The Mix-Up Ch. 05

"Er - uh - so I came by earlier to see where Gary might be and called the operator to find where you might have family in town, wound up here. Guess he followed me."

"An operator? Those are still a thing? And how aren't YOU the stalker in this, figuring out where I live."

He sighed. "I swear it. But last I checked you were rootin' around where I live... and slept with me three times."

Her face burned. "Not - not on purpose. That was an accident running across your RV."

"Either way, you weren't here, I left you a letter warnin' you about him... and come back and you never got it. Fill in the blanks." He peered outside, his eyes still roaming her body in the window reflection. "He says some sick stuff, that little guy. I seen it in him from the moment I first saw him. In his eyes."

She sat on the stairs, putting her head in her hands. Her hair brushed the floor. For a moment, Lester's heart cracked, the memorial of her mother only a few yards away. The same feeling I had for my Pops.

"You can call the cops, jus' wanted you to hear my side. Maybe get a hotel. I wouldn't stay here." He paused. "I ain't your enemy, y'know."

She looked up, her reddened eyes searching his face.

"I know. I've just been a mess lately, doing things I'd NEVER do normally - no offense. And I'm trying to get back to being myself." She sniffled. "Like not hooking up with strange men--"

He slapped his belly. "Ha! Strange? Damn near a compliment compared to what I'm usually called."

"Oh I didn't mean--" she said, her scowl breaking for a moment. "It's pretty fucking weird, come on."

"Well I ain't one of them tarot card readers, but I can read eyes. And when I see yours, or hear what you be sayin', I'd wager you like weird. Might even love it."

She looked away.

"Ain't the worst thing in da world to have a friend. Figure that's what we are now..." He placed a hotel keycard on a volume of Plato's Apology. "When you stop reading about planets and need a new spot for a bit, Room 216 at the Marriott, all yours." His phone number was written on the card.

She nodded. A surprisingly nice hotel for the old perv. "You better get going," she said, her girlish hands already dialing 911.

As the door closed behind him, her words reached his hairy ears. "No - no, it's not an emergency but this weird little creep has been following me... he's on bail... uh huh, yes I'd love someone to come by."

Ten minutes later, Lester eased down the block as a squad car pulled behind the Jeep Wrangler. She was safe. For now.

~~~~~

Taryn rolled over in her bed, turning to her phone first. Its bright light shone 2:14 AM into her tired eyes. Where the squad car had been parked for hours was now the bare concrete of the driveway, plus a couple oil spots. Fuck. That little weirdo could be out there. Or in here... in my house with me. Her breathing stilled as she listened to every distant honk and the hum of traffic on Markham Street.

What a fucking day. Seeing Lester and actually believing him, even with all the craziness. But were they friends, though? What were they even? A sixty-something year-old and her... two people who really had no business knowing each other, but who'd been closer in some ways than anyone else in her life. Even the limited hookups in her life before had always used condoms. That was due to her not being on the pill... but each time they'd fucked it ended with her body flooded by his cum. Oozing, trickling, bubbling out of her onto her smooth thighs.

She exhaled, none too eager to remove her hand that'd slipped under her lace panties. Just a little more of that, she thought, her finger brushing against her clit. Her folds moistened, parting with every exploratory dip of her finger. Her hips rose upward.

Ugh fuck. Why the fuck am I thinking of Lester? The hormone overdose was the obvious reason, or maybe the Geode's constant filthy messages. Or another reason, the one that scared her most: Maybe I'm just a slut who really wants him. That I really want the things I begged him for during sex... For him to pound me, use me, breed me...

Her hips ground forward, slickness coating a manicured digit that slid easily inside. A minute ago, I was worried about a stalker being outside. And ugh... just like that, I NEED to touch myself. Her chest heaved, her nipples stiffening into buds easily visible through her thin cotton shirt. I'd fuck anyone who walked through my door right now, not even joking... her legs spread further, another finger slipping inside her loosening hole.

Her hips quickened, each movement making her shirt ride upward, exposing her flat stomach. What'd Geode say? About ruining my body... taking my stomach and making it bulge?

Her lips parted, her head twisting into the pillow. "Ahhh..." The squelching of her fingers slipping in and out of herself filled the otherwise silent room. The photoshopped pictures Geode sent her flashed in her mind, of her in a bikini, her perfect tummy ballooning outward. Surely the result of a night's bad choices, but the question remained. Why did it turn her on so much?

She pushed a third finger inside, her brow crinkling.

"Oh f--fuck..."

The can of hairspray she'd forced inside herself previously sat on her dresser. It glimmered under the fluorescence of a nearby streetlight. Yeah, it's an option... but I've never fisted myself.

Her eyes studied the pale smoothness of the ceiling. The same ceiling she'd stared at months ago contemplating homecoming and prom, what dresses to pick or what bandoliers her dates would wear. Now... now she had half her hand jammed up her cunt.

What the fuck's wrong with me? Why am I even thinking these thoughts? She paused, three fingers buried between her legs, but the urging from her hips restarted their rhythm. Her folds sheathed her manicured digits, conforming to them and coating them with her juices. Without thinking, she pushed another finger in.

For all her physical perfection, the blonde's constant slamming and stretching of her folds had challenged their once pristine condition. Her athletic body could take more, as she forced it to. Resizing myself to take more is just... too fucking hot. But to do that, I need lube. I'd love to fist myself, and Geode would love seeing it... am I living to do slutty things for him now? Ugh. It's so wrong. No one would ever expect a girl like me to ram my whole fucking hand up my cunt.

She reluctantly withdrew her hand, the sudden loss of fullness deflating the tingling nerves in her brain. Taryn hopped out of bed and opened a bathroom drawer when she looked back to the head of the staircase. She'd gone right by him.

Gary's single lens glinted at her from the darkness.

She backed away. "What the fuck? What are you doing here?"

"I've - I've been thinking about this moment so long, my queen..." He pulled a book from behind him, its spine so creased several pages hung on for dear life. "You're more beautiful than I even remembered... I hope Lester didn't make up any more lies about me. He's a real pig, a real creep."

"And you aren't?" Her voice rang higher than normal. She shuffled backward on the bathroom rug. Her skin tingled at the sight of the deranged man. Her hands shook as she reached for her phone.

Her brow furrowed. What fucking right does he have to be in my place. AGAIN.

"Oh that won't help you," he said, holding her cell phone's battery. "He's been feeding you lies. We belong together... that's why I keep coming back. To make you understand. You could be... my queen... forever." He pulled the book up to show its cover. The corset wearing elf princess on the castle ramparts could have passed for a romance novel version of Lord of the Rings.

"That's the crap you're obsessed with? Jesus Christ."

She opened the nearest drawer and pulled out a black handgun. Andy Addington hadn't raised his daughter to be helpless. She clicked the safety off and leveled it at Gary's nonexistent pecs.

"I was going to call the cops, but now you're just pissing me off. Take one more step, and I'll fucking shoot you."

The first flash of doubt crossed his face but blossomed into a smile. "I knew you're perfect. You're exactly like Princess Eowewlyn! She hit an orc at fifty strides, look here in Chapter 3," he said, tearing the book open. "Here look--she shoots--"

BAM! A shot pulverized the nearest window behind him, spraying shards of glass into the yard.

The book fell from his hands, dumping dozens of pages into a flutter. "What the fuck!"

"You're leaving me one option; I'm shooting you with the next shot." Her neighbor Ethel's bedroom light turned on.

"Help! There's a man in my house!" Her voice cut a shrill blade through the night.

"Taryn, you don't understand! He's trying to stop us from being together. We are MEANT to be together."

Her lip curled. "I have no clue who you are, and I don't give a fuck." She cocked the gun.

"Taryn, are you alright? I'm calling the police!" Ethel yelled from her porch.

Gary turned to the shards of the window, the twisted strands of his hair more feral than human by this point. With a snarl, he scooped up what remained of his book and darted away, his feet too careless to pick individual steps. Yellow light from a streetlamp reflected off his growing bald spot as he ran toward a nearby alley. By then he was little more than a stick figure running through the dark.

~~~~~

A procession of lieutenants and detectives quizzed Taryn the next two days, some staying far longer than normal on a home intrusion case. They gratefully eyed her in her yoga pants. Getting out of the house and exercising was the one activity keeping her sane.

Her father rushed to town and hugged her tighter than usual. The same words spilled from him in torrents, "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have left you alone, it's all my fault."

The last thing she wanted was Gary recognizing her car, so she returned the Jeep Wrangler for her Civic. The dealer had brushed the other salesmen aside again, even insisting he could help with her payments. She'd just smiled at his offer for a Friday night dinner. Maybe soon, she'd told him, but her modeling jobs were keeping her so busy.

She'd packed her bags and briskly departed her childhood home the morning following the creep's break-in. Despite Amy's insistence she come up to Fayetteville and Mr. Redding's plea she come to Chicago, she swiped the Marriott card to Room 216, half expecting to see Lester naked on the bed waiting for her. The room was empty.

The unending spectrum of whites, greys, and modern architecture made her want to pull her hair out by the second week. It isn't home. I need to get out of here... And have some fucking fun for a change. The keycard with Lester's number lay in front of her. Where was he? I was SURE he'd stop by at some point.

She eyed a dress on a rack in the closet which bore none of Cattarossi's hallmarks, no rich silk or trademark Italian seam work. Its green sequins sparkled with every buffeting wave of the ceiling fan. It lacked a leg slit because any riskier hem would bare too much. She bought it for her Chicago trip, intending to hit up the Zero Gravity nightclub and finally live it up during the pandemic. Too bad that perv ruined my mood the rest of the trip by breaking into my apartment and... She tousled her blonde locks. And... cumming in my panties.

Her yoga pants soon slipped down her shapely legs, her freshly painted red toenails curling in the deep carpet. She paused in front of the mirror. Of ALL dresses, this one needs panties with it. Literally one wrong move, and the whole club sees my ass.

I'd NEVER have worn this dress two months ago. She eased her lace thong to the floor. The airy black fabric lay across her feet before she stepped out of it. But I also hadn't fucked someone three times my age and asked him to knock me up either. Sincerely asked him. Like I... I REALLY wanted it. She shook her head. These fucking thoughts, I swear.

"It was the hormones. Not my fault," she mouthed. God, I hope so.

Taryn pulled the dress over her head, tugging the hem which fell well short of mid-thigh. She eyed her panty drawer and thought better of it. She snapped a couple pictures and sent them to Amy. Her friend picked up a couple rings later than usual.

"Girl. Who did you wrong?"

The blonde laughed. "All my outfits aren't thirst traps, Amy. What do you think?"

"This Chem test is going to kick my ass, and I HIGHLY regret going to college, while you're playing dress-up without me."

"Actually I'm going out tonight with girls from our class, just wasn't sure if this was too short."

Amy snorted. "There won't be a guy there complaining, T. I promise you."

"So finish your test and come down here. You deserve a break."

"Let's see, if I finish the test by 4... then a three-hour drive--"

Taryn laughed. "Like it'd take YOU three hours! Say yes. Whatever happens on your test, you'll have me to look forward to."

"Your invites have improved 100% since the hot tub." There was a pause. "Fine. Help me pick which dress when I'm done."

~~~~~

A two-minute Uber from Kilwin's took the girls and their ice cream cones from the River Market, past the city's skyscrapers and the smell of the city's harbor. Nestled among urban warehouses with rusted razor wire and chain link fences was Zara's, its glittering lights a beacon in the industrial void. The L shaped club turned its back to the rest of the city's downtown and the river, as if it to say it was different. And it was. The '70s stamped all of it, down to its purple painted brick and line of palm trees whose yellowed leaves never looked happy with their placement.

Zara's looked like its designer took a few too many acid trips before its construction, how its hastily placed Roman columns created a maze of faux antiquity under aging disco balls that twirled over elevated dance floors. Thick leaved plants covered corners and made some. Little Rock's fire marshal knew the place to stand outside it for media during her monthly rant about the club's fire hazards due to its passages and packed floors. She chose a spot in front of the saddest palm tree, even with the owner's threat of a lawsuit.

Strobe lights flashed in seizure inducing frenzy, crossing each other amid the ear-aching din of techno music. The beats vibrated the windows as Taryn and her group of friends grouped up outside. They huddled to hear each other, their heels clattering on the pavement.

Outside on the sidewalk, a black bouncer plopped on his stool and wiped his forehead with a rag, unable to contain the droplets on his brow.

"ID!" he yelled.

Amy's black hair nearly brushed his jeans as she leaned closer. "What?"

He cupped his mouth and tilted forward. "You need ID."

"We aren't 21..."

He looked back to the line that meandered toward the long alley. "Shit... you know the rules."

Taryn emerged from the pack, each high heeled step jostling her cleavage. The prom queen leaned forward, one hand behind her keeping her dress from riding up her silken thighs.

"Something wrong?"

The bouncer's eyes widened as he looked her up and down. He'd seen his share of pretty women. His lips opened wordlessly. People continued adding to the twisting mass behind the girls. The line stared holes in the blonde girl in front of them. Her perfume washed over him, coursing blood to his cock. It twitched. She was one bad white girl.

"Um - surely you're 21? I can't let anyone under that in."

"Is he the owner?" she pointed to a man with two chins sprawled out on a loveseat inside. Overhanging thick green leaves of a nearby plant didn't cover his gaze on the pair. "Recognized him from my DMs."

"Yeah why--"

"I really don't think he'd be happy with you turning us away."

He sighed. "Shit, you know that's right. He's an old horny bastard." He pulled out his stamp. "He been lookin' this way long?"

"Long enough to see us still smiling. He'll be happy," she said.

He nodded toward the door.

"Thanks!" she said sweetly, her long legs striding forward. She beckoned to the girls behind her, who took their stamps on the wrist and hurried forward.

Amy clutched her friend's elbow. "Damn T - you're a badass! Where'd you learn that?"

She shuddered, thinking of Ernesto's incentives. "I'm a model. I've negotiated with worse."

The girls weaved through the maze of columns and sidestepped through the countless plants, careful not to bump into anyone. The place was packed.

The flashing lights played off Taryn's sequins, her hourglass curves readily apparent for anyone who gazed her way. Gazes turned to stares. It wasn't every day a model from an elite modeling agency sauntered into Zara's.

"I need a drink!" Amy said. "That test kicked my ass." The two waited their turn behind the crowd at the bar and scrolled Instagram and texted for ten minutes. Finally, a gaunt 30-something bartender leaned forward and rolled up his sleeves.

"Whatever you want ladies - it's on the house." He nodded toward the owner, who waved at them from his couch. After getting their pink margaritas, they raised them in his direction.

A disco ball swirled above the nearest dance platform. Thousands of bits of light swept across the floor, the columns, and the girls who formed a cluster to the side.

One of them grasped Taryn's arm. "We're like so fucking proud of you. I told my friends you made it as a model, and it's crazy."

"Yeah, do you have any big shows coming up?"

The lights glinted off Taryn's brilliant teeth. "I do... Met clients in Chicago and Miami already. Miami was just crazy." They have no idea.

They packed around her, peppering her with questions. For a moment all her previous troubles dissolved - she was just a girl gossiping with her friends.

"What was your favorite photoshoot?"

"Who's your biggest client?"

"Has anyone famous messaged you?"

"I just gotta know, how many followers do you have?" Her Instagram soon shone on all of their phones.

Amy ran a hand through her black hair. "Jesus Christ. I shouldn't have picked college!" The girls laughed. The Asian put a hand to her mouth. "185,000. That's like Little Rock's population."

"185,000... and 438," Taryn said, sticking her tongue out. "I bet I'll have a million in a year."

"Uh duh, if you keep showing off like tonight."

Taryn's eyes drifted to the top right of her phone. 15 new messages. How many of them were from Geode?

The thought slipped from her mind as Avicii's Levels thumped from nearby speakers, blowing plant leaves in their wake. A tank top wearing DJ raised his glass to the late musician and raised his fist when the beat dropped. The music stirred the blonde forward. That and the fruity margarita which warmed her throat.

Taryn raised the glass to her lips. "Ugh, I love this song! And you guys." The other girls whooped, and they spilled toward the dance floor.

Amy pulled her back. "Let me finish my drink."

Men grasping beers shuffled to the music on the sides of the dance platform, now covered by a mass of people moving with the beat. Their eyes lingered on the long-legged model. Until she arrived, they'd eyed a plain Cuban who'd grinded her ass on a couple guys. Taryn's arrival turned heads. Subconsciously the thought entered their minds: she's way out of my league. Some nudged their buddies or commented at the exceptional girl standing nearby. Her club dress sparkled in green flashes, her teenage body filling it in all the right ways one might expect of a prom queen.