Golden Summer

Tib drove home, took a long nap, then ate dinner and did homework before again returning to bed.

Rip found life in Martinez Dormitory nearly unbearable after such a long weekend of sex. The communal showers afforded no privacy to masturbate. Looking at all the different sizes of cocks did not help his state of mind either, even though Rip was not gay.

The toilet stalls had half doors that afforded minimal privacy as well.

His roommate, a scrawny kid with poor hygiene and worse social skills was always present. And, with the lights out, the squeaking bed would telegraph Rip's activities.

On Wednesday morning, Stephanie found out what Greg St. Charles would do when he found out she was pregnant.

She looked at the whimpering, cowering man and realized Wanda was right; the man wasn't much of a man at all.

"You uh, that free clinic, over on Banks Street?" Greg whined. "Baby, a quick little...?"

Stephanie looked at Wanda and sighed.

For her part, Wanda wasn't gloating, wasn't looking triumphant. Instead, she looked concerned.

"I mean, fuck! If Dianne finds out about this..." Greg whined.

"Listen, uh, maybe you got to go, huh?" Stephanie finally suggested.

Numbly, the normally brash, arrogant man nodded and shuffled to the door.

"Dianne's going kill me," he muttered as Stephanie slammed the door behind him.

"What are you going to do?" Wanda asked as Stephanie flopped down on the couch.

"Fuck I don't know," Stephanie spat, disgusted with Greg, disgusted with herself, disgusted with her roommate.

"The shower's tonight," Wanda needlessly reminded her. "You going?"

"I guess," Stephanie sighed. "Remember? I'm one of the brides' maids?"

Wanda still rankled at that; Dianne had said to her, "Oh, you know I love you to pieces, but I do have to think of how the wedding pictures will look..."

So, while Wanda was certainly invited, Wanda would not be in any of the wedding photographs. Since she wouldn't be in any of the photographs, Wanda had politely declined to spend money she didn't have on a bridal shower gift, plus the expense of a dinner at La Scalia's Italian restaurant in Bender, Louisiana.

She buttoned her work blouse and placed a comforting hand on Stephanie's shoulder.

"Guess Miss Frances was right, huh?" Stephanie barked angrily. "Fucking old dyke."

Miss Frances had been their History teacher; the fifty seven year old woman had told Stephanie that she would find herself with four kids by four different fathers and no hopes for any future before she was even twenty five years old.

A car horn sounded from outside.

"That's Dominique," Wanda said. "You going be okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, see you," Stephanie said and turned the television on.

That evening, as Dianne's guests were arriving at the Italian restaurant, Wanda was trying to help a customer decide what wine would go with his mother in law's frozen lasagna dinner.

"I mean, she tries to tell us it's homemade, like none of us can tell, huh?" the man grimaced and finally agreed on a rich red wine.

"If she's giving you frozen dinners, why not give her frozen wine?" Tib joked and the man laughed.

"There's no such thing, goof ball," Wanda smiled happily as her boyfriend stood at her counter, Rip right behind him with a grocery cart.

"Thanks for your help, miss," the man said and added the heavy wine to his cart.

"Welcome sir," Wanda called out.

"Two bottles of the Superior Rum, what time you get off?" Tib asked and Wanda grabbed the two bottles.

"He's making his totally gay banana daiquiris again," Rip threatened.

"And I love those totally gay banana daiquiris," Wanda smiled. "I get off at nine; get out about nine fifteen, nine twenty, unless the register jams up on me."

"I'll be here, unless you got something else to do," Tib said.

"Okay," Wanda agreed.

Once at Tib's home, Rip put his textbooks on the counter and sighed happily. Then he kissed Tib, hugging him tightly.

They went to the couch and continued to kiss, then Rip unzipped Tib's shorts and pulled out Tib's growing erection.

Tib remembered once reading a 'Letter To The Editor' in a Parasols magazine. The writer claimed to be a woman, and she described how she gave the perfect blow job. At the time he'd read the letter, Tib wasn't thinking that one day he'd be giving a man the perfect blow job; he was hoping he'd meet a girl that would give him the perfect blow job.

When Rip and he were nude, Tib pushed Rip back so that he was lying with is head on the armrest of the sofa. First, he tongued Rip's scrotum, swiping his tongue back and forth. Then he took each testicle into his mouth and gradually increased the pressure of his suction until Rip was groaning.

He waggled his tongue back and forth from the base of Rip's cock to the tip, and back down again, until Rip's cock was glistening with saliva.

Finally, he took Rip's cock into his mouth, as deep as he could. Rip exploded, grunting and thrashing, pumping stream after stream of semen into Tib's mouth.

Tib insisted it was time to do homework, but Rip begged him for an ass fuck. Right there, in the living room, Tib bent Rip over the coffee table, greased Rip's tight little hole with olive oil and fucked him, none too gently.

Then they sat at the kitchen table, doing their homework.

The register did not jam up and Wanda happily scrambled into Tib's car and kissed him.

And I'm off tomorrow; can we swing by my apartment? I want to get like some shorts or..." Wanda bubbled.

Tib walked up the stairs with Wanda and entered the apartment. Stephanie was sitting in her usual spot, tears streaming down her face.

"Fucking forgot Miss Frances is like Dianne's God damned aunt so of course the old bitch is there," Stephanie snarled bitterly at Wanda.

"Um, I can wait in the car if..." Tib said.

"Oh fuck; didn't see you there," Stephanie spat and slammed into her bedroom.

"It's okay, I'm used to being invisible," Tib said and shrugged his shoulders at Wanda.

"Want to invite her you can," he suggested quietly to Wanda.

Wanda just shook her head no.

"And what time you have to be, you're off tomorrow, what about Friday?" Tib asked as Wanda gathered up some clean clothes.

"Late again," Wanda said.

"Where are you going?" Stephanie demanded, opening the door to her bedroom.

"Tib's," Wanda said.

She looked at the woman's tight, pained face and remembered, this used to be her best friend.

"Want to come? He's got a swimming pool, we're going to do a bunch of banana daiquiris and..." Wanda said.

Tib shot Rip a text message warning him that they were bringing company, just in case Rip was still naked.

"Your old man or old lady live here?" Stephanie asked as they glided into the garage.

"Nope; it was my Momma's, but when she died it was left to me," Tib answered.

Tib turned on the lights for the pool and Stephanie gasped as she saw the lagoon lighted up.

"And yard's fenced in so we don't need suits," Rip said.

"Uh huh," Stephanie smirked.

Tib had already lighted the mosquito candles so the quartet went outside with their frothy drinks.

Stephanie blinked. The short, fat, dumpy, lumpy Wanda was getting all the attention, even though she was sitting right there, loose shorts gaping open. If either Tib or Rip would look, they'd see that she was going commando and that she had recently waxed her pussy bare.

"I know, you're off tomorrow, but Rip and I do have class first thing in the morning," Tib finally said when they'd emptied the large pitcher of banana daiquiris.

Stephanie smiled; now either Tib or Rip would try to make the move. And as good as she felt, with the alcohol, and the warm evening and being out of the stuffy apartment, whichever one made the move would be guaranteed some pussy.

"Let me show you to your room," Tib smiled and Stephanie smiled.

Just as she'd stolen Greg right out from under, or on top of Dianne Pratt, she'd steal Tib right out from on top of Wanda Eckles; unless Tib had a death wish he wouldn't be getting under the fat cow.

And he did show her the room, showed her that it had its own bathroom, smiled and wished her a good night, just as she dropped her baggy shorts to the floor.

A moment later, Stephanie closed her mouth, how could that Tib ignore her, dropped bra and blouse to the floor and went looking for Rip.

There were three other bedrooms, two of which had no occupants, and the third, the one on the opposite side of the hall, had its door firmly shut.

"Oh God, oh yeah," she heard Rip, or Tib, no, that drawl, that had to be Rip groan.

"Oh baby," Stephanie heard Wanda squeal.

Stephanie tried the knob; locked. Dejected, she slunk back to her own bed and crawled under covers, blankets, and pillows.

Chapter 7

Dianne's wedding went off without a hitch. Her wedding photographs did look beautiful, with Dianne, her older sister as matron of honor and three bridesmaids, all of the same approximate height and weight.

Connie Edwards, the photographer, did wonder about the few photographs that showed the groom glaring hatefully at one of the bridesmaids and that bridesmaid's own hateful glare. Those photographs were not given to the bride for selection; they were simply scrapped.

Tib, Wanda's date, did cut a dashing figure in his tailored gray suit and Wanda looked beautiful, fat, but beautiful in her light pink dress. Dianne magnanimously did select two photographs that showed the couple dancing and smiling at each other.

Dianne wouldn't admit it, but the primary reason she'd selected any photographs of the couple was because of the one thousand dollar check Brent 'Tib' Thibodeaux had given the happy couple as a wedding present.

Rip managed to pass his three classes, earning a 3.67 GPA for the Summer Semester.

Tib got a 4.0 GPA. But he did disclose to Rip and Wanda, he really saw no need to continue; he would not be re-enrolling for the Fall Semester.

Because Rip wasn't gay, he did not even tell Tib or Wanda good bye; he just got onto the Greyhound bus and returned to Paulton, Louisiana.

Tib was disappointed but Wanda actually cried tears of rage over the callousness of Rip's actions.

To take her mind off of her disappointment, Tib encouraged her to use forty hours of the forty six hours of Paid Time Off she'd accumulated with Early's Grocery store and flew them to Hawaii. On their last day there, at a luau, He proposed to her.

Tib found Bruce and Irene Eckles, Wanda's parents to be pretentious, shrill and arrogant.

"So, y'all planning on a big wedding or what?" Bruce asked.

"You're pregnant, aren't you? I knew it. I knew minute we let you out of our sight you'd get yourself pregnant," Irene shrilled.

"Wedding will be as big or small as you're willing to pay for," Tib said, eating the barely palatable concoction Irene called meat loaf.

"I'm not pregnant, mother," Wanda said. "But uh, looking at my older brother's birth certificate, I noticed Bruce Junior was born nearly six months premature, huh?"

"Oh, well, uh, I mean, Wanda says you got some money from your mother?" Bruce said.

"That was before we found Jesus," Irene defended. "You were raised in a good Christian home."

"Oh, I just assumed you'd want to walk your daughter down the aisle," Tib said, feigning surprise.

"Well I, of course I do," Bruce said, frowning in confusion.

"Whatever, Mother, but I'm not pregnant," Wanda said.

"Well then, I suppose you're paying for the wedding," Tib smiled. "If I'm paying for it? Then I'll have a circus clown walk her down the aisle and a transvestite grandmother will do the wedding vows."

"Tib!" Wanda giggled.

After he'd proposed, but before the wedding, Tib hired Paul Robichaux to do some remodeling; mainly to accommodate Wanda's height challenged status.

"My sister in law's four foot six and my wife's five even," the six foot two inch contractor laughed. "Believe me, I'm the right guy for the job."

"And the master bathroom, she wants repainted; personally I like the color we picked out, but..." Tib said.

"What you like isn't important," Paul smiled.

"You're hired," Wanda chimed in.

"She wants it this God awful yellow; I think she just likes it because of the name, 'goldenrod,'" Tib went on and showed Paul a sample of the color.

"And it's a beautiful color," Paul smiled, shrugging to Tib, letting him know he agreed with Tib.

"Listen to this man," Wanda ordered.

When Bruce and Irene came to see Tib's home, where their daughter would be living as Mrs. Thibodeaux, Bruce again grew resentful that Tib was making him pay any money for the wedding.

When Tib made banana daiquiris, Irene loudly denounced alcohol as evil. Then drank the majority of the frothy concoction. Bruce helped himself to Tib's half gallon of Early's Finest Whiskey and wanted to know how much each stick of furniture cost.

Because of her parents' actions, Wanda was not in the least bit offended when Tib asked her to sign a prenuptial agreement. She even declined to have her own lawyer look at it, even though Tib offered to pay for her to have a lawyer.

Tib did kick in quite a lot of money for his wedding; Bruce offered to hold the reception in their small back yard. Tib rented the Knights of Columbus Hall in Kimble.

Irene was going to have Wanda's Aunt Heloise cater the reception. After eating what Irene called meatloaf, Tib wasn't about to have Irene's sister cater the reception. Tib hired Manny's Mexican restaurant.

Figuring that Irene and Bruce were not the only people on the bride's side that would loudly denounce alcohol, then do their best to drain the bar dry, Tib made sure the bar was a Cash Bar. This did not endear him in the least to his mew mother and father in law.

Wanda's cousin Derek was going to bring his stereo system and act as DJ at the reception, Tib hired a band. Heloise's daughter, Carmen, fancied herself a photographer; Tib hired Bobby Elswell, the owner and chief photographer of Parasols magazine.

(Wanda was, at first, quite upset with Tib when she found out about this, but then saw the humor in it and laughed.)

"But you're still cancelling your subscription to that horrible magazine," she hissed.

"Now, how can you call it horrible? Do I or do I not make the perfect banana daiquiri?" Tib defended.

Bobby thought it was a real hoot; when Tib had called him and asked him to do it, Bobby had said he would, for ten thousand dollars.

"Make the check out for the St. Elizabeth's Animal Shelter," Bobby said as he snapped the first photograph.

"You got it, but when people ask, you have to tell them you're with Parasols magazine, okay?" Tib said, shaking the man's hand.

"Well, of course; even brought plenty of business cards," Bobby smiled and snapped a quick photograph of his assistant and 'date' for the occasion, his sister Valerie Elswell.

Barely fifteen minutes after the photographer arrived, the majority of the friends and family gathered knew that the photographer worked for that horrible adult magazine, Parasols. And the majority knew that his assistant did not have underwear on underneath her very short skirt.

Even though she'd been cut out of the services, Carmen had still brought her own photographic equipment; she was a true shutterbug. Thirty minutes after Bobby Elswell had begun; Carmen had his business card and a job interview for Monday morning.

In a pew on the Bride's side, Stephanie Hebert put a protective arm over her pregnant belly; Dianne St. Charles and her husband Greg were just two pews in front of her.

She looked one more time at the business card the photographer's assistant had given to her. 'Valerie Elswell, Editor In Chief.'

"Yeah, every May, we do a 'Mother's Day' special; yeah, I know, you're not going to be knocked up in May; you're what, about seven months along?" Valerie had said. "But come on in, we'll get you on file, easiest thousand bucks you'll ever make."

Having so few friends, Tib asked James Robert Taylor, his financial advisor to serve as Best Man.

He'd sent Rip an invitation, attempted to call a now out of service phone number, and a now defunct email address, with no reply.

*.*.*

THE END

**Author's Note: I write these stories for my own pleasure; I post them here for your enjoyment. I do thank you for reading my stories.

Disclaimers.

Yes, I need an Editor. No, I do not want an Editor.

Yes, it jumps around too much.

Yes, there are too many people to keep track of.

Yes, it's in the wrong category.

Yes, it's too long.

Yes, it's not long enough.

Yes, this is stupid shit, and...

Yes, I suck.

Feel better?

Have a swell day.