Julia, Ben and Lisa Ch. 13

Ch. 13: Sunday

A few quick notes:

1. this is the thirteenth chapter of a longish story, a novel in many chapters

2. everyone is 18+

3. there is no safe sex here - cause it's a fantasy, not an instruction manual

4. crossdressing and gender bending, not everyone's cuppa tea - be forewarned

I went down Sunday morning wondering whether Julia had anything planned. We were both quiet and still sleepy over our corn-flakes and juice and hadn't said anything beyond our "morning"s. Finally she sat back with a happy smile and announced, "Just time today to get your outfit together for Donnie and the girls on Wednesday. After that I want you to be all guy focused to get ready for Angela tomorrow. Make sense?"

I knew better than to dispute. And it did make sense. Be a girl for a while this morning and then start cranking testosterone tonight and tomorrow to be ready for my girl.

I showered, washed my hair with Julia's scented shampoo, covered myself with a girly body-wash, got out and treated my sugar area with aloe. Julia picked out a pair of my new panties - super soft, dusk pink bikinis with the VS logo on the waistband. I probably should have been a medium in them but Julia and Mona thought size small would be cuter. And more helpful for the tuck. Julia paired it with the pink bra we'd purchased online with the inserts and then did my hair, makeup, fingernails and toenails in the same soft pink.

I thought I looked cute in just my undies then, the inserts barely visible since the bra was pretty full. Made me wish Harry was there.

Julia got me in the white short-shorts and crew top and gave me a long beaded necklace to hang over and emphasize my breasts. We practiced moves for a while. Standing, walking, kneeling, crawling, rising, bending over, shifting to all 4's, etc. And of course the exceptionally popular cunt-forward. They were all so sexy I glowing thinking more and more of what Harry would make of it. But Julia was all business and worked me pretty hard.

We were done by 11:15 and she had me get back into boy clothes with three instructions: 1. no thinking about Harry or any other guys for 36 hours, 2. more thinking about how pretty Angela's pussy was, and 3. no masturbating after 6 p.m. With that she dismissed me and got ready to shower. Julia wanted to go back to the computer lab to finish that work the power failure had interrupted two days earlier.

I was upstairs again in my temporary bedroom trying to concentrate on Hemingway. It wasn't that easy. I couldn't quite figure out if the hero was a good guy or a bad guy and wondered if that was the point. I heard Julia come out of her room after she got herself ready and heard her going downstairs.

A minute later I heard a blood-curdling scream: "FUUUUUUUCK!"

I jumped up and ran down wondering if she'd had an accident or stroke or something. Had she broken her leg on the stairs? been bitten by a viper? found a pimple on her nose? Had her tits exploded?

I turned and saw her framed in the open front door holding what looked like the mail, staring down at a letter in her left while her right hand balanced a book bag and what appeared to be a wad of cash.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

"Julia, what is it? What's the matter?" Now I was genuinely scared for her.

"Fuck. It's that fuck. That fucking fuck!"

"What..." I almost asked "What fuck?" but I knew that there was only one fuck who could generate this many fucks from her. Mr. George Anderson.

She dropped the bag, handed me the letter and let me read. It was handwritten on three pages of his company letterhead. I transcribe it here, errors and all:

JBTX Industries

Dear Julia, I know things are not so totally grate between us right now. Hopefully that changes some day! I feel like I have really great patiance!! And hope you do too. Cause it would be worth it to both of us to (wink!) and make up!!

But to the point here, as they say down at the plant! I'm sitting watching the Dodgers (who kind of suck by the way) the other night with good old Louise (no comment on the old part, LOL) when I'm remembered that we never paid you for babysitting that last night. You might remember the night I mean? (LOL) I sure do!! I know that night ended kind of werd for us all (but kind of a good werd at least for me, forgive me for saying so but it was) but who cares? I still figure you done a job for us (no, not that kind of job, LOL) and deserved to get something more than thrown out probably about half naked (and still a little sticky wet? LOL) by good old Louise.

One thing I always do is pay my dets. Course its not that hard when you have money like I do, but even before I got to be mega-rich I never, ever stifed anyone (well, not stifed in that way LOL.) Course that's a long time ago and now things like this are a drop in the bucket to me.

Anyway the point is that I figure you worked with the girls that night about 5 hours before we got home and saw some of your really grate athletic work. I think Louise (please and geez Louise, is your head full of bees Louise? come gimme a squeeze Louise, LOL) was paying you $12 per hour even though I told her with our kind of money we should be doing $14 or even $15 per hour for a nice girl like you. So that's what I'm doing. $15. Which times 5 hours gives us the princely (or princesly in your case) some of $75. Which is what I'm putting in this envalope. Cause it wouldn't be right not to pay you just cause of what you did (and him too LOL, I guess he did most of it, you just had to be there on your hands and knees LOL) Anyway here it is. Det paid.

I wonder if you've been thinking about the money in the same way and wondering if I was a chizzler. Which I am most decisively not. And now that fact is proved.

I don't expect you to respond to this mesage (even though it would be nice if you wuld admit that I really, really do have a heart and only mean so well for you.) But like I said above, maybe some day you'll get it (LOL, like you did that night.)

I hope we can be friends again.

Sincerely,

George

Mr. George Anderson

Special Advisor to the President

JBTX Industries

"If you care for the best, then we'll be the best at caring for you!!"

p.s. I hope you buy something prety with the money!

Julia had stood by me vibrating and turning redder and redder. She was going to explode. The whole time I read she had continued, not just with more "fucks" but with screaming about how he'd been to her home, right at her door, how he must have done it in the middle of the night, etc. I pulled her inside and shut the door before the neighbors came wondering what was up.

"Oh, hell, Julia. I'm so sorry. But let's..."

Julia stared down at the money still clutched in her hand and seemed to shiver at the sight. She ran back into the living room and over to the fireplace. I knew what she was going to do and removed the fire screen. There were still old ashes on the floor that Uncle Roger must have forgotten after the last real cold spell months earlier. I checked the grate to make sure she wasn't going to smoke us out of the home. She found the matches and set fire to the cash in her hand, letting it burn down till flames began to singe her fingers. She threw the burning wad on the old ashes and we watched it burn. She had to relight some of the bills that had fallen away from the pack, but she got them all. I tamped the whole mess down, then reset the grate and the screen.

"There," she said. "Better."

"It is. You're right." I took her by the hand to the kitchen and poured us both a juice. She was still red faced but quieter and with no tears when I got her seated on the back patio.

"What do we do now?" I asked.

"I don't know. I don't know. I just don't know. I was so sure this time...guess I was really just hoping that it was all over with him. Idiot."

"I know. Me too." I held her hand still but we both sipped juices, calming down.

"Can't believe what a fucking douchebag moron he is. You see the spelling?"

"Hard to miss it," I said. "Seems like a 4th grade letter. How's a guy like that become some big Advisor to the President?"

"Yeah, he's all about what a rich dick he is. Someone that stupid can get rich?"

"Yeah. But Julia. I hate him as much as you do, I think. But we have to face it. He's not leaving you alone. What are we gonna do?"

She didn't answer but sat there thinking. I got us each a water after the sugary juice and we sat together silently. I kept thinking that this time she might be ready to go to the police, or at least to a lawyer. I had money of my own. We could afford it. I was just reluctant to bring it up again. Sore subject.

Her face brightened and then darkened again as she thought. Happened a couple of times. She brightened again and finally looked at me with a smile.

"I think I know what to do."

"Good." I took her hand again and shifted my body to look into her eyes. "What?"

"Just came to me, just now."

"OK. What?"

"What? Why, we're going to bake a cake. That's what."

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I can say with all the love in my heart that Julia has often struck me as half-mad. Whether it was her screwing around as a freshman and sophomore, or torturing some of her less intelligent teachers, or torturing Charlie, or persuading me to become a girl (sort of), she has this tendency for wild ideas that can be unsettling. This one seemed to take the cake, pun sort of semi-intended.

But when she explained it to me it actually made some sense. Not enough sense probably, but some.

It went like this. The cake was for Mr. Sanders, her cross the road neighbor. Why we were making a cake for him was left a mystery to me till we were about ready to put it in the oven and begin the lemon cream cheese frosting. We needed information on fuckhead Mr. A.; we needed leverage. Cause what did we have so far? Just that he was pretty stupid, was rich, appeared to be successful, had a wife and two kids and had dirty videos of Julia and her boyfriends. Not much. The solution was Mr. Sanders, the oracle of the neighborhood, the man who, according to Bettencourt lore, knew everything about everyone and happened to love Julia in the nicest grandfatherly way.

It turned out that Sadie used to make this same cake for him, his favorite, and that Julia's Mom, Aunt Beth, picked up the tradition as a surprise for him every two or three months after Sadie's death. Julia had the recipe from her Mom and knew exactly how to do it. By 2:30 in the afternoon the cake was done, cooled and loosely wrapped on a nice platter, and we were on our way across the road.

I didn't ask too many questions. I couldn't bring myself to believe in the plan, that the old guy would actually have anything important or useful to say. But it was Julia's plan and I figured I was along for moral support and to show the Ben face to the neighbor. I didn't figure she'd tell her part of the nightmare story with Mr. A. and I was right about that.

Mr. Sanders was ecstatic to see her and her gift. I think he actually teared up a bit at the thought that Julia would surprise him this way. Heartfelt hugs and kisses all around, even for me, at least the hugging part. Fifteen minutes after we went in the door we were all three outside on his beautifully shaded patio in a gorgeous flowery back yard. We were sipping tea and enjoying the cake. It was really good.

We did some chit-chat for a while, school, our summers, Lisa, his flower beds, his arthritis and eyesight and was Ben taking good care of her while her folks were away? That it was too bad Lisa had to go home cause women always like having other women around. No offense to me. He somehow managed to work in little stories about Sadie each time, about how good she'd been to him. How she'd nurtured those flower beds for 40 years. Finally Julia worked him around to the main theme.

"Hey, did you happen to see Mr. Anderson today?" She wanted to know if he'd seen Mr. A. leaving the note and money.

"No, why do you ask?" Some lemon frosting was on his chin. Julia got up and gently dabbed it away.

"Oh, just, you know, he was driving up the road like super fast and I wondered why and hoped there were no kids out playing."

"Hmmm. Figures. No I didn't see that. Drives like a fool, that man. Would've called the cops on him if I had."

"Cops? Really?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe, maybe I would have. Anderson, ha! That stupid car of his!"

He looked at us apologetically, as if speaking out of turn about a neighbor. Then he gave it up and went on, "I just don't like him. Never have. Least friendly man in the entire neighborhood. My girlfriends," he paused to smile at the image, he'd meant the old biddy widows, "girlfriends, they don't like him either. Nothing but trouble. You know how he drives? Went straight through Betty Arnold's fence and flowerbeds about a month after he moved in. Fought over the insurance with her for three months before he admitted fault. Just stupid. And mean."

Julia said, "Poor Ms. Arnold! You'd think someone so rich and successful would have better manners."

Mr. Sanders started and had to put down his tea. He swallowed a bite of cake before he could say, "Him? Rich? Successful? My eye! He's a big nothing."

"But the house? And the cars? He sure seems to be rich. Doesn't he have some big sales job?"

"Right. Seems." Mr. Sanders was settling into the conversation, wanting to talk about it. "Everything is seems with him, but that's all it is. He got his money the old-fashioned way, he married it."

"Oh, you mean it's Mrs. Anderson?" Her eyes went big.

"Of course. I shouldn't say this to you young people but he seems rich because he had the good luck, or the good planning, to get a rich girl pregnant in college. Had nothing before that. They lost that baby, God rest the child's soul, but he got a rich wife in the deal, left college and went to work for Louise's Dad, that old crook. It was Louise's grandad who started the company. I can remember him from when I was a boy. But give credit where it's due, her Dad Will diversified and really grew JBTX to what it is today. He died maybe 10 years ago, stroke in the board room they tell me. Louise and her sister inherited the whole thing, 50-50. The sister's husband is a real business man and he took over. Doing a pretty good job they tell me. But then of course they had to find a place for Anderson. He's too dumb to work anywhere else but the family shop. George became some kind of assistant but no one can really figure out what he does there."

Julia perked up. "Oh goodness! That's so odd. I thought I'd heard that he won some big sales award a few months back?"

"Award? No, I don't...oh wait." A smile broke across his face, some thought made him laugh. "You know Mrs. Moskowitz? Up the road about 8 or 9 houses? Big brick set back? Lost her husband Jerry...oh, maybe five years ago now? You know her? Was Sadies best friend many, many years. A good woman. Anyway her grandson works for JBTX. They had this big end of summer party for the employees where they gave out joke awards. Things like 'Most Likely to Accidentally Set Off the Fire Alarm', 'Most Likely to Get Lost Driving to Work', harmless stuff like that. Just having a bit of fun. The grandson told her that Anderson's award was something like 'Best Impression of a Salesman.' So then he gets super-angry cause everyone's laughing and a half hour later his wife got this little turn of her ankle, like nothing, and he insisted on leaving with her for the hospital. Petty. Stupid. And mean."

Mr. Sanders had finished his cake during pauses in his story, careful now to wipe his own mouth. I was sitting wondering how on earth anyone could use this information. I mean the guy might be a fraud in general, but he sure seemed to have enough embarrassing (to put it mildly) material on Julia to torture her. How knowing he was a moron could stop this was pretty unclear.

Mr. Sanders went on. "Plus, and again I probably should not be saying this, we all know that he's fooling around on Louise. That's his wife, Louise. I'm no great fan of hers either, another unfriendly one, even to Sadie which was...dammit! Stuck up bit...,oh,...excuse my French," he said with a smile. "But I doubt she deserves what he's doing to her. People see him driving around with these girls, these teenyboppers, well two or three times anyway. Always when Louise is away visiting her Mom in Schenectady. It's not right!" He finished with a look of disgust on his face.

He scrunched up his nose. "I guess it's nothing definite, but I just don't like a married man who is running around with young girls. It's not right."

He poured himself a second cup of tea but Julia and I waved it off. "And she knows about it too I think. I may not like her but she's no idiot like he is. Word is she's got him on a pretty short leash, both with money and with his time. They say he has to be home at a certain hour each day. See, she knows about the girls. And the brother-in-law has the same short leash at work. All Anderson gets is a pretty small salary at JBTX and then an allowance from her. Got him by the short and curlies."

Mr. Sanders blushed at his language and changed the subject to the friendship between his Sadie and Mrs. Moskowitz. He went on with Julia on this for 10 minutes and then announced he was getting tired. Time for his nap. He walked us to the door and shook my hand telling me to continue watching over our girl. Julia gave him another big hug and kiss, which you could tell he enjoyed, tired or not.

He was thanking her for the cake and interrupted himself to ask one thing before we left. "Ummm...just wondering...that Anderson fellow. He's not bothering you in some way, is he?"

"Oh, no Mr. Sanders. I was just curious is all. You know us girls and our gossip, love it."

He looked her in the eye and said seriously, "If he ever does...does whatever...well, just come over and see me. I'll know what to do with the bastard."

Julia kissed his cheek again. We left him standing in the doorway. He watched us until we were safely across the road and into Julia's house with one more big wave on both sides. We were alone.

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After the cake and tea (2 slices for me, and Julia couldn't say a word about my figure) we didn't feel like much more than sipping water out back of her house. The weather was finally breaking and it was nice out for a change. Bobo was even able to lie at our feet without an excess of drool. And I was excited.

"I think I've got the plan. You too? We thinking the same thing?" I began. It had finally hit me right in the middle of the road walking back.

"I don't know. Maybe. You go first."

I felt like a CIA-guy, or a Sherlock Holmes guy, or some combination thereof. Felt like I was cracking the case.

"All right. So here it is. Clearly this a-hole is afraid of his wife. He can't pretend to be a rich successful guy if she dumps him. Right? Will she? Maybe. I mean if she already has him, as your buddy says, by the short and curlies, then maybe finding out about the videos of you, not to mention the one of her doing anal - good God what a pig! - will send her over the edge. Gotta believe it would send most wives over the edge, right? She'll dump him for sure. That's our leverage. All we have to do is threaten him with it. Right? See that?"

"Ummm...maybe." I was surprised.

"I'll do it if you don't want to. I don't mind if..."

She interrupted me to say, "No. It's not that."

"Why not then? What's wrong? I tell him to give us all the cameras and videos, not just of you but of the wife and, God! I bet he has other girls on them too. So we get the stuff and destroy it. He refuses, then we tell this Louise character. Tell her everything. He can't call our bluff. I don't see why..."