I think Robert and I both realized he was going to try to punch me at about the same time. It wasn’t hard to see it coming – he was a pissed off young guy and his eyes were wild with frustration. It was equally unhard to duck left a little to let his sloppy right hook swing harmlessly past me. The sloppier left hook he followed with was even easier to avoid.
Don’t get the wrong idea: I can’t fight worth a shit. Samantha, my beautiful but scrappy little olive-skinned girlfriend is better in a scuffle. I’m just pretty good at keeping myself and people I care about out of harm’s way. So like I said, it wasn’t that hard to dodge Robert’s flailings.
If there was any skill involved, it was noticing and doing all this while looking across the kitchen at Samantha. It’s a decent summary of my respect for Sam that a healthy teenage man swinging wildly at my face concerned me less than she did from several feet away. If she got pissed enough, someone would be going to the hospital. Little Samantha had a gift for violence.
And now she was coming.
After Robert’s first swing, I watched her head snap our way. Without a moment’s pause, she simply released her half-filled wineglass to let it fall to the floor. Then she bent her knees a little to let gravity start her forward momentum. In three long strides, she covered the distance to the loveseat that separated the kitchen from the breakfast nook where Robert and I were doing our weird little dance. Just short of the loveseat, Sam stretched her arms forward, tucked her chin into her chest, and launched herself.
I watched the forward flip start and nearly couldn’t believe it – who the fuck somersaults over a loveseat on the way to a fight? Sammie. Her near-perfect balance made it only marginally less risky than a hurdle and she’d gain a bit more momentum along the way. Her instinctive choice was good news for Robert and for me. In mid-air she’d lose sight of us as her body rotated. We could stop this early.
I sidestepped around Robert, got one big step forward towards Sam’s imminent landing and braced myself with my arms opened wide for a ridiculous game of catch-the-girlfriend.
Sam’s spinning little body hit me ass-first right in the sternum. It forced emptied the air from my lungs and nearly knocked me off my feet but still I caught her. The force of our collision folded her at the waist. Her tiny, firm rump, bare beneath the long shirt she was wearing, was planted in the middle of my chest. She would have bounced backwards to the floor if I hadn’t wrapped my arms around behind her and pulled her into me tightly in a hug. Even in this absurd position pinned in half against me, she struggled – at first confused, then angry.
“Lemme go, Hero! He pulls that bullshit after everything we’ve done for him? That little punk needs a beating!” she growled.
“Fight’s already over Sam, he just needed to take a few swings to feel better.”
She wriggled a bit more but stopped after looking at Robert over my shoulder. He had plunked into a chair and dropped his face into his hands.
“If it weren’t for you two, Heather and I could be…. together. She said she loves me. It could have been like I’ve always wanted,” he said bitterly.
I let Samantha unfold and put her down. Incredibly, she switched gears from wanting to kick Robert’s ass to consoling him softly.
God what a mess. Ready for the tricky part? Robert was Heather’s younger brother.
How did we get here? Let me back up a few hours…
It was mid-morning when Heather let herself in and wandered into my kitchen wearing a college sweatshirt and a short pair of cotton shorts – it had become her uniform when she ventured outside on summer mornings. The loose thick cotton of her sweatshirt only hinted at the generous chest that hid beneath. The little shorts did more than hint though – they showcased. Their thin, clingy fabric cupped her small round buns and wedged slightly into her crack in a cock-stiffening display. Her blonde hair, already lightened by the summer sun, was piled on top of her head where it was knotted loosely in a scrunchi.
Home from her freshman year, Heather was my other girlfriend. Samantha’s too. It sounds more complicated than it is. The three of us are a happy little love triangle. Sam and I were ecstatic to have Heather home for the summer again. Her school was far enough away that we saw her only on the occasional weekends during term. Now that she was home on summer break, Heather spent most of her time living with us but she’d spent last night at her folks’ place across town to celebrate her brother’s eighteenth birthday. She’d invited us, indeed her parents had invited us, to her brother’s party but we declined, not wanting to intrude on their family event.
“Mornin’,” Heather greeted us sleepily, “Guys, this is Bobbie,” waving behind her. She patted me on the head as she sidled up next to Samantha and begged a sip of coffee from her cup. Heather knew I took sugar – a lot of sugar – and it meant I could keep my coffee to myself. The girls both drank it black so they often mooched from each other.
“Hi.” Bobbie was a few steps behind his sister. Jeans. T-shirt. He looked like a nice enough young guy. He had brassy-gold blonde hair and bright blue eyes like his sister. His youngish face didn’t match his 18 years. Bobbie was probably getting called “cute” more than he was getting called “handsome.” Still, he was better looking than I was at his age. If I’d looked like him in high school I probably would have had more luck with girls back then.
I wished him a happy birthday and Bobbie thanked me with an easy smile and a good handshake. It was hard not to like him. I warmed to him even more when Samantha came over to wish him a happy birthday. He blushed when she leaned up onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
Sam was twenty-four and beautiful in a petite, delicate, Mediterranean ballerina way because… well… that’s kinda what she was, on the outside anyway. In the same way that Heather’s bubbly blonde teeny exterior belied her razor sharp mind, the real Samantha inside was anything but delicate. She’s more or less a wolf in sheep’s clothing. At the moment, the only actual clothing Sam was wearing was one of my white, men’s dress shirts over a tiny pair of white cotton panties. My shirt fit her small body like a loose dress. It was a sturdy one, so it’s fabric was thick enough that you couldn’t see through it.
I’d watched her steal that shirt from my side of the closet that morning. She’d been naked except for the miniature white panties that covered her exquisite little rump. The muscles of her sleek back had rippled and played as she’d pulled my shirt down off its hangar and she slipped it on. Then she’d sauntered back to my side of the bed, bent, and kissed me on the cheek.
“When you’ve fucked me enough today, you’ll get your shirt back, got it?” she whispered her sexual ransom before chuckling and leaving the bedroom.
I’d barely woken up and she was already plotting sex for the day. Yep, I loved this woman.
I watched with amusement as Bobbie’s eyes traced down Sam’s toned dancer’s legs where they emerged from the bottom of the shirt. He was missing the best part – her tiny, tight tush was the stuff of a teenage boy’s wet dreams.
Sam caught Bobbie eyeing her up and smiled indulgently, enjoying the young man’s attention. “So what are you guys up to today?”
“Not much. Just hangin’ out,” he answered casually.
I pushed the seat next to me towards him. “Well, pull up a chair then.”
I got up and re-filled my coffee cup and poured one for Heather so she wouldn’t continue to mooch from Samantha. I offered some to Bobbie but he scrunched up his face and shook his head in a way that said he hadn’t yet discovered coffee. Sam poured him a glass of orange juice instead.