Julia, Ben and Lisa Ch. 15

Ch 15: Tuesday

A few quick notes:

1. this is the fifteenth chapter of a longish story, a novel in many chapters

2. everyone is 18+

3. there is no safe sex here - cause it's a fantasy, not an instruction manual

4. crossdressing and gender bending, not everyone's cuppa tea - be forewarned

*

I slept till 9:15 and still groggy, pleasantly sore, went into the guest bathroom for a 20 minute hot shower. When I got downstairs I realized Julia was not up yet, which was good. Let the girl sleep. I picked up my phone, realizing I'd turned it completely off almost 24 hours earlier, determined not to be distracted during my time with Angela.

There were seven messages and two missed calls. The calls were from Mom the prior evening and from Angela at 8 a.m. this morning. The texts were as follows:

Yesterday

9:26 a.m. Mom: Ben, checking out tonight. Home by 7. Love! Hi to Jules.

10:31 a.m. Julia: Project is whack, but my man Sammy big, big help. See ya.

2:35 p.m. Julia: My man Sammy is giving me ideas. Can't wait to tell you.

4:03 p.m. Mom: Your Dad's not feeling well. Taking him home now. Call us.

6:10 p.m. Bobby: Hey dicktard, call me when you get back.

6:12 p.m. Bobby: I dumped her so problem solved. Call me.

Today

8:03 a.m. Angela: Sigh! Wanted to talk before we left. Off now. Try later. Love!

I called my Mom to check on Dad. She said he was fine, some stomach bug going around. They'd both taken the day off. She asked after me and Julia and I told her we were just vegging by the pool in the day and eating Auntie's food in front of old movies at night. We were fine. Mom told me her plan had been to have the two of us back to our house for dinner on Wednesday, that that was off since Dad might still be contagious. I told her we understood.

The Bobby thing would definitely have to wait, for maybe about a thousand reasons. But what did he mean about dumping her? Just his usual BS way of trying to look tough. Prick!

The Angela thing? Well, I would just have loved to hear her voice and hear her laugh and to spend the day or even the next week on the phone. On the phone I mean if I couldn't be hugging and kissing her. Loved. But it was out of my hands, her locked in the back seat of a car, her Mom and Dad up front listening to every word. I'd wait for her to call.

And finally there was my loving cousin Julia. Couldn't make heads or tails of it. Didn't know what the project was or who Sammy was or ...

And that's when our little dreamboat came into the kitchen.

Julia looked around in pretend confusion. "Thanks for making us coffee Benjy. Oh, and the juice. Nice. What? Scrambled eggs? The nice napkins! Goodness, you set a beautiful table! You shouldn't have!"

"Oh, man! You're right. Sorry Julia. I just got up myself and was catching up with Mom. Dad's home sick."

I jumped up to get us some breakfast and she sank into her chair. Her pretty hair was all bed-headed and weird, but otherwise she pretty much looked like Julia, which is better than the rest of the world looks after a 5 day spa treatment. We chatted about my Mom and Dad for a bit as she yawned and stretched. I served us both some coffee, juice, toast (dry) and cantaloupe. Some instant oatmeal I'd found in the cupboard.

Finally face to face she yawned once more, smiled prettily and said, "So?"

I might have blushed then, or maybe not. Maybe I was getting beyond it. The blushing every time something happened I mean.

"So, good. Really good."

"Just really good or really, amazingly good."

"Really amazingly, incredibly good."

"Hmmmm, I see. So not really, amazingly, incredibly, unbelievably good? Sorry!"

Made me smile and giggle and I'm sure this time I blushed for real. Julia took my hand across the bowls of oatmeal. She kissed my cheek.

"Nice." She paused, smiled and repeated, "Nice. My man. Nice." Julia scratched Roman numeral III into the air. "I thought you'd be home earlier."

"Yes." It was all I could get out. I just stared at her and ate my oatmeal. There was no way even to attempt to describe what it was. Julia knew. She understood. Then I remembered it all and felt guilty. "Were you OK?"

"Oh, yeah. A little nervous I guess, but it was fine. I had Bobo with me."

I looked over at Bobo who appeared to be asleep curled up at Julia's feet. I remembered the Bo of five or six years earlier. A big rangy Irish Setter, an athletic dog with a rich chestnut coat, gentle as could be, keen and alert and friendly. And ready to tear the head off anyone who bothered Julia. Today's Bobo was not that dog, and I regretted again leaving Julia alone for so long.

Was time with Angela worth it? Oh-my-God yes a million fold. But did Julia deserve it? No way.

"What's this Sammy thing you texted? Who is he?"

Julia brightened. "Oh, this guy at school. Sammy Rodriguez. Grad assistant in Advanced Stats class and unbelievably smart. Actually a Comp Sci guy who moonlights for the Stats professor, so I did some stuff with him last semester too. Super nice guy. Gay all over but somehow has fallen in love with yours truly."

Julia paused to smile and bat her eyes at me, delighted that the gay guy had fallen for her.

"It might be my sparkling intelligence, or my devastating wit, or maybe my incredible personality, or possibly my fabulous body, well, no not that, who knows? Maybe just likes the way I accessorize. But for some reason he loves me. All the girls say so."

It didn't surprise me. A guy might be gay, but Julia was still Julia.

"Nice. He helped you with the project?"

"Yeah, really helped with that, pretty much nailed it for me, just some detail work now. But more. We had lunch together, and, you know, kind of opened up to each other. It was sweet. He's so gentle and kind and kinda shy and nerdy. Told me how much he loved my Kate Spade bag, and that got us started. He has these cool silver bracelets I'd kill for, from back home in Puerto Rico. So then he tells me about some of his boyfriend problems, just normal stuff, like he never does the dishes, or wears terrible clothes or sucks in bed, like that. So then I kind of told him about..."

"Jesus! No, not about me?"

Her head snapped back in surprise, then she laughed. "No dildo-breath, not about you." She paused and shook her head sadly at me, exaggerating for effect. "Actually about me, about the dipshit problem."

I couldn't see this was a whole lot better. Really. "Jesus, you told him how the Anderson's caught you? About the video and the texts?"

"Would you hang on a second and let me tell it? Idiot!" By now she really was exasperated with me. "All I told him was that I had sex once with this married guy down the block, and that I really regretted it. And that he had some naughty pictures of me and was harassing me to get back with him."

"Oh." I reached in my shorts to adjust my balls, which were a little bit achy. Made me smile into my oatmeal despite myself. Julia didn't seem to notice.

"That's all, all I told him. And he immediately says, like right away with no prompting at all, he says, 'I'll hack into the asshole's computer and get rid of them for you.' I couldn't believe it."

"Oh wow. He said that?"

"Yes, he did."

"OK, but could he?"

"I'm not sure, but I think he could. Maybe. Sammy is like super-smart. He's, I think, two months away from a PhD, says he and his geek friends made a game of hacking each other for fun, just to see who could do it best, and that he wins a lot. Shoulda seen how proud he was telling me that. Nerd! Claims he can hack any civilian, most any business, and would try some tough targets like the military if it wasn't going to land him in jail. He's already got some big-ass job after he finishes, moving to Seattle for it. I have to believe him."

"Oh my God."

"Yeah."

I remembered my idea from two nights earlier, that I could be the "other girl." It didn't seem so great to me now that I'd been with Angela, but I wanted to contribute so much. So I told her. Told her the whole thing, like in my fantasy I was all dressed up cute, a lovely short skirt and cute blouse, blowing Mr. Anderson in my car, my head bobbing up and down in his lap, caught on video by some cool camera we'd hidden in the dome light fixture, how he'd cum in my mouth and I'd spit it all out on his pants. How I'd whip out my dick at the end of blowing him just to see him freak out. Could be plenty. Or add this other idea. We'd find some gay guy who could look like him, like Mr. Anderson, or really just the back of his head, stage it, make it look like Mr. Anderson was blowing me after I did him. Either one. That would be the leverage we'd use with Louise.

"Oh my God, Ben, you are the nicest ever. You mean you'd suck the asshole's dick so we could catch him? You all girled up? Going down on him? Jesus!"

If Sammy could do his thing, then we might not need me to blow Mr. Anderson, which was a relief. Sammy wipes the crap off Anderson's computer, he delivers it to Julia, she keeps it as the leverage, we threaten the douchebag with exposure to Louise unless he stops the texts and the nanny-cam crap. It all fit.

Still it sounded a little too good. "But what about....like backups? Can Sammy get it off the backups too?" I knew jack about all of this stuff.

"He says he can. That once he's in the system he can do whatever he wants."

"Damn. This is fantastic, unbelievable."

And, like I said, a relief. Cause if I ever really did go down on Mr. Anderson, I'd be tempted to bite the damn thing off at the root and beat him to death with the bloody stump of his own limp dick.

Julia said, "Says he'll do it whenever but it's got to be in the next few days, cause after that he's 24-7 on finishing his dissertation and his defense. All I have to do is give him the moron's name and address and he can figure it out from there. How's that for a new best friend?"

"So? Are you...I mean what are you waiting for?"

"I know. I know. I just wanted to talk to you first, I'm so nervous. I don't know anything about this stuff and want to make sure I'm not being stupid. I trust Sammy. He feels right to me, completely right, and...I just am."

"Do it," I said.

Julia screwed up her face and picked up her phone. The conversation lasted about four minutes and by the end of it I'd heard enough to know that Sammy was on for the following night. By Thursday Julia could be out of it for good.

We hugged and cried a bit together after that, both of us nervous now. What could go wrong? I guessed a lot could. What if Sammy ended up in jail? What if Julia and I did too for getting him to do it. I was in as deep as she was. Well, not quite, but enough to know this was a real crime we were talking about and encouraging.

Things got quiet after that, each of us processing way too many thoughts for our little brains, or at least my little brain.

We decided we had to have a pretty normal day, no dress-up, no cute outfits, no practice, no makeup, no dildos, no nothing. Not a word was said about my date the next day with Mona et al. Not a word more was said about Mr. A. or about Angela or about my funny (haha!) sex life. Instead we did something which is, for us, sort of in the normal/abnormal category. We went golfing.

I think it's fair to say that Julia and I are not great golfers. Way back in middle school our parents thought it would be cute if we took lessons together. They saw us joining their clubs after college and wanted us to be prepared. But nothing ever quite stuck with either of us. Maybe we weren't motivated enough, or maybe our bodies, arms, legs, hips and hands, were just not what God had in mind for golf.

We'd gone together five or six times in the last few years, pretty much just when we were bored stiff, or when we needed a break from the heavy things in life, like my Mom's breast cancer scare or when her parents were fighting. I'd gone with Bobby, Will and Ed as a foursome a few times too. Will was actually quite good, Bobby was OK, but Ed was like me: terrible. It wasn't possible to create any real competition unless it was to see whether me or Ed was worse, so we didn't do it too often.

It was a good way for Julia and I to control our stress levels, so I was relieved when she mentioned the idea. I found her brother Wynn's clubs in the garage, she found Aunt Beth's. We decided on a small public course where we wouldn't piss off the serious golfers as much as if we'd gone to my Dad's club.

I think we lasted from about 11:30 till almost 4 p.m. and spent most of our time chasing the balls all over hell and back. We took our time, cheerfully letting other groups play through. Julia at least looked spectacular in a pretty and short white golf skirt and modest sports jersey. She wore a pink visor for the sun. I looked like me.

Many of the golfers we ran into were happy to help her chase down balls, or to give her advice. Lots of advice. They helped her with her grip, her stance, her balance and hip rotation. Her backswing was analyzed, then re-analyzed. She got lots of encouragement. How she needed to keep that head down, how the stroke needed to be smooth but solid, how she should visualize and make the whole world just her and that tiny hole, that she could focus on it till it became as big as a mailbox, as big as the Pacific. She would nod and appreciate the BS politely. She's kind of used to it I guess.

Some of the guys were with wives or girlfriends, but the women seemed less concerned about my cousin's swing, about her hip rotation. Me they left alone. Which was fine.

Julia and I did 9 holes and it was close and exciting all the way. I mounted a spectacular comeback on 8 and 9, a pretty par 3 and challenging par 4. Julia shot her usual, a 14 and a 17. I made a magnificent approach shot on 8 which led to a score of 10, and an even better drive on 9, after which I 6-putted to a score of 11. We finished with me three strokes to the good: 131 vs. 134.

We were walking back towards the car, she with head down, clenched teeth and muttering lowly. "My goddamned tits, that's the problem."

"How so Cleopatra?" I was gracious in victory.

"You know I was much better when I had my little A and B cups a few years ago, now my balance is all f'ed up. My middle game is gone forever, my putting is for poop! Everything pulls left."

"It's all right, honey. I'll work with you, we'll just take it nice and slow and I'll ..."

Her water bottle hit me in the head. Would have hurt like hell had it not been mostly empty. So I left it there and we went out to find a nice dinner with the rest of the money my parents had left us.

The day was interesting for more than the golf. Julia and I each had loads of time to think alone, at least when she wasn't being hounded by good samaritans. Often we were dozens or 50 or 75 yards apart, her trying to find a ball in the woods while I fished mine out of the lake. Or vice versa.

I knew what she'd be thinking about when she wasn't flirting.

As for me, well I'd started the day in a glorious haze of love for Angela. And not just the sex, although that was, to put it mildly, one key focus. Just her. Her face. Yes, her body too, those amazing boobies and her lovely round ass and her creamy thighs and fuzzy-framed slit, so juicy and willing. But her. Her personality. Her graciousness. Her strength. Her laugh. Her kooky weird jokes. Her joy at the way we could couple and go back for more. Her sweetness, her love. Everything. She was so amazing.

I suppressed any thought about the next day, made it go away. Didn't want to think about it or guys or dicks or blowjobs or even Mona. To think about them would have been disrespectful towards Angela, and towards what we had. Would mean being unfaithful in my little brain.

It wasn't till the 4th hole that things began slowly to change. I saw a guy maybe in his early thirties, good looking too, excellent body, hunched over Julia from behind, in nice and close to her, his hands over hers as he showed her something about the grip of the club. He turned slightly as she stroked the ball (wide by 4 feet) and I got a better look at his face. And damn, he looked a lot like my Harry. Maybe taller, not as muscular, but still, an awful lot like my Harry.

I flashed back. I was on my knees looking up to that dude-getting-his-dick-sucked smile, to Harry, to how it was, and to how Harry was. How Lisa was.

So it began. Harry! Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry! Such a lovely name, so traditionally masculine, so rugged and self confident a name, so manly, short, sweet and fine. So like him. I was so glad it wasn't a name like Barry, or Larry, or Gary or something stupid like that. It was Harry.

I felt a weird ping of jealousy. What was fake-Harry doing with my cousin Julia? Why was his pelvis so tight into her butt as he gave instruction? Did his nice arms really have to be so close to her tits? Was that really necessary? And did she really have to smile like that and be so goddamned girly all the time? What was that bitch doing with my man?

Well they finished the stroke and he walked off to his guy friends with a nice wave and a smile. So the jealousy ratcheted back down. I had to get control of myself. It was no biggie. But man he really was good looking. Maybe not as good looking and sexy as the real Harry, but still you had to admit he had something there. And as I watched him return to the other guys with high-fives, I flashed back again to real Harry, to the texture and taste of his cum, to the feeling a girl gets when she can sit at her man's feet and kiss her lover's warm thighs.

I found myself wondering what the dude's cock looked like. Ping.

I guessed that maybe it was OK to be a little, just a bit at most, unfaithful to Angela. I mean it was a guy, not another girl, and I'd set my path as a cocksucker. As someone who really enjoyed being on her knees for a man's thick cock, who sparkled with cum in her mouth. That part of me had nothing to do with Angela. I wasn't hurting her.

I remembered that Julia had said, "You don't have to marry her." Right. No reason I couldn't love Angela and still suck off an occasional dude. Plus I had all those cute outfits. All the lovely panties and bras. The skirts, the dresses and my own makeup. My own tits even. I had a date the following day, and maybe I could just blow Donnie and not do too much with either Mona or Dolores. That wouldn't be so bad.

When we were finally on the green on 4, I could see, through a small stand of trees, fake-Harry teeing off on 6. His shoulders and arms looked fine. His body twisted and I was looking right at his hard ass and strong masculine thighs. Lovely. He blasted a shot I could barely imagine, a sweet combination of force, balance and command of his club-head. The ball went off like a rocket, deeper and deeper into the waiting fairway. Double-ping.

I shook myself. Had to get control. Be a guy. I realized I'd seen some pretty cute girls during the day too. One in particular had tits that were almost as nice as Julia's. She had a cute smile too, and nice red hair that set me off. I was starting to think I had a thing for redheads.

By the 7th hole I'd caved completely. I mean I'd wanted to fuck Mona before I ever knew there was even a chance with Angela. Or at least eat her pussy. And Dolores had been nice to me in the few times I'd seen her. What? I'd blow her husband and eat Mona's twat and not lift a finger or dick to see that Dolores came too? Not enjoy her round little body and those big juicy tits? Would be pretty selfish of me.

This was my time. I'd waited long enough while everyone around me, Angela included, was getting laid. At least that's how it felt. And now, thanks really to Julia, I was in all the clubs, pussy and cock clubs, cute outfit and manly dominance clubs, pretty lingerie and doggie-fucking-a-beautiful-girl clubs. The Lisa club and the Ben club. Was I supposed to stop everything one week into my new life?