Author’s Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
Also, please note; if reading about male bisexuality offends you, hit the back space key.
In 1974, Richard Alan Thibodeaux took the fifty thousand dollars from his mother’s life insurance policy, and instead of going to Tulane University as she had wanted, he bought gold. Over the next sixteen years, he bought and sold that gold, as well as silver several times.
In the 1990s, Richard invested in the Technology boom and several Internet concerns as well. A visit with his accountant in Lafayette Louisiana when he suddenly suffered an attack of appendicitis introduced the forty one year old millionaire to Rachael Ann Brent, a thirty seven year old nurse at Lafayette General Hospital.
Within three months, the two were married; it was his second marriage, and her first.
Three years later, the happy couple was delighted to find that Rachael was pregnant; she’d assumed that she was incapable of having children as she had never conceived before.
Brent Richard Thibodeaux was a healthy baby boy, with his mother’s dark hair and dark eyes, and his father’s shy smile.
“Should have named him Brent Richard Alan Thibodeaux; the initials would spell out ‘Brat,'” Suzanne Brent, Rachael’s seventy two year old mother, and Brent’s only grandparent teased as she fussed over her only grandchild.
Richard and Rachael left their toddler with Suzanne at Suzanne’s Baylor Lake home as they attended a Seminar in Houston, Texas. There were a few African countries vying for American dollars to help finance Oil exploration and petroleum development. Three hours into an extremely boring presentation, made all the more unendurable by dignitaries that spoke very stilted English, the seven ushers suddenly started screaming praise to Allah and denouncing their governments for wishing to make deals with Satan, with America. Then the gunfire started.
Richard managed to fell two of the terrorists with his .357 Smith & Wesson before a suicide bomber detonated himself, killing Richard, Rachael, and three other attendees.
Within four minutes, all seven terrorists, nineteen guests and three dignitaries were dead and forty six other guests and dignitaries were wounded. The Clinton Administration and the several African governments promised a full investigation and it soon died down.
In time, Brent, or ‘Tib,’ short for ‘Thibodeaux’ as Suzanne called her grandson, forgot about Mommy and Daddy, and called Suzanne Momma.
Already in her seventies, Suzanne did her best to keep up with a rambunctious, happy boy. But, by the time he entered Baylor Lake High School in Baylor Lake, Louisiana, Tib had his grandmother’s reserved, quiet nature. He was handsome enough, blessed by good clear skin, his mother’s cherubic face and his father’s intelligence, but cursed by both mother and father’s chubbiness.
Because of his reserved, cautious nature, Tib had very few acquaintances and no friends. He only went to his Senior Prom because the deaf girl down the street needed a date for the prom and Momma threatened to take away his car unless he took the girl.
Three days before their shared birthday; it would have been her ninetieth and his eighteenth, Suzanne complained of dizziness and shortness of breath. Tib drove her to the St. Elizabeth Trauma Center and helped her fill out the intake form. (“They make that print so damned small.”)
Two days before their birthday, Tib had no family. Four days later, the day after he buried Momma, Tib graduated from Baylor Lake High School and disappeared off the map as far as his acquaintances were concerned.
“Well, we were going to do this on your birthday anyway,” Penny Jones, Momma’s lawyer said as a still numb Tib sipped the coffee. “I am truly sorry for your loss.”
Tib stared at Penny, uncomprehending as the attorney laid several documents in front of him. Finally, it began to sink in.
“I’m rich?” he asked.
“Last account filed on, um, here on April first, first quarter, eleven million, nine hundred and forty seven thousand, eight hundred and nine dollars; still waiting for the second quarter to be filed,” Penny affirmed.
Tib went to Alaska and spent a few weeks exploring the Yukon Territory. From there, he took a train from the west coast of Canada to the east coast.
Then he visited Ireland and Great Britain and France. Eight months into what he had planned to be a one year jaunt, Tib contracted an intestinal infection and returned to America. After a few rounds of antibiotics in a Miami, Florida hospital, Tib finally returned to the Baylor Lake home he had lived in for all of his life.
Walking through the silent house, Tib resolved to send Penny Jones a ‘Thank you’ note; the house was clean, the yard manicured. Even Momma’s 1961 pink Cadillac Coupe Deville had started up on the first crank.
He also resolved, since he had tried, but he just was not going to be leaving this home, he needed to do a little casino şirketleri renovation, a little remodeling.
The first contractor asked for Tib’s Mommy or Daddy, snarled that he didn’t do business with snot-nosed kids, and left.
The second contractor listened to Tib’s ideas, offered none of his own and promised to send Tib an estimate. That estimate never did materialize.
Paul Robichaux greeted Tib with a warm handshake, looked around the house, listened to what Tib had suggested, then pointed out a few of the flaws in Tib’s suggestions.
“Dark floors? Especially black like you’re talking about? One speck of lint will show up and that’s all your guests will see, that one speck of dust,” Paul said. “Yeah, it looks so cool in the magazines? But those floors have been vacuumed, mopped, then waxed, the picture taken and then five seconds later, those floors were dirty again.”
Tib blushed; he had seen the black floors in a magazine. Just before her death, Suzanne paid for a one year subscription to Parasols magazine for Tib’s birthday present. Upon his return, Tib had read through each issue and had renewed the subscription the moment he received the first notice that his subscription was to expire in three months.
In the February issue, there had been a photograph of a blonde doing a leg split on a black floor and Tib had ruined that page by blasting his semen all over that photograph.
“I mean, you’re a young gun, full of fun, you really want to spend all your time vacuuming, sweeping, mopping and waxing a floor?” Paul asked.
Tib followed Paul around as the contractor made other suggestions.
“You plan on keeping this furniture? Nothing’s wrong with it, but, well, I mean, it’s kind of old,” Paul asked as he surveyed Momma’s room.
“Don’t plan on keeping any of it,” Tib agreed.
“My mother in law, Ms. Bobbi? She’s got a great eye for stuff like that,” Paul said.
Tib went to the Grand Canyon and Yosemite Park and when he returned, driving Momma’s 1961 pink Cadillac, the house and back yard were completed.
The four bedroom, three bathroom ranch style home was much more modern, sleek, and fashionable. And the back yard was a lagoon, complete with fire pit, gas grill, waterfall and swimming pool. And had an eight foot tall stucco and wood fence for complete privacy.
Tib had no need to attend college; the second, third, fourth, and first quarter filings had come in; the last one showed that he was now worth thirteen million four hundred four thousand and ninety dollars. Barring anything completely catastrophic happening, Tib would never have to work.
But he enrolled in the local University of Louisiana at DeGarde for a few General Studies classes for the Summer Semester.
Miller’s Electronics sold Tib the latest laptop computer, Babbage’s Department store, the exclusive department store in Bender, Louisiana sold him the latest and greatest in back packs, and Tib was ready for college.
“Damn, this shit is hard!” Richard Pennington, Rip as he called himself, drawled to Tib as they took notes in Professor Huston’s Algebra 101 class.
“If you have any questions,” the scrawny teacher snapped at Rip. “Please save them for the end of my lecture. Thank you.”
Even though he knew the material, had done fairly well in Algebra in high school, Tib had to agree with Rip. Professor Huston was doing a very poor job of explaining the material.
“My sister? She said take the hard stuff in the summer,” Rip explained as both quickly walked to their next class, English 109, Vocabulary. “That way, you fail? You can take it again in the fall, and you already got the text book.”
“Sister sounds pretty smart,” Tib agreed.
Other than having blonde hair, Tib and Rip could have been twins. The eighteen year old Rip was slightly chubby, and stood at five foot eight, just like Tib. And just like Tib, Rip wore his blonde hair long, long enough to put it into a pony tail. Tib preferred keeping his long hair pulled back in a ponytail also.
They split up after the English class; Rip had World History and Tib had Sociology 101.
By Thursday, Rip was baffled in their Algebra class; certain he was going to fail.
“I mean, shit, bad enough I failed that goofy A.C.T. or was it that S.A.T. test,” Rip complained as they walked to the English class. “That’s why I’m down here instead of going to U.L.M. up in Monroe? See, I’m from Paulton; they said I had to get a two point five or better than I can go to U.L.M. but it don’t look like I’m ever going make it out of Algebra, huh?”
“You going home for the weekend?” Tib asked.
“No; by the time Greyhound gets me there, have to turn around come right back anyway,” Rip said.
“All right, meet me in front of Gilbert after your last class,” Tib said. “I mean, we got tomorrow, Saturday, and Sunday to study.”
In front of Gilbert Hall, Tib had Rip run to his room and get his dirty clothes as well as his textbooks.
“And come on; I just found out Early’s don’t even ask for ID,” casino firmaları Tib said as he drove them to Early’s Grocery Store.
Tib, with Rip’s suggestions, filled up a grocery cart for a weekend of study and fun.
At the liquor counter, nineteen year old Wanda Eckles watched the two handsome young men as they approached. Standing at four feet, seven inches tall, the cute blonde weighed nearly one hundred and sixty pounds, making her a basketball with arms.
“Um, let’s see, okay, we got bananas, pineapple, mangos, you even ever eat mangos? What do they taste like anyway?” Tib mused as he looked at the selections available. “Okay, um, give me two of those Early’s Superior Rum, um, and one of the Early’s Finest Whiskey and one of the Early’s Superior Vodkas please.”
“Um, sir?” Wanda blinked her big brown eyes. “Those? Um, the Superiors? They’re sixty dollars a bottle.”
“That’s fine,” Tib agreed and Wanda blinked again.
“Well, I get off at five,” she joked as she got the bottles down.
“Hmm, it’s…” Tib said, looking at his Rolex watch. Three ten now. “Okay, we’ll be back.”
“Serious?” Wanda squeaked.
“Well, yeah,” Tib smiled and Wanda felt her pussy get wet.
Tib drove to his house and Rip and he made quick work of putting the groceries away.
“Aw, man!” Rip called out after taking a tour of the house, with Tib’s permission.
“Dude, your momma had great taste,” Rip praised and got busy on his laundry while Tib prepared a pork roast for their dinner.
“Okay, be back,” Tib called out.
Rip was surprised; the young man obviously had no qualms about leaving him alone in his home. And it was obvious that Rip had a few bucks, even if he did drive an old car.
Rip had seen some expensive looking rings and another, even fancier Rolex watch on Tib’s dresser. The flat screen television in the living room, along with the sound system, was worth a few thousand dollars.
At the grocery store, Wanda’s hands actually shook as she clocked out.
“You sure?” Dominique Doucette asked.
Dominique drove past the apartment that Wanda and Stephanie Hebert shared so she normally gave Wanda a ride when Stephanie wasn’t available to do so. And because the two formerly best friends were now bitter adversaries, Dominique was more often than not the ride of choice.
“Wait?” Wanda begged the bone thin girl.
“So what’s he drive?” Dominique asked as she scanned the grocery store’s parking lot.
“Aw shit; I don’t…” Wanda said then looked up as an old pink Cadillac pulled up.
“Hey, hope you weren’t waiting too long,” Tib smiled as he got out the car.
“No, just got here,” Wanda said.
“Good, good, hey, how’s it going?” Tib nodded to the thin red head Dominique.
Tib opened the passenger door for Wanda, and then closed it.
“Okay, you got you a bathing suit? We’re probably going to do some swimming and uh, when you got to be back at work?” Tib asked.
“Not ’til Saturday,” Wanda said, knowing she should feel nervous, but oddly, she didn’t.
“Oh! You want to… I mean, I got four bedrooms,” Tib stammered, now feeling a little nervous.
“Swing by my place; I’ll get my suit,” Wanda said and gave him directions.
The apartment was actually on the way to Tib’s house so it didn’t take them long.
Stephanie looked up when Wanda scampered in.
“Hey, I uh, I’m be out, probably won’t see you until Friday night, Saturday,” Wanda said as she dug out her old bathing suit, a change of undergarments and her older brother’s football jersey, which she used as a nightgown.
“Oh, okay,” Stephanie said, fighting down her original thought, which was, “Who gives a shit?”
And then Wanda was thundering out of the apartment again.
Tib told Wanda a little bit about himself as he drove how he was an orphan and how his home had been his Momma’s house. It amused him that her legs just fit over the edge of the large front seat, but he did know enough of human nature to know Wanda would not find it amusing.
“Hey, Rip, which one of the bedrooms did you take?” Tib asked as they pulled into the garage.
“Down the hall, one on the right,” Rib said.
“Aw your ass!” Tib laughed. “That’s mine!”
“One right across from it,” Rip smiled as he put the last of his clothes into the washing machine. “Hey, I’m Rip. And you are…”
“Wanda,” she said. “Wanda Eckles.”
“Oh, okay, then you get the last one on the left; it’s got its own bathroom,” Tib said and entered the house.
In the bedroom, door firmly closed and locked, Wanda wiggled and jiggled out of her work blouse and dark brown polyester slacks, then her industrial bra and full cotton briefs, her ‘Granny Panties’ as Stephanie called them.
Her bathing suit was a one piece and Wanda wiggled and jiggled into the tight item. A glance into the full length mirror caused her to shut her eyes. And curse her own lack of motivation.
Yes, her parents had not taught her proper eating habits; they were both basketballs with arms güvenilir casino too. Wanda had not taken the initiative to do a few sit-ups, a few push-ups, to cut cookies and Little Debbie’s Snack Cakes out of her life either.
Sighing, knowing that the handsome Tib and the handsome Rip would be disgusted with her lumpy dumpy body, Wanda shrugged and left the bedroom.
“Oh!” Tib groaned as he stepped out of his own bedroom and saw a nice, plump ass that could not be contained by her bathing suit.
He shrugged; she was probably attracted to Rip. Tib knew that Rip was a little more handsome, a little bit more charming than he was.
Tib stopped at the linen closet at the end of the hall and pulled out three large beach towels.
“O.M.G.!” Wanda said as she stepped out the atrium door to see the paradise in Tib’s back yard.
“Okay, this yellow one’s yours, this blue one is mine, oh wait, this other blue one’s mine too; Rip can just roll in the grass to dry off,” Tib said.
“Bite me too!” Rip laughed and dove into the pool.
Wanda did a belly flop into the pool and Tib followed suit.
Tib finally said he was going to check on their supper and got out. Wanda watched as the handsome young man toweled off.
She’d been the fat kid all her life. And in adolescence, when everyone else shot up and their fat resettled in nicer places, Wanda became the short fat kid.
She’d never even kissed a boy. She was supposed to; Dianne Pratt had a Halloween party, Halloween was also Dianne’s birthday, and they were playing ‘Spin The Bottle’ and the bottle landed on her instead of Stephanie.
Greg St. Charles said, “No way I’m kissing her; she’s a fucking fat pig. Fuck you. I quit.”
But later on, Wanda found Stephanie and Greg making out. Even though Greg was now dating, was engaged to Dianne, he still stopped by the apartment and fucked Stephanie. Wanda just couldn’t understand how her best friend could do that. First make out with a boy that made her friend cry, and then have sex with a boy that was supposed to be engaged to another friend.
“Ring ring ring, come and get it!” Tib called out.
After a dinner of pork roast and baby potatoes and baby carrots, Tib asked “Anyone allergic to nuts?”
“Why? Going show us yours?” Rip laughed and Wanda gasped then giggled.
“No, smart ass,” Tib laughed. “I was going to make a Hawaiian pineapple bread for breakfast and if anyone’s allergic to nuts, I was just going to leave the pecans out.”
He got up and grabbed his plate. Wanda got up, but Tib waved her back down, grabbing hers and Rip’s plates as well.
“It actually calls for macadamia nuts but, really?” Tib said as he pulled a blender out of a cabinet. “Now, who’s ready for a banana daiquiri?”
“A what? I want a real drink!” Rip said.
“Then you can get off your real ass, grab a real glass, and make yourself a real drink; I’m making a banana daiquiri,” Tib said.
“No, too much work,” Rip laughed and Wanda slapped his arm.
Tib propped open the copy of Parasols magazine that had the recipe for ‘Summer Time Favorites’ and added all the ingredients. The amount of rum the recipe said to add looked paltry to Tib so he doubled the amount.
“Ew, I can’t believe!” Wanda said. “Why you like that magazine?”
“Oh, I just read it for the articles; I never look at them nasty pictures,” Tib lied, smiling as he hit the button for ‘Chop’ on the blender.
When they could no longer hear the ice being crushed up, he kicked it up to ‘Puree’ for a few seconds, then turned it off and poured three glasses.
“Mm,” Wanda approved.
“It’s a little on the ‘gay’ side, but other than that…” Rip said.
“Uh huh,” Tib smiled, poured the rest of the contents into an insulated pitcher and urged them out onto his back porch.
He lighted the mosquito repellant candles, and then sat near Wanda on the low slung rattan settee.
Rip confessed that he’d never done anything but kiss a girl, a chest kiss on the lips. Growing up in Paulton, which was firmly in the Baptist Bible Belt, he only knew ‘Good Girls’ that believed that anything below the neck was for marriage only.
“I mean, shit, there were three or four girls didn’t think that, but they were only interested in football players or kids had money.”
He flexed his nonexistent muscles.
“And I’m shaped like a football, and if I got fifty cents I’m lucky,” he concluded his tale of woe and drained his glass.
“A little on the gay side, but help yourself to a second banana daiquiri,” Tib teased as Rip did refill his glass.
Wanda held out her glass for more and Rip topped her drink off.
“I’m a girl,” she said smugly. “Girls are supposed to like bananas.”
“The bigger the better?” Tib asked and Wanda squealed and slapped his arm.
“I didn’t mean it like that!” she screeched.
Tib made a second blender of banana daiquiris and they continued talking and drinking until darkness came and the only light was from the candles and the kitchen light shining through the large window.
And then Wanda was making out with Tib, sucking on his tongue and thrusting her own tongue into his mouth. His hands were on her breasts, gently massaging then and teasing her fat nipples.