Summer Swap 6-2

Arlo stayed in the shower when Lily got out, wagging her behind at him. Arlo tried to swat it but she jumped away, giggling, grabbing a big fluffy towel and drying herself while Arlo sang his shower song; a deep-voiced lounge version of “Shake It Off.” She snapped off her shower cap, brushed her hair and put on lip gloss, dry and naked before the mirror.

Arlo stop singing for a moment and slid over the shower’s frosted panel, asking her what she was wearing today. He looked very sexy with his longish hair wet and tangled, his soulful eyes regarding her in the mirror. She told him she hadn't decided yet.

Arlo said, “I laid out on the bed what you're wearing today.”

She popped the cap back on her lip gloss and tossed it onto the bathroom counter, spun around to face the real Arlo, not his reflection, tossing her long blonde hair, putting her butt against the counter’s edge with her hands out behind her. “What if I don't want to wear your stupid outfit?” She pouted and shook her shoulders, jiggling her titties at him.

Arlo had gone Daddy on her while he was singing in there. And she liked it. Sex until midnight, then they fell asleep together and her husband was still horny in the morning. So was she.

He opened the door a little wider and said her name in warning, his long penis dangling, all soapy. She pushed her hips forward and parted her thighs. There was nothing funner than challenging Arlo's Daddy with a bratty and horny babygirl. He clenched his jaw, scowling, slid the door closed, and she laughed.

“If you're not wearing the sundress I picked out for you,” he said, his voice deep and echoing from behind the frosted glass, “I'm going to put you over my knee.”

The frilly mint-green sundress he bought her in the spring lay on their bed. Beside it a pair of youths underwear bottoms, pink with a pattern of periwinkle flowers. She picked up the underwear, smirked, went back in the bathroom and said to the closed shower, “I wasn’t going to wear underwear today, Daddy. It’s going to be too hot out there.”

The warbled shape of her husband behind the frosted glass bowed his head, thinking. He said, “Put on your underwear, Lily. You’re getting too old for that. Your dress is short and none of the grownups would feel comfortable seeing between your legs by accident.”

“That’s their problem,” she said, then laughed into a cupped hand.

Undeterred, Arlo raised his voice, saying, “Put. Them. On.”

She shouted, “Fine!” Then left and slammed the door, laughing to herself, dressing in the underwear and slipping the sundress on. No bra. She cinched the dress at the waist with a thin cotton belt then opened the bathroom door and found Arlo stepping out of the shower and reaching for a towel. She gasped and covered her eyes.

Arlo reminded her little girls were supposed to knock before entering a room, and said he should spank her for slamming the door the way she did.

She said, “The wind took it, Daddy. I didn’t slam it.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, and she moved her hand away from her eyes to see him with the towel around his waist, looking so hot with his sleeve tattoo and his wet skin and lean body. Now he said, “What are you in here for?”

She pooched out her lower lip, then said, “I just wanted to know what you wanted for breakfast, Daddy. I was going to make you something.”

“Just coffee, Lily. I don’t want you using the stove on your own.”

She couldn’t help laughing at that and he looked over to her, hairbrush in hand—one very suitable for a spanking—and his expression showing no humor, all serious business now. She stood straighter.

He said, “Did you put on your underwear?”

“Yes.”

His brow lowered. “Show me.”

She said, “No.”

Arlo grumbled, rubbed his scruffy chin, started to brush his hair, then turned to her again. “Show me, Lily.”

She shook her head no, and as he took a step toward her, she yelped and ran out of the bathroom, Arlo hot on her tail. She was laughing too hard to get away from him and he got her by the bed, snatching the back of her sundress. She dove face first onto the bed and thrust her hands down to grab her skirt. Arlo kneeled over her, trying to lift the skirt, saying, “Show me, Lily, you better show me,” and she kicked her feet and shouted for him to stop. But he got her skirt up and saw her pink underwear.

He sighed. “Why do you have to make everything so difficult?”

Before she answered, he swatted her bottom three times with the hairbrush, big bright smacks that brought her pussy to life. She squirmed around to face him, chuckling, discovered he had lost his towel in the chase and his dick had grown half hard with her bratty antics. She gasped again and recoiled at the sight, saying, “Oh my gosh— Daddy!”

Arlo didn’t react this time, covering up or getting off her, only lowered his mouth to kiss her forehead. “Get some french toast started,” he whispered. “I’ll be a few minutes behind you.”

She pouted because he wasn’t playing along anymore, but french toast sounded fantastic and she was really hungry. “For two or for everybody?”

He stepped rearward off the bed and grabbed his towel from the floor. “Make a big batch. Anyone up late can microwave it like the heathens they are.”

Out in the hallway, headed for the kitchen, Scarlet and Sullivan’s room door opened, but it was Cody backing out of their suite. First thing she noticed—gosh, how would she miss it?—was an enormous bulge in Cody’s shorts. He had an obvious erection, a really big one, running to his left hip, bowing out the front of his shorts. When he saw her standing there, he said, “Oh, hey, morning, Miss Lily,” trying to cover up his erection with his t-shirt.

“Good morning,” she sang, sweet and kind, giving the littlest curtsy she could, not calling him out on his aroused state or that he was coming out of Sully and Scarlet’s room like he’d been in there all night. The clothes he wore were the same when he’d abandoned her and Arlo last night during their card game.

“What you up so early for?” he said, coming her way.

“You’re up, too,” she said, gathering her hands at her waist and locking her fingers together. Cody’s arousal was partially covered, but still evident. She’d seen him naked before, but he’d never had a hard one. Something about this surprise greeting in the hall made her stomach feel kind of sour—but not in the terriblest way.

“I suppose I am,” he said, stopping to talk. “You’re showered and dressed and ready for the day.”

“We went to bed early last night because somebody abandoned our card game.”

“Ooh,” he said, looking sheepish, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry about that, Lily. You sore about it?”

“Nah,” she said. “We like going to bed early anyways.”

“Early to bed, early to rise,” he said, “even on vacation.”

“I’m going to make french toast,” she said. “You hungry?” Then, unable to help herself, added, “You work up an appetite?”

Cody made no note of her comment, said, “I gotta talk to Carla, but we’ll be up soon.”

Still unable to help herself, she looked to Scarlet and Sully’s door, all sweet and innocent, inquiring, “Are they up?”

“Uh, yeah. Though, I don’t know, they might sleep in still.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, narrowing her eyes on him, wicked, wicked scoundrel that he was. “Real maple syrup,” she said. “From upstate.”

“I can’t wait,” he said, tugging on his t-shirt’s hem in an effort to conceal his raging boner, worried what sweet Lily Dixon thought of his behavior.

“I can’t wait either,” she said, lowering her eyes to his bulge, wanting him to know he could try to hide from her who he was but she still saw. “Maybe we’ll see you soon.”

They parted ways, and Cody strutted back to his room and went in to talk to Carla. Talk, in finger quotes. Before she headed to the kitchen she paused outside Scarlet and Sullivan’s door, shaking her head and pursing her lips. So Scarlet had sex with big-shot Cody Weber, Mr. Millionaire, and he of the tanned skin and blue-lagoon eyes. And very big penis. “Gross,” she said and shuddered. “Shame, shame, Miss Scarlet,” she whispered, moved to leave, then turned back to add, “You too, Mr. Sullivan. Shame, shame, shame.”

* * *

Byron waited a long time, in reflection, before saying to Chey, “Made you think about what?”

“Like what I want from all of this,” she answered, her eyes meeting his now. “What we want from it.”

“What do we want from it?”

“You don’t know?”

He made a troubled sound, wanting to be past any bad feelings over what they were doing, and yet somehow even after a wonderful night with Carla set up by Cheyenne, he couldn’t shake a guilty feeling. But it was easy for him to say: “I don’t want Carla if that’s what you’re trying to get at.”

Chey’s mouth twisted around, trying to form the words she wanted to say, and he anticipated her next statement like some evil predictive text AI: I want Cody.

So he asked her point blank like a man should in an honest and open relationship, one where he wasn’t always afraid of hearing the answer: “Do you want Cody?” No inflection, no coercive emotional tinge as subconscious indication of the answer he wanted.

Chey didn’t say no right away, but her eyes didn’t say yes. She said, “You two looked very nice this morning.”

“You didn’t have to watch,” he said. “It would have been different if I knew you were.” Meaning: I wouldn’t have had as much fun.

Chey exhaled, knowing what his response meant and hopefully feeling her own guilt over it. “I’m glad I did. I mean, not glad, but...”

“You didn’t like it.”

“It hurt like crazy.” Her eyes were distant, glossy, looking at the floor.

“Chey...”

“No,” she said. “You don’t have to console me. Anything we do in our marriage—especially something like this—it’s a team effort. It’s a we thing. Not a you thing and not a Chey thing. I told you I wanted to have sex with Cody, and you were okay with it and I told myself later it was because you wanted Carla, and then later I told you I wanted you to watch me with Cody and you didn’t want to but in the end you did. It’s like... You want this to work.”

“We entered into this together, Chey. Both of us. We should make it about acceptance. Right now it seems more like resignation. I’m resigned to the fact you like certain things done certain ways, but I’m committed to more.”

She looked in his eyes, surprised yet not surprised. And impressed too.

“I’m committed to more than resignation. More than acceptance even. Maybe some day even willful facilitation, you know?”

She chuckled, nodding, raising her eyebrows, knowing what that entailed. She said, “I was honest with you. I really was. I like people.... god, it’s so embarrassing...”

“You like people watching.”

She looked up again. “I do.”

“Exhibitionism,” he said and shrugged. “No biggie.”

“It’s pretty big,” she said.

“It’s the size you make it, Chey.”

She took a breath, held it then let it out. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

She steadied her gaze on his. “You can talk a big game about rocking Carla’s world, but deep down I knew what you would make of a night with her, and when I watched you I saw I was right. You want intimacy.”

Now it was him chewing his cheek, his hand over Cheyenne’s going chilly. “I don’t know about that, Chey.”

“Like I said, I was with Cody last night and we were talking...”

“And?”

“I told him exactly what I thought about you and Carla: that you weren’t going to do weird sex acts with her, do crazy stuff, dirty stuff. You were going to talk to her, have fun with her, play around, and... get close.”

“Is Cody mad?”

“Not at all,” she said, a positive note in her tone now. “He hopes you guys get close. That’s what he said to me. He hopes you guys do. Like, who says that? Who wants their spouse to make a connection with someone?”

“I don’t want to do something that hurts you, Chey. Carla’s not important to me. You’re important to me. We should stop this.”

She nodded and sniffled, then hooked her thumb over the top of his hand. “Or...”

“Or what?”

“We keep going, but we try harder.”

“How? You said you couldn’t watch us.”

“I couldn’t, but I did. And it’s not what you think. Not try harder that way. Maybe you were right in the first place. Maybe it shouldn’t just be sex. Like, you were just yourself with Carla. Me, I was Susan, sometime ski-trip chaperone for a class of high school kids, sometime high plains prostitute. And Cody, Cody wasn’t Cody. Cody was some oil worker, some western drifter, then he was a cowboy or something, a rustler, maybe a Western lowlife who worked in the brothel business... But, whatever... I wasn’t me and he wasn’t Cody.”

He knew what she would say next. His heart thudded and thudded, harder and harder. She wanted to be Cheyenne, and she wanted Cody to be Cody. She wanted to be intimate. She wanted to have real human-being sex, real human-being connection, a heart-to-heart. Just like he’d had with Carla last night—and god had it been a good time. A good, good time.

Would Chey ask him to watch her do that, too?