?"

He set the pink azaleas down. It was early in the season but greenhouse-bred, they were already mature and blooming. "Happy birthday, Valerie," he said.

"Oh, Max, they're beautiful! You sweet, wonderful man!"

She took his head in her hands and kissed him firmly on the lips before releasing him, her eyes shining. Max struggled to keep his balance.

"You remembered," she said fondly.

"If it's too much, just say so. I can exchange them for some French Lilac..."

"No, they're wonderful!"

"They'll go well with the reds you've already got."

"Oh! They will! Let's plant them!"

They made quick work of planting, then stepped back to admire them.

"Beautiful," he said.

"I love them! They really brighten up the place!"

"Hey," he said, "there's an actual azalea festival in Brunswick next weekend. It's a can't-miss spectacle. Why don't we go?"

She hesitated. "What, like a..."

"Like two friends."

"Max, I don't know..."

"What are you afraid of?"

She considered, watching him, then said heavily, "Max, I don't want you to get the wrong idea."

"Come on, you're the only person I can go with! You think my friends care about azaleas?"