Maybe Baby Lite (3 page)

Once I reached the stables
I peeked in the window to make sure he was gone. I saw that
Derringer had been untacked and was back in his stall. I went
inside and made sure to fill the water trough for the horses and
then called it a day. What a fucked-up end of the day! I'm sure
Jenna would broadcast to everyone that I'd had my ass ripped by
Trey Sinclair. What an uptight snob! Probably been spoiled all his
life!

Jenna had done her share
of gossiping about him the few weeks I'd been here. Something about
him being a high-powered attorney somewhere else, owning shares of
the family business, a scandalous broken engagement in his past,
and oh yeah, Jenna dreamed of 'doing him' one day soon. Probably
what she'd been arranging on the front porch of the mansion over at
the Belle earlier. I tried to put it all out of my mind as I
crossed the pasture heading toward the bank of cottages and the
cold shower that awaited me. Suddenly, the loud roar of tires
caught my attention as I spotted a black Lamborghini Gallardo
convertible speeding down the Sinclair estate driveway. The driver
wore sunglasses. There was no mistaking the burnished brown hair
flying back from that sinfully handsome face. As the car passed the
pasture to my right, the driver glanced over. For a split second, I
thought I could actually make out his smile. Despite his
assholiness with me there was no denying Trey Sinclair was smokin'
hot.

Ah yes, that shower's
going to cool me off nicely.

The bank of eight
identical cottages was spread across two acres of land on the
estate. Two of the eight housed full-time year-round hands who’ve
been employed by the Sinclair family for years.

Cottage One was Ray
Gillespie’s. I liked Ray a lot. He was in his late 50s and had been
with the Sinclairs for more than 30 years. Ray was gray-haired,
with soft green eyes, a bushy moustache, and a kind smile. He had a
girlfriend in town named Denise.

Cottage Two belonged to
Charlie Roberts, also in his late 50s, and the other full-time
hand. A quiet man who kept mostly to himself, no one knew much
about his past. Charlie was thin, with close-set small eyes,
graying auburn hair, and a weak chin.

The college help inhabited
the rest of the cottages. There was Clint who helped Luke and me at
the stables at the main estate where the Sinclair's lived, and also
at the Belle. Clint was tall, blond, and lean. He had a great sense
of humor, and was sort of protective of me. He was actually my
first friend here. He was 22 and a senior year at Virginia Tech.
Clint was assigned to show me the ropes during my initial training.
He was very patient and not hesitant to share his
knowledge.

My cottage was the fifth
one down. Like the others, it was made of cedar wood, with a small,
railed front porch. I loved to sit out in the evenings after sunset
watching the stars lace the summer sky. The nights were black in
the country, the cottage porch lights were all we had to guide us
if we got back late.

Jenna's cottage was next
to mine and I laughed to myself as I passed it seeing a clothesline
strung across her front porch with all of her fine delicates
dancing in the summer breeze. Friday was her day to hang her thong
underwear out on the line to display. She claimed she'd never dream
of machine washing such fine silk.

Skank
.

I entered my cottage,
hooking the screen door behind me to allow some air inside. The
ceiling fan was on but did little to dissipate the heat and
humidity within the cottage. The main room was L-shaped, combining
a small living area with a kitchenette and breakfast bar. The
breakfast bar was on the other side of the countertop and had three
stools. The small bedroom was off of the kitchen, and thankfully,
the one window in the bedroom held an air conditioner. If I closed
the door from the kitchen and turned on the unit, the room cooled
fairly quickly, even reaching the bathroom that was directly off of
the bedroom.

Switching it on to full
blast, I stripped to my bra and panties and sprawled out on the
bed. Grabbing a Cosmo from my nightstand, I flipped the pages while
the cool air washed over me. Cosmo was reporting on yet another
type of female orgasm. How many types did that make now? Three?
Four? Hell, I'd be happy just to know what one (non-self induced)
one felt like! I was so curious about sex, and especially about
good sex, yet my experience with guys had amounted to nothing more
than making out and some "non-risk" petting.

I liked guys. I loved the
way they walked. I loved the way their muscles moved. Today even,
I'd had to force myself not to allow my eyes to drift to Trey’s
crotch while he was ripping into me! So why had I never had a
man?

Maybe being around my mom
and the array of boyfriends that had come and gone over the years
had turned me into some frigid bitch. She'd certainly learned to
hate men as a result, telling me over and over again none of them
could be trusted and they wanted one and only one thing from a
woman.

I remembered something
that had happened around the time I was ten or eleven. Something
had startled me from my sleep one night. There were strange noises
coming from my mom’s room. It sounded like she was in pain. She was
moaning and it scared me. As I approached her bedroom door, I heard
her bed creaking rhythmically and a man’s voice. At the time, I
thought someone was hurting her until I heard his voice.

There was no mistaking it!
It was my best friend Jenny Marcotti's dad!

“
Maggie, baby, that's one
hungry pussy you have. It was made for my cock,” he rasped loudly.
I heard the bed squeaking again and my mother moaning. Even from
the hallway I could hear Mr. Marcotti panting and
groaning.

“
Do you like that, Maggie?
I wish you'd teach Patty how to do this, baby. She's always asking
me why I don’t touch her anymore. You’ve spoiled me Maggie, that’s
for damn sure." There was more shifting and creaking bed sounds
coming from behind Mom’s bedroom door.

“
Gently now, Herb,” my mom
murmured, “I’m a little tender still.”

“
You got it, baby, we’ll
take this slow and easy,” Mr. Marcotti’s voice was low and hoarse.
“Oooh yeah, that's good, Maggie, you're so fucking wet. Does it
feel good Maggie?”

“
Umm hmm,” my mom’s voice
purred, “this is the way I like it…oh yeah…” The bed started slowly
creaking again. Soon, I could hear soft moans and whimpers coming
from Mom. The springs in the bed were squeaking in rhythm with her
moans. The headboard banged against her wall, then stopped
suddenly.

“
Maggie,” Mr. Marcotti
whispered hoarsely, “we better take it down a notch; we’re going to
wake Tylar with this noise.”

“
Don’t stop now, Herb,”
Mom pleaded. “I don’t give a damn who hears us! I’m ready, baby,
I’m on the edge,” she cried.

“
Ahh—” Mr. Marcotti,
gasped, and the bed creaking was now one solid noise. “Unnnarrghhh”
his voice growled as if in pain. Mom’s moans were coming in short,
rapid succession.

“
That’s it, that’s it, oh
God, oh God, yes!” she screamed.

I'd covered my ears and
ran back to my room. That night I wet the bed and Mom had spanked
me for it the next morning.

In the weeks following
that night, I'd see Mr. and Mrs. Marcotti around town. In fact,
Mrs. Marcotti had complimented my mom on her new leather coat and
matching boots.

“
Maggie,” she'd called out
as Mom and I were on our way out of the Piggly Wiggly one evening,
“I love your coat. Did you get that at Macy’s?”

“
Thanks, Patty,” Mom
replied, smiling. Mr. Marcotti had joined us from the parking lot.
“Actually, I’m not sure where it came from. It was a gift from a
friend.”

“
Wow, some friend I guess.
That color is perfect on you. You know, I saw one very similar to
that at Macy’s in Louisville last month. I begged Herb to get it
for me, but noooo, he said, ‘that’s too extravagant Patty’,”
mimicking her husband’s voice. “Remember, Herb? Remember when I
practically begged you for that leather coat?”

“
Vaguely,” Herb replied,
fidgeting with his keys.

“
Well, Maggie, I envy
you,” Patty had sighed, lightly rubbing her finger on the sleeve of
Mom’s coat. “It must be nice to have someone who isn’t shy about
shooting his wad for something like this.” Mom and Herb had
exchanged quick glances.

“
Well, c’mon Herb,” Patty
instructed, “let’s find a cart and get in there. Nice seeing you,
Maggie. You too, honey,” she smiled.

“
Take care, Patty, Herb,”
Mom had replied, hurrying me to our car.

I'd nearly convinced
myself that I'd dreamt the whole scene with my mom and Mr.
Marcotti, until that day and the subject of the leather coat came
up. I knew then Mr. Marcotti had bought mom the coat. After that, I
didn’t hang around with Jenny Marcotti. They moved away a year
later.

Shaking the thought out of
my head, I tried to focus on the present. What had made me think
about Jenny Marcotti’s dad and my mom? My thoughts scattered when I
heard a knock at the door.

Jumping from my bed, I
grabbed the robe that hung on my bathroom door and shrugged it on,
tying the belt around my waist. I padded through the bedroom and
saw Clint standing at the front door with his boyish
grin,

“
Hey, sorry,” he
apologized, “didn’t mean to catch you at a bad time.”

“
No worries,” I responded,
smiling. “What’s up?”

Clint turned momentarily
shy then quickly shrugged it off. “Just wondered if you're going
down for a beer with us at Luke’s? If you feel like going…we can
walk down together, I mean, that's if you really want to go.” He
was starting to stumble over his words. That was kind of cute; kind
of Clint.

“
Sounds like a plan to
me,” I smiled. “What time?”

“
I’m going to clean up and
grab a sandwich. Be back around seven?”

“
That works for me.
Thanks, Clint. See you in a bit.”

I finally got my nice,
cool shower. Afterward, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I
analyzed my face. My eyes were tawny brown. I didn’t wear a lot of
eye make-up, but tonight for some reason, I wanted to look more
sophisticated so I went for it.

I decided to wear my
favorite jean skirt and a white cotton tank. I glanced at the clock
on my microwave and saw that it was about ten til seven. Opening
the fridge, I grabbed a handful of seedless grapes to hold me over
since I'd skipped lunch.

There was a knock on my
front door as I finished the grapes, and tugged at my short jean
skirt, trying to make it cover more than it was supposed to cover.
I opened my door to a smiling Clint.

“
Wow!” Clint’s eyes lit up
as he gave me the once-over. “You’ve got some legs on you, babe,”
he winked at me playfully.

“
Stop!” I laughed. “This
skirt must’ve shrunk. Should I put something else on?”

“
No way,” he
said

When we arrived at Luke’s,
the last cottage before the woods, the party was well under way.
There were lawn chairs set up around in the side yard, and a fire
pit ready to go as soon as the sun went down. There was a keg on
ice, and a couple of coolers sitting side-by-side stocked with
other kinds of booze.

I waved to Ray and his
girlfriend Denise who were sitting together on a log. I'd met
Denise earlier in the week when Ray brought her by the stables. She
was in her 40s and she owned a salon in town. She had very soft
features, wispy dark blond hair and a full figure. She was warm and
friendly. I really liked her.

“
Hey, Denise,” I grinned,
glad she was here.

“
Hey, sweetie,” she called
out. “Well, look at you, girl! You're finally showing off those
great legs! I best not find out you're dressing like that at work
and turning my man's head!"

I laughed knowing quite
well that nobody could distract Ray from Denise. It was obvious
that he was crazy about her. Ray chuckled as he pulled Denise
closer to him and gave her a swift kiss on the mouth. “You know,
Tylar’s like one of my own, Neecie. You're all I can handle,” Ray
said.

“
You best remember that,
stud,” she replied, wiping her own lipstick off of his mouth and
squeezing his chin.

Clint was talking with
Luke and Rodney over by the keg. He caught my eye and came over to
offer me a wine cooler. I wasn't a drinker. I'd relatively little
experience with alcohol.

“
I thought maybe you'd
prefer this to a beer,” he said, twisting the cap off and handing
it to me.

“
Thank you, Clint,” I
replied, accepting the cold bottle. I tipped it to my lips and,
because I was parched, drank the whole thing down at
once.

“
Easy, girl,” Clint
warned, “I know it’s not whiskey, but if you don’t drink alcohol
very often, anything can have a kick to it.”

“
Tasted like punch to me,
Clint,” I remarked. “May I have another?” I smiled coquettishly up
at him. He shook his head, making his way over to the ice chest for
another wine cooler. He handed me the ice-cold bottle, with a stern
comment.