Summer Girl (10 page)

“Oh, I see... so when you thought it was me
in that dress, it didn't quite make as much sense?”

“No, no... I just don't know you very well,
and, well, in Trestle, everyone knows about Tamera Merle,” he said
with a grin.

“What?!” said Brie. “No they don't! She
didn't even grow up here! And she only lives up here four months
out of the year!”

“Sure, but...”

“You want to talk about someone who everyone
knows in Trestle— you're looking at her.”

“Oh, all right...” said Dan. “I've been away
for six years so I'm probably out of it.”

“That was ME in that dress!” said Brie. “The
man I was with couldn't contain himself and that's why he spilled
all over me!” Brie said, fuming, storming out the door.

When Brie pulled into the driveway, she was
still enraged. Of course, she wasn't a beautiful and stunning as
Tamera. Who the fuck was? Since when was Tamera Merle any kind of
realistic standard for judging female beauty? But for Dan “The Dry
Cleaning Man” (like he was any great shakes) to actually say it to
Brie's face?!
How fucking rude is that?
To assume that Brie
couldn't have elicited such a male response while wearing that
dress! “Everyone knows about Tamera!” says Dan. Of course! And no
one in Trestle knows about Brie?

—Except for all the horny husbands who hired
her to do their lawn. The ones who'd fuck their fat wives at night
imagining they were with Brie, with Brie's face and almond eyes
dissolving into the faces of their dumpy wives.

What about the agonized longing etched into
the face of Brie's male swim coaches when she'd climb out of the
pool in her one-piece, water dripping off her firm (but plush)
frame?

Bullshit
.

Brie's phone rang. “Brie? Hank Fenton
here.”

“Oh, hi, Mr. Felton,” said Brie, surprised to
hear from her high school bandleader after almost a year.

“Loni Elliot is down with the flu and we have
a parade tomorrow for “Pickle Days.” We need a majorette. I know
you've graduated, but are you available?”

Drum Majorette!
Brie smiled to
herself, her anger instantly subsiding.

“Why, sure, Mr. Fenton. I think I can still
twirl the baton.”

“Great! You're a life-saver. The parade
pre-practice is at 11:00. Parade starts at noon.”

Brie hung up, smiling. 'Everyone knows Tamera
Merle,' still ricocheting in her head. But after tomorrow, it would
be Brie everyone would be talking about. This
was
her town!
She didn't just pop into town when the weather was nice, Brie was
the one who grew up here!. And Tamera Merle wouldn't even be alive
if it weren't for her!
How about that?! Will that news get
around town? 'Tamera Merle saved by a townie.' Right.

Brie didn't get out of the car, instead
speeding back out of the driveway and ending up at her house five
minutes later.

“Brie! Honey! Good to see you!” said her Mom.
“How goes the nanny-ing?”

“I don't like that word,” said Brie zooming
past.

“Well, whatever it is you're doing at the
Merles...”

“I'm going to be heading up the Pickle Day
parade tomorrow,” said Brie heading upstairs to her room. “I need
to get my outfit.”

Brie hugged her mom and was back at the
Merles a short while later, holding the now-clean mini-dress on a
hanger, her Majorette costume in a garment bag.

Brad was off the phone but buried in work.
Brie pulled Jackie out of her crib and set her in her highchair
while Brie prepared dinner. She remembered Brad's response that
first day when she mentioned she was a sometime majorette. That
look on his face. For some reason Brad Merle had a thing for drum
majorettes and Brie would give him the surprise of his life.

But for the rest of the afternoon Brie was
ignored. “Can't right now, Hun,” Brad said when she said she had a
surprise for him.

Hours passed and Brie was stuck with Jackie.
Brie loved Jackie but found her to be a time-suck. Yes, Brie was
getting paid five grand a month to watch over the little brat but
she would have rather been paid nothing in return for having Brad
all to herself.

By the time dinner-time rolled around, even
Brie's special recipe of Rib-eye couldn't get Brad to exit his
office. She placed the plate on his desk while he grunted in
acknowledgment.

Brie figured by nine o'clock that Brad would
be done with whatever he had going on, but no. This was the last
night that they would be alone before Tamera's return from Overton
so Brie waited patiently in his bed wearing her blue bikini,
complete with ruby-red lipstick (his favorite).

When by 10:00pm, Brad was still a no-show,
Brie bolted from the Merles' master bedroom and retreated to her
guest room, seething. Having expended his seed in her orifices, as
well as on her backside, Brad was losing interest. He was like all
the rich Overton folks that summered in Trestle. They suck whatever
they can from Trestle and then bail on it when the weather turns
cold. Thinking back to when she saved Tamera from drowning, Brie
realized that her view of the lake was always from shore. She
couldn't remember the last time that she was on a boat on Lake
Willard. The Overton folks had bought up all the best property
along the lake. They were the only ones that actually got to live
on the lake.

And where was the beautiful and
high-achieving Tamera? Back in Overton, no doubt having forgotten
about Brie, ensconced for the week at her high-powered law-firm
doing deals and having romantic interludes with her paralegal,
Kay.

When Brie put her anger and paranoia all
together, she was left with the unmistakable conclusion that the
beautiful Merles' had already grown bored with her and were taking
her for granted.

Brad awoke the next morning tied to the bed,
naked.

“Brie!” he yelled. A little kinky bondage was
always fun, but tying him down while he was sleeping? That was bad
cricket.

“Brie!” he yelled again.

Into the room marched a drum majorette, in a
green, pleated mini-skirt, wearing a square-shouldered faux
military style jacket, complete with epaulettes. She wore matching
boots, gloves and a square box-shaped hat. She was twirling a baton
and high-stepping her gorgeous gams around the master bedroom.

And those legs. Brie's legs were displayed
beautifully, long and toned, framed by the tall boots on one end,
with the hem of the teasingly, short skirt on the other. She
stopped at the foot of the bed, Brad looking up at her, eyes wide.
“Brie...” She could read awe and lust on his face.

“You like?”

“Oh my God, yes...” said Brad, his cock
standing at attention.

“What is it about drum majorettes that you
like so much?”

“I don't know... I just...”

“Well, whatever it is, I can say that today
is your lucky day. I am filling in for a sick Loni Elliot and if
you can get untied, you can come out to watch. It’s going to be a
warm day so a lot of this outfit will have to come off. But I don't
know how you'll be able to see it. I've tied those panties so tight
that I don't see you getting out there in time. Unless Tamera gets
home this morning.

“Brie, you've got to let me out!” said Brad,
straining on the bed, his massive biceps bulging, his erection
looking like a section of wood plank pointing straight up.

“Uh, uh,” Brie said walking around to the
side of the bed. She bent over, the tiny pleated skirt arced up,
revealing her well-packed ass covered by a strip of form-fitting
neoprene leotard. “This skirt doesn't cover much does it? Do you
think I should be going out in public in it?”

“No, no, Brie. You can only wear that here,”
said Brad breathless.

“Well, stripping off this skirt will solve
that problem won't it?” she said tugging at it.

“Brie... Brie, please... let me have
you.”

“Oh, so NOW you're interested in me. Where
were you last night?”

“What are you talking about? I was working!
You know? Making the money that allows Tamera and I to pay you five
grand a month!”

“Nice try.”

“I need to touch you—I need to touch your
ass.”

“Here. You can have a kiss.” Brie turned
around and bent over right in Brad's face. She felt his lips
pressing against the narrow strip of neoprene running up her
bottom, sliding his tongue out onto the bare portion of her ass and
up the side of her hips, then back again along the plush contours
of her buttocks.

And then she cruelly pulled it away.
Mid-lick.

“Brie!” moaned Brad.

Brie turned around and gave a little wave. “I
hope you can make it in time. But I won't be going home with you.
It could be one, or maybe two—or five—very hot guys I'll be
spending the day with —and the night with. Hopefully one of them
will be Dan the dry cleaning guy. You know him; he’s the one you've
hired to do my SAT coaching? He's cute.

And with that, Brie was gone.

Brie got in her truck (Mom and Dad had lent
it to her indefinitely) and laughed at Brad's drum majorette
fetish. Where did that come from? In her years of leading marching
bands no one ever thought majorettes were sexy. They were mostly
cornball really, a throwback to her parents' time or even further.
But today she would change that.

When she arrived at the staging area in front
of Trestle Hardware, bandleader Hank Fenton and his young
assistant, Ed, were thrilled to see Brie.

“Thank God!” said Hank hugging her, “You
saved our asses.”

“Glad I could help,” said Brie, twirling
around.

“Say, you are looking great these days,
Brie,” said Hank. “What's it been—about a year?”

“I think so,” said Brie, noticing the stares
from Ed.

“Are you going to be still available to
fill-in now and then—even though you're out of high-school?”

“I don't know,” smiled Brie, “Let's see how
you feel after today.”

The rest of the marching band greeted her.
Most of them were a year or two behind her in school so she didn't
know them well but they all seemed appreciative that she had showed
up.

There was a fifteen-minute logistics meeting
regarding the parade route and the significance of Pickle Days to
the history of Trestle. And then it was show time. The band started
up with old John Phillip Sousa numbers blaring from brass behind
her, the same creaky tunes Brie had been hearing for years.

They made their way down Fenster Street, the
beginning of the parade route. Behind them were seven floats with
Pickle Day themes and various groups of veterans and Lions Club
members walking and riding behind. Because Pickle Days was such a
big event it drew from the surrounding counties and as a result the
crowd was in the thousands, well-exceeding Trestle’s own
population.

Brie was high stepping and twirling her
baton, her tiny skirt spinning upwards, giving the spectators—and
the band members behind her— just enough view of heaven to be
distracted. In fact, it wasn't long afterwards that she started to
hear more and more bum notes. At first Brie thought that it was due
to the hot day, but each time she twirled around she noticed the
band members in the front paying particular attention to her and
the back rows way out of formation as the members strained and
craned their necks trying to get a look at her. The residents of
Trestle, and its surrounding area, would be remembering Brie
today.

The band was coming up on the intersection of
Main and Trestle, the traditional place for the band showcase that
allowed them to march in place for a few minutes allowing them to
play more involved selections. It was also the point where the drum
majorette got to show her stuff.

They reached the intersection and stopped.
Bandleader, Hank, set up a stepladder in the street in front of the
band. With baton in hand they launched into the Brittany Spears
classic, “You Don't Make Enough to Have Me.” Brie marched out in
front while the band played and was now alone in the intersection
surrounded by the parade watchers lined up along the street. She
threw her baton up in the air and caught it, then spun it behind
her, twirling and now, for the first time, bumping and grinding,
swaying her beautiful body in time to the music. There were loud
cheers as she bent over ninety degrees, her baton still twirling,
not missing a beat.

“Take it off!” yelled a man, obviously
starting his drinking early.

Well, there was her excuse. Brie always knew
what she'd do here, at the showcase portion of the march—and it
was
getting warm. And she didn't have to worry about her
parents reactions since they hated parades. With her one free hand
she unbuttoned one button on her marching jacket, then the second
and a third button. She undid the snap that held the high-collar
together and in one single movement she pulled the thick jacket
over her shoulder and down her arm. One sleeve was now dangling,
her left side displaying a bare shoulder and full breasts, wrapped
in the leotard’s spandex. A lusty cheer rose from the crowd that
almost overwhelmed the band. Brie passed the baton to her other
hand and now with her left, pulled her jacket off her remaining
shoulder, sliding it down her arm, this time the entire heavy coat
falling to the pavement with an even louder cheer. In its place was
a bare-shouldered leotard held together at the neck, the same plum
color as the rest of her marching outfit. Though her breasts were
entirely covered with no cleavage showing, every contour of her
tits was revealed by the tight, thick material, each breast
seemingly vacuum wrapped.

Brie scanned the crowd and could see the men
(of all ages) grinning and clapping enthusiastically, while the
women looked away, or responded with scowls of anger. Hank, the
bandleader, still waving his baton, had cranked his head almost 90
degrees and was watching her with a combination of horror and
desire. “More!” someone yelled. She zeroed in on the voice and saw
that it was Dan, standing on the curb holding her discarded jacket,
looking gorgeous in a buttoned short sleeve shirt that displayed
sculpted pecs and shoulders that might even be better than Brad's
(?!). She felt wet warmth dripping between her legs as she imagined
being wrapped in those arms, her face buried in that soft tuft of
blond chest hair extending up out of the top button. She gazed at
his tight jeans and all she could do was imagine what was hidden
behind the denim.