Loud

Chapter 3 - Loom Large in the Present

Sometime after Rob showed the teenagers the spare bedroom and bid them goodnight, giggling woke him. Two slender silhouettes flanked his bed. "No," he said, then in Japanese.

They peeled away the blankets. Bare legs slid over Rob's as they wiggled in. He struggled to sit up, to escape the smooth skin. The sweet aroma of hair products and perfume - a hand grabbed at his boxer shorts. He jerked his knee to free himself and rolled to one side, forming a wall with his back. He tucked the traitorous organ between his legs. "I'm serious. Girls, go to the other room." Lips touched the nape of his neck. Hands engulfed him. "Stop." A tongue entered his ear. "Ah!" He bounced onto his feet, conscious of his pointy boxers. "Ladies, no."

They craned their necks, tilting their round faces up. They tucked their feet under their rumps like girls in a tea ceremony and stared at him. "Why?" one said in Japanese.

"You stay. I'll take the couch." He jumped off the bed and repeated himself as best he could in Japanese. He opened a drawer in his bureau and slipped on a pair of jeans. "Really. Honto ni. Stay here." He zipped up his fly before pulling a sheet and blanket over the two reclining girls. "Goodnight." On the way to the door, he grabbed an extra blanket and repeated himself in Japanese. "Goodnight."

He locked himself in the bathroom and filled a plastic cup with water. The tactile sensation of his visitors' moving legs and hips, their eagerness - he emptied his mind of it over and over again. His body had to calm down before he could go to the living room. Although age was an arbitrary marker, subject to culture and time, those girls' minds were needier than their bodies. Something like that, and he wanted nothing to do with it.

After another cup of water, he headed to the living room. When he turned on the light, he caught sight of a lumpy blanket on the couch and a head of dirty blond hair. Cynthia sat up and planted her feet on the floor, her back ramrod straight. Her eyes followed him.

"I thought you were in the spare bedroom," he said.

"I didn't want to listen to you guys."

He sat down on the floor against the wall, fifteen feet away. "There's nothing to listen to. I'm staying here." He crossed his legs. "Your friends are a handful."

Cynthia pulled her blanket tighter. "I have no interest in you."

"Likewise, hon. You don't think I touched them, do you?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Well, it was quick if you did."

"I was fighting them off!" He pulled a cushion off a chair and snapped his blanket out. "I'm going to sleep. Whatever you do, don't come near me." He curled up on the carpet with his back to her.

"They were so excited when I spotted you. They want to meet the Gears."

"You're practically a pimp, doing the talking for them. Are you crazy?"

"They can do what they want," Cynthia said.

"Not with me."

***

Early the next morning, the sound of the shower and girls bantering in Japanese behind the bathroom door woke Rob. He groaned, even though he liked the girls, especially Cynthia. Listening to them, spending time with them, was fun. They reminded him of being young.

He rolled over. Cynthia, sitting crisscross applesauce, eyed him from the couch, a blanket folded neatly in her lap. "Sleep well, Mr. Vintage?"

He massaged the back of his neck as he stood. "I did, thanks."