Chapter 8

Restless and exhilarated, Anthony needed a drink. Bringing Coulson’s reigning princess to climax while her clueless husband was down the hall gave him a rush. The men of Coulson might believe they’re some big shots in this little shit town and that he was nothing but an out of town goon—but he knew. So did the princess. The look on her face was priceless when she stood there, taking it—enjoying it.

After leaving the Roseville parking lot, he drove straight to the liquor store. He needed to get there before it was closed, and buy a bottle of gin. The streets were fairly quiet. Even on a Friday night, the town was pretty dead. The only drivers on the road seemed to be high school students with late curfews. In the liquor store parking lot was one pickup truck, its bed filled with partying teenagers. The truck’s driver had just gotten out of the cab and was now standing by the back of the vehicle, talking to those sitting in the truck bed.

Anthony’s headlight flashed briefly on the driver as he pulled into the parking lot, making his way to a spot in front of the store. Immediately, he recognized the driver. It was the princess’ middle son, Garret Coulson.

After she had caught his attention, he had gone digging for information on her and her family. He still found it hard to believe a babe with her body had given birth to three sons—especially considering the older one’s age.

Anthony turned off his car’s engine and got out of his vehicle. Garret turned to look at him, and Anthony knew instinctively what the kid wanted. He wants me to buy him some booze. Swaggering toward the truck on the way to the liquor store door, Anthony took his time and gave Garret a little nod in greeting. He figured the kid was trying to decide if he was safe to ask.

“How ya’ doing?” Garret greeted when Anthony reached the truck. Anthony stopped by Garret and glanced at the teenagers in the back of the pickup.

“Doing great. You kids having fun?” Anthony flashed his most charming smile.

“Yeah, but it’s a little dry tonight,” Garret said, watching for Anthony’s reaction.

“Need some beer, wine?”

“Hey, you’d do that?” Garret smiled.

“Hell yeah, I was young once.” Anthony laughed.

Garret pulled some money out of his pocket and started to hand it to Anthony while telling him what they wanted.

“Come in with me and pick out what you want. That way you can carry it out.”

“You sure?” Most guys who agreed to buy booze for him didn’t want the checker in the liquor store to know what was going on.

“Yeah, no problem.”

“My name’s Garret.” Garret offered his hand.

“Tony.” The two shook hands and then walked inside the liquor store to buy booze.

When they returned to the truck ten minutes later, Garret tried to give Anthony extra money for buying the liquor.

“No, I don’t want anything. Like I told you, I was young once.”

“Well thanks, man; that was really cool of you,” Garret told him.

“No problem. I’m staying in town for a while, over at the Cliffwood. So if you ever get hard up for someone to buy, I’d be happy to help you out.”

“Really? Thanks a lot.”

“No problem. And have fun.”

“That was really cool of the old dude,” Sheryl told Garret after they drove away, heading to a desolate cul-de-sac. The two were alone in the cab of the truck. With his left hand on the steering wheel and his other one on Sheryl’s right shoulder, he pulled her closer to him as they drove down the dark road. His right hand wandered a bit, copping a quick feel. Instead of pushing his hand away, she giggled and snuggled closer.

“Did you bring some?” Sheryl asked.

“Some what?” Garret teased.

“You know what I mean. So we can do it.”

Sheryl was just fifteen, and Garret hadn’t been her first. But the girl loved to screw and he was more than willing to accommodate. She wasn’t his girlfriend, but she was always eager to get together at the last minute for some beer and sex. A petite little thing, she was not quite five feet three inches tall, with tiny breasts that could barely fill out an A-cup. A bottle blonde, she wore her thin hair long and her skirts short. He wouldn’t call her pretty, but that didn’t seem to matter in the dark.

The one thing Sheryl insisted on was that he wore a condom. He had no problem with that and no shortage of condoms. When he first hit puberty, his grandfather had called him in the library for a private talk.

“Do you like girls?” his grandfather had asked.

“Sure, yeah, I guess,” Garret had responded.

“Do you want to see them naked? Do you think about touching their breasts?”

“Grandfather, please…” the question surprised and embarrassed Garret, yet he knew Randall Coulson well enough to understand that if the old man wanted to know something he wouldn’t stop until he had the desired answers. Finally, Garret answered truthfully.

“Yeah, I do. Can I go now?”

“No, we need to talk first. I should have had this talk with your father so your mother couldn’t have tricked him.”

“Tricked him?”

“That isn’t important now; it all worked out. She gave me three grandsons. Your grandmother was only able to give me one son. So in retrospect, the one thing your father did right was have three sons, even though it wasn’t his doing.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Garret was confused.

“Knowing how you are, Garret, you’ll take any opportunity that comes your way to stick your pecker in some pussy. I just don’t want you to be stupid about it. Here.” His grandfather handed him a box of condoms. “Keep that thing covered before you go sticking it anywhere. I don’t need you knocking up some girl, especially in Coulson. When it comes time to get married, you need to pick someone from the right family. A shotgun marriage might have worked for your father, but it probably won’t for you, considering the type of girls you’ll encounter here. Enjoy them all you want, but don’t leave a baby in them.”

It was then Garret had realized his mother had been pregnant with Sonny when his parents married. He had never really thought about it before, but when he considered Sonny’s birthday and his parent’s anniversary, it wasn’t difficult to figure out.

From that time on, someone—probably someone from the household staff on his grandfather’s orders—would periodically leave a box of condoms in his bathroom. He never suffered the embarrassment of trying to purchase them at the local pharmacy.

Streets had been cut in on the far south side of town, but houses had not yet been built on the lots. Some of the streets were paved and some were dirt. Most of the lots were currently for sale by Coulson Enterprises’ real estate division. A few had already been sold, yet were still bare land. Cul-de-sacs along this area of Coulson had become a popular party spot for the bored teenagers of the small town.

Garret parked the truck and got out with Sheryl. They could hear voices and music coming from nearby cul-de-sacs, from other teenage partiers. He grabbed a blanket and a six-pack of beer from the back of the truck and walked with Sheryl to an isolated spot away from the vehicle. The three couples in the truck bed had hopped out when Garret first parked and had headed out in opposite directions to find their own dark corner.

One thing Garret liked about Sheryl, she didn’t care about all that preliminary bullshit some of the girls expected. No reason to sweet talk her or buy her gifts. After downing several beers, Sheryl removed her clothes. Garret didn’t bother removing his; he just unbuttoned his denims and put on a condom.

When Garret was finished, he rolled off Sheryl, his breathing labored. Removing the condom, he tossed it into the dirt, tucked his penis back in his shorts, and zipped up his pants. Sheryl sat up and started to put her clothes back on.

“Did you leave your cigarettes in the truck?” she asked as she redressed.

“I have some in my shirt,” Garret told her. He looked up at the stars as he took the pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket. “But I think you smashed them.”

“Well, you could’ve taken your clothes off. I removed mine.”

The package was slightly squished, but the cigarettes remained intact. Garret removed two cigarettes and lit one, then handed it to Sheryl. He lit the second one for himself and continued to lie on the blanket, staring up at the stars.

“Why? You got where you needed to go,” he said.

“I know but still. I think it’s only fair you take your clothes off too.” Sitting on the blanket, she took a drag off the cigarette.”

They sat in silence for a few moments before Sheryl asked, “What are you doing the Saturday before Halloween? Suzie’s having a party. Her folks are going to Vegas that weekend.”

“My mother’s having one of her parties that night. I’m supposed to be there. I plan to cut out as soon as I can make my escape.”

“A costume party?” Sheryl asked.

“I guess.”

“Can you take a date?”

“To the party?”

“Yeah.”

“If I wanted to. Which I don’t.” Garret tossed his cigarette butt in the direction he had pitched the used condom.

“Take me, Garret. Please. I’d love to see inside your house,” Sheryl pleaded.

Garret sat up. “Sheryl, I’ve always been straight with you. We aren’t dating. You aren’t my girlfriend.”

“I know,” she said sadly.

Garret stood up. “Let’s get out of here.”

“So soon?” She remained sitting on the blanket. The moonlight and stars above provided the only illumination.

“If you want to go another round, I’m up for it,” Garret suggested. He dug into his pocket and pulled out another condom.

“So you really won’t take me to the costume party?”

“No. What do you want to do? You want me to take you home, or do you want to do it again?”

Sheryl didn’t answer immediately. After a few moments of silence, she began removing her clothes. Garret unzipped his pants and returned to the blanket.

Vera left Randall in the library, and she went up to her bedroom. On her way down the hall, she glanced in Harrison’s room. They hadn’t shared a bedroom since Russell’s birth.

She had taken a shower before dinner, so getting ready for bed took her less than fifteen minutes. Exhausted, she climbed in between her clean sheets and fell asleep.

“Fanny, come here to your Charles,” Fred beckoned.

She knew what he expected of her. “Do we have to, Fred?”

Vera was always frightened when he initiated the play. It hurt so much the first time. But then—then she came to enjoy the pain and the pleasure.

“Don’t call me Fred. Remember, I’m Charles, and who are you?”

“I’m your Fanny,” she said obediently.

“Good girl. Remember how I saved you from that horrible man?”

“I guess…” Fanny stammered.

“Vera, do I have to read that part again to you?”

“No!” She hated that part of the book. The man in the story reminded her of her music teacher.

Obediently, she stood very still while he lifted her skirts and pulled down her underwear.

“Hold your skirt up for me, Fanny, so I can see.”

Together they looked in the mirror and watched while his fingers toyed with the hidden folds. Looking down, she wondered where her curls had gone, and then she remembered she didn’t have them yet. Glancing up, it was no longer Fred’s face nor Charles’ face, it was Anthony’s.

It felt good—it always did—but then he—Charles, no Fred—or was it Anthony? —pushed her down on the floor and used his hard shaft instead of fingers, hammering into her until she exploded into a million colorful pieces.