Lyrics to Hats off to the Bull by Chevelle (2011)
In the rush and whirr of having an abnormally large family, your plans sometimes get delayed. Lemy meant to talk to Leia as soon as Gwen left, but by then she and her mom were busy painting each other's toenails and shit, so he he had to wait. Alright, you only got ten toes and ten fingers if you're going that route too, how long can it take?
Pretty fucking long, he discovered.
First, he grabbed a shower; he was covered in the sexual excitement of two girls and himself, so, really, he should have thought to do this first anyway. Standing under the water, he let his mind wander. There was something about Gwen, something that kind of bothered him. She was...kind of clingy. Right? He thought back to her following him out the door - the hurt in her eyes, the desperation in her voice. I just want to spend time with you. Then, at the mall, she held his hand in a G.I. Joe kung-fu death grip and would not let go.
Alright, maybe I'm overthinking, okay? You know me, my mind goes to the darkest fucking conclusion by default. There's nothing wrong with wanting to spend time with your 'boyfriend' and holding his hand. That's basic shit. Still...I just get kind of a feeling.
As for the threesome...they both seemed like they were genuinely into it, but, again, I think there was something more to it than 'hey, let's fuck Lemy.'
I know, I hear you. Lemy, brah, just sit back and enjoy it, damn. Sorry, that's not me, I worry shit, okay, and I wanna know where I stand and what's going down.
Done, he cut the flow, dried off, and pulled his jeans on. In his room, he threw an olive green vest with no sleeves over his bare chest and started to reach for a headband, but stopped himself. What kind of loser wears one of those just lounging around the house? Might as well go full Corey Hart and throw some shades on while I'm at it. Look like that dude from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2: Leatherface, you bitch! Look what you did to my Sonny Bono wig do... oh, goddamn I can't believe it!
Are Leia and Lola done yet? He put on his bandana (just in case he sweated, you know) and went to Leia's room. Mother and daughter sat on Leia's bed, Leia holding her hand out, palm down (hey, fag, where's your bike?) and Lola painting her nails. Of all his aunts, he thought Lola was the hottest: She had thick hips and thighs and this gap in her teeth that reminded him of Madonna. God, he'd fuck Madonna, and he'd fuck Lola too. Today she wore a sleeveless pink dress with white stripes, buttons, and a collar; it clung tightly to her ample body and barely covered her bodacious thighs. Her long blonde hair fell like honeysuckle around her shoulders and her head was cocked to one side, exposing her delicate throat.
Boooi-oooi-oooing.
Damn, dude, I just had a threesome and I'm up again. Is that normal? I know not having enough boners is a problem, but what about too many? Can I, like, lose blood from my heart or something? Overextend my dick tissue? Oh, God, will I wind up like Chuck Negron? Dick splitting like a hotdog in the microwave?
He was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed and his eyes unfocused as he tried to keep his dick from going full retard (you never go full retard). Leia looked up, and one corner of her mouth turned up in a Mona Lisa smile. "Speak of the Devil."
Lola turned, and her eyes flicked from his feet to him head; her smile was identical to her daughter's. "Hi, Lemy."
Lemy suddenly felt very warm...and very nervous. "Uh, hey, I...was just seeing if you guys were d-done."
"Ummm, not yet," Lola drew. "Did you want to play with Leia?"
The suggestive hilt to her voice had the same effect on his heart that jumper cables have on a dead frog. You know...twitch! "Uh, no, just...just talk."
Lola hummed. She was focused on Leia's nails again. "It's okay if you do." She tossed a glance over her shoulder and batted her eyelashes. "Maybe we can all play a game together."
Holy shit, dude, is she coming onto me?
His dick stirred like a man climbing his way out of rubble.
She smiled seductively.
She is!
"Yeah," he smiled, and looked her right in the eyes, "that sounds fun."
She lifted her brows. "Whenever you're ready."
"Maybe later."
"Hmmm. Maybe."
In the living room, he dropped onto the couch and scratched his head. Wow. So that just happened. Did Lisa release some kind of sex pheromone into the house again? Speak of the Devil. Leia must have been bragging about me. Oh, she says I'm awful, but I know her well enough now to know she's full of shit. Lola might have liked what she heard. That's fucking aw -
Lyra sank down next to him, and thoughts of what's-her-face and her lil daughter scattered like roaches when you turn the kitchen light on. "Hey, bro," she said and kicked her feet onto the coffee table.
*Cough-shake-hammer-blast-to-the-heart* "Hey, uh...how's it going?"
Lyra crossed her arms and nodded. "It's going good, man, it's going good." She looked at him with a taunting little smile. "What was all that moaning I heard coming out of your room earlier? Sounded like The Dawn of the Dead in there."
She heard.
Was she jealous? He wasn't trying to make her jealous this time, but if it was a side effect, man...alright! "Uh, just, you know, hanging out with Gwen and Leia."
The sultry brown hair vixxen-goddess sniggered. "Yeah, man, sounded like a good time. How you liking Gwen? She seems, uh...okay."
There was a hesitation...because Gwen was kind of dickish to Lyra yesterday. You know, the whole I know who you are thing. He thought it hurt Lyra's feelings, and he wasn't too happy with Gwen about it even though he was too nutless to say.
"She's fine," he said and nodded awkwardly. His hands were clasped between his knees and he looked down at them as though he were an OSHA inspector and they were a couple yahoo roofers with a history of fucking jobs up.
Humming, Lyra nodded too. "That's good, man, that's good. Looks like she really likes you."
Yeah, he thought so too. For what reason, he didn't know (his rockin' bod? His winning personality? His not-as-small-as-I-thought-it-was-apparently schlong?); he was kind of sure that there was something there, though. And this is the last he'd say on that aspect of the matter. "I guess."
A pregnant pause. "Do you like her?"
No, I like you. You know that, though.
He didn't say this; he considered his response carefully, his head ticking from side to side and his lips pursing. He liked doing her. And he didn't dislike her...still not much compatibility, though. That reminded him, the next time he saw her (hopefully not too soon) he'd have to ask her what she was into; he was working on the assumption that she was basically Leia, and that might not be entirely fair, even though he thought it was true.
The clingy stuff - and maybe he was taking it wrong - kind of put him off. Overall...she was alright. Kind of.
"She's okay."
Lyra watched him for a moment, then tilted her head as if to say eh. "You guys look cute together, man. Really cute."
I don't want to look cute with her, though; I wanna look cute with you, damn it.
Castles in the sky.
Or something.
That's what that phrase means, right?
Oh, who cares. I know me and Lyra are never going to happen the way I want us to; I know I need to move on and stop talking and thinking about it. It's a...a wound, you know? And it'll never heal if I keep picking at it and shit. I have to knock it off. Yep. Just...don't.
And the first step is to separate myself from the girl I'm pining over. "Hey, uh, I gotta go, I'll talk to you later, okay?"
"Sure," Lyra said and flashed a smile.
Lemy stood and fled upstairs, trying his hardest not to look like he was fleeing and failing, unbeknownst to him. In his room, he shut the door, crossed to the desk, and sat. Okay, I know it's hard, man, but you gotta keep your mind off Lyra. You're gonna drive yourself crazy. Remember how you were over the summer? Yeah, wasn't fun, was it? You wanna go back to that? You wanna be a moody little girl because wah-wah, things aren't going my way? No? Then relax. So what if she's perfect in every fucking way - plenty of fish in the sea.
Yeah...bland, gray, conformist tuna.
And Lyra was a sparkly rainbow fish.
But hey, there's more than one rainbow fish in the world, right? You gotta dig a little, but it'll be worth it when you find her. All the long, lonely nights, all the wasted effort day after day, false starts and one night stands that leave you feeling more hollow than before. Yep. All worth it.
Without even realizing it, he was reaching into the top drawer for his weed. Heh. Force of habit now, huh? At least it's not beer or something; if it was beer we'd really have a problem. Alcoholic Lemy inbound. He laid out a paper and sprinkled on a pinch of loud, making sure to spread the love; don't want any empty patches. He made that mistake when he first learned how to roll.
Next, he grabbed his lighter, plopped the joystick into his mouth, and sparked it. The smoke pinched the back of his throat and tickled his lungs, but he didn't cough; only punk ass, pussy ass bitches cough, and he was not a PAPAB no matter what people said.
Holding it between his teeth, he got up, went over to the dresser, and flipped through his CD book. Look at the shit I listen to, man; I'm the coolest motherfucker in the whole house. I'm joking but...doesn't Lyra look at me and see the same compatibility I see in her? Doesn't she think hey, that guy gets me like no one else?
Taking a disc out, he went back to the desk, sat, and slipped it into the radio.
I bet she does. I mean, she has to, right? If I do, why can't she?
He took a deep drag as the music started; he coughed like a PAPAB.
All our needs put together
Don't bleed on their own
You paid for an eyeful
So behold the bull
Random thought: People are funny. They act like they've never felt what you feel, and when it comes to certain things, it's only okay when they do it. Like, if you're heartbroken and dude rolls up on you, he's like Dude you're crying over a chick? What a bitch. You're not even a man anymore, you're a pussy. But when it's them, Brah, I'm justified cuz I'm really upset. Yeah, so was I and you stood over me with your hands on your hips like a fucking dickhead.
Tell me what's there below
While he's safe for the moment
He's never safe from the crowd
He took another drag, held, and blew.
It's hypocrisy is what it is. Pure and simple. He read somewhere that sociopaths - you know, the cats who can't feel emotions - think that everyone else is like them, that they're normal and everyone else is just faking. I don't think I'm a sociopath, but I wonder...you know, maybe they're right and most people are that way. They say oh, kids are cruel. So are adults. I mean, look at Nazi Germany. The cats tossing people into ovens and shit weren't fucking vampires or something, they were husbands and fathers and normal people until you got to, you know, 'the Jewish question.' And it didn't take very much for them to go from 'Hey, son, let's play catch' to "ein volk, ein reich, ein führer!"
But it never does, does it?
To be monumental
Could mean the beyond
The simpler the treasure
Means the higher the cost
He inhaled and blew. That beautiful warm and fuzzy sensation was starting to creep in.
All it takes is a little grunting and straining, and you can make people do the most awful shit. You know why? Because our civillity and our morals, man, they're a thin veneer masking the cavemen we really are. Remember The Monsters are Due on Maple Street? No, you don't, do you? It was The Twilight Zone and these suburban middle class 'respectable' types went apeshit and turned into a raving mob in the course of one afternoon because...I dunno, something happened. Had to do with aliens. Either way, that mask of humanity slipped right the fuck off.
Well as for the ending, damn right I'm learning
You might ask for the door, end over end
Well I hate how the clouds hide
An errant vision of Lyra flashed across his mind.
Why do I love her? I mean, I can go on and on about her hair and her eyes and shit, but that's all superficial, isn't it? Love is...love is deep...it's beyond physical shit. RIght? I mean...it's gotta play a part, though. Like...could I love Juicy if she was Lyra?
Ugh...I dunno. Juicy's funky looking.
Like Dad.
He snickered.
But really, what draws me to her?
I think it's mainly that she gets me. Everything else is extra, it's that...that understanding, you know? Like I feel totally at ease with her and I can just be myself.
That is love. You know? Pretty sure I heard people say that. Oh, I can be myself around so-and-so and blah blah blah. That's the advice, man, just be yourself, you know why? Because if you put up a false front, you're not gonna get what you need. You're gonna get what you want, and those aren't always the same, you know? You want X but you need Y.
Find your challenge, suffer miles
Colors gray, he brings them out
Don't mind the challenge, suffer miles
A little shallow, if I don't say
It's different in my case, though. I want X and need it. I need to be understood. Okay? I need someone to be on my level, at my height, someone I can totally be myself around and not be on guard or something. That's Lyra, man...that's Lyra.
Sighing, he took another puff and sucked in deep into his lungs. His ears were ringing now and his face was numb, tingly. He blew loose ash away from the cherry and twirled the joint absently in his fingers, looking into the ember like a gypsy fortune teller into a crystal ball. He didn't see Lyra in his future, and that was like a shiv to the guts.
Hats off to the bull
His time ain't up
Bitter hell in the lion's den
I'm not gonna find anyone like me. I'm not. I'm a fucking dinosaur and I hate it; I just wanna be normal, you know? Just a normal guy. I can't, though. I can put on skinny jeans and Buddy Holly glasses or whatever they wear now, but deep down I'm still me. Like...you can dress something up but if you don't reprogram it, man, what's the use? My clothes aren't the problem. Hell...I wear this stuff because I think it's cool, but I'll wear whatever, it doesn't matter. In this crap or a suit, I'm Lemy Loud the fucking holdover. And what's so pathetic is I'm not just a holdover...I'm a fucking poser holdover. At least some dudes can be...you know...hey, like, I'm acting like it's still 1969. It was groovy, man. They were there. I wasn't. I wasn't in '69, '89, or even '09. I'm just playing dress up.
Whatever. Most of us are.
For some of us
Hats off to the bull
The sun won't set
Till the pain and the final breath
But yeah...I'm not gonna find someone who's perfect. I'm gonna wind up settling, it's just a matter of, like, how much am I going to settle? A little...or a lot? I I find a chick kind of like Lyra, that's a little, but a girl like...I dunno...Gwen, man, that's a lot.
Why can't I just have Lyra, goddamn it? She doesn't feel the same...okay...but why? What am I doing wrong? What can I fucking do so that she does like me that way? Stand outside her window with a boombox like dude in that movie? Write her heartfelt poetry?
He stared blankly at the smoking tip of the joint for a moment...then put it out, got up, and opened the window; a cold breeze rolled in and he threw his glance around. Blazing trees all orange and red, leaves covering the ground, the smell of burning same. It's like an autumn wonderland out here. We'll make a Pumpkinman and pretend he's Parson Brown.
I gotta talk to Leia. Before I forget. Maybe talk to Lola too ;) She can be my beauty queen for the night. Here she cums, Miss Amerrrrrica. LOL. I'll do her what Kid Rock did to the sheriff's wife in Cowboy. She is sexy, though. Thicc body, gap, fucking cowlick. Man, the cowlick looks gay af on Dad but it looks hot on her.
No, no, no, that's not why I'm here. I'm here to Scooby-Doo.
He was in the hall now. Walking felt strange, like he was unsteady and going to fall. At Leia's door, he poked his head in, and glory be, she was alone, sitting on the edge of the bed with her legs crossed at the knee and filing her nails; she was completely focused on the task at hand (LOfuckingL), her eyes down and her lips scrunched to one side in concentration. She started to hum, which told Lemy she noticed him but wanted to play like she didn't.
"I gotta talk to you," he said.
She looked up, her pigtails rustling, and lifted her brows. "About what?"
"About - About today." His tongue felt swollen and he could hardly hear himself over the ringing in his ears. He could hear her, though; strange. I guess I'm just that unimportant.
She flicked her eyes back to her hand and started filing again. "What about today?"
Before he spoke, he collected his thoughts. "I'm, like...you got an ulterior motive. Man, I can feel it."
She looked up again, her brow pinching. "What are you talking about?"
"You planned it."
"Yeah. I usually do plan when we have sex." She spoke with strained, patronizing patience.
Lemy stared at her for a moment, and she stared back, chin down, brow up, expectant, waiting. "It wasn't just sex, though, there was something else to it."
Leia blinked, which told him he was on he right track...and she didn't expect him to be find out. No one ever does; they all underestimate me. Oh, he's dull and drab and dumb. Yeah, well, looks can be deceiving, sis. "I just...thought it would be fun."
Now it was his turn to arch his brow.
Leia looked mildly uncomfortable...then threw the file onto the bed. "Fine. If you must know, I planned everything today. The mall, the sex, all of it." She crossed her arms sullenly. "Happy?"
No.
"Why?"
"So you'd hang out with Gwen," she said. "She wanted to spend time with you and I knew you were all hung up on Lyra, which is why I came up with the idea of us all going to the mall."
Lemy processed her words through his wooly, half-baked brain. "Lyra was bait."
Leia nodded. "Umhm."
Huh.
"I did it as a favor to Gwen. I kind of owed her one." She picked the file back up. "The sex was fun though."
Okay. So...she planned this mall thing specifically to get him to hang with Gwen. Okay. That wasn't nefarious or anything (God, with Leia you never know), but what about the sex?
He asked, and Leia shrugged. "She said it would be really hot if I let her watch us, and I figured it'd be kind of hot to be watched." She batted her eyelashes. "And it was."
Huh. I'm kind of hungry.
Wait.
Focus.
"What's up with her anyway? She's kind of...clingy."
Leia shrugged again. "I don't know. She really likes you." She said the last part as though it should be self-explanatory. Maybe it should be. He didn't know. He had the munchies and at least he knew that her motives weren't crazy or something. That's all he came for.
She could be lying though.
"I know you're stuck on Lyra," Leia said. She was filing her nails and looking at them. "But you need to get over it. She doesn't want you. Gwen does."
Lemy lifted his hand. He didn't feel like hearing this; he knew she didn't want him. "Alright, thanks for your time."
He started to leave, but Leia stopped him. "Uh...hold on."
"Yeah?"
"Well...I did hook you and Gwen up, so I think I deserve a reward. Don't you?"
And there it is. Leia does nothing for free. Except sex, but that's a reward in of itself, you know? "What?" he sighed.
Tapping her foot in midair, she tilted her head to one side and then the other. "Hmmm...I'll think of something."
Oh, lovely, now I have that hanging over my head. Hopefully with all the category five orgasms I've given her over the past two months she'll take it easy on me. None of that do my chores for a month shit. "Alright," he said.
Then he went off to find something to eat.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
One tired eye, blurry with sleep, creaks open. The world is dark save for a wet smear, red against black. Whaaa?
Beep. Beep. Beep.
A cruel, mocking sound like knives in her ears. She reached out, slapped the SNOOZE button, and snuggled into the girl holding her, one arm draped protectively over her waist and the other threaded under her side, her curled fingers grazing her left breast, which was covered only by a thin Number 2 jersey. Her nipple poked through the fabric, throbbing hotly and aching to be tugged and tweaked by small, nimble...sisterly fingers.
"We gotta get up," Liby mumbled tiredly. Her voice was muffled by Lacy's hair; the jock could feel her lover's hot breath on her scalp and she was in danger of getting turned on. Well...more so than she already was. See, guys wake up hard sometimes...and sometimes girls wake up wet. Right now, the inside of Lacy's lips was slick with arousal and if Liby kept puffing like she was, it would only get worse, and right now, they couldn't have sex. Liby's orders. Something about not expanding mental and physical energy before training.
Eh, made sense to her, not that she liked it; she loved morning sex...slow and leisurely with lots of touching and kissing, the last twilight vestiges of sleep still lingering in her head, lending it dreamy and surreal quality. Um. Yes, please.
"I know," she sighed.
It was Sunday, October 23rd, and Montoya's party was in ten short days; Liby wanted to cram as much training into that lull as she could. It was physically and emotionally exhausting, but well worth it, because this was serious shit. Every once in a while, it hit her just how serious: Shooting targets was fun and all, but in less than two weeks, she'd be shooting people...and they'd be shooting back. Any number of things could go wrong, and she could very well die.
Or worse, Liby could die.
That scared the shit out of her.
Presently,, a cold, silmy something slithered through the pit of her stomach, and she shoved dark thoughts from her mind. She turned the alarm off, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and sat up with a stretch and a yawn. Liby's fingers grazed her back, and she looked over her shoulder: The older girl was smiling at her. "Can I have a kiss?"
Lacy giggled. "Of course you can." She bent over, twined her fingers through Liby's, and kissed her deeply; Liby's hand stoked up and down Lacy's arm, leaving goosebumps in its laid her hand on her sister's breast and squeezed it through the fabric of her nightgown. Liby gasped and pulled away
"Alright, any more of that and you're going to make me horny."
Lacy hummed "Maybe that's what I'm trying to do."
"And maybe it's not going to work," Liby replied. Her eyes danced with a wicked light and her lips twitched into a predator's smile. "After we train, we're doing it...but not a moment sooner." She held her finger up in punctuation.
"A girl can try, can't she?" Lacy asked with a sheepish grin.
Liby sat up and kissed the tip of her nose. "It was a good effort, but if you really wanted to make me horny, you'd be wearing the HK across your shoulder."
Damn. Why didn't I think of that?
Liby got out of bed while Lacy kicked herself in the butt, went into the bathroom, and used the toilet. Her mind was muddled and her lids heavy; usually she woke quickly, like a cat, but it was really hard doing that when you're snug under the covers with your amazing doll of a girlfriend. If she could, she'd stay in bed with Lacy day and night. Screw everything else. Obviously she would have to get up to eat and stuff, but that goes without saying.
When she was finished, she wiped, flushed, and jumped into the shower, turning the water as hot as she could stand in an effort to burn away the fog in her mind. Usually, she took 'navy showers' - that's where you use thirty seconds to get wet, cut the water, lather, then rinse off in under a minute - but today she bathed at her leisure. It was Sunday, after all, and she had to celebrate some way.
As the spray pounded down on her, she let her mind go to the upcoming offensive against Montoya - she'd taken to calling it Operation Righteous Wind but was thinking of changing it because the 'wind' part put her in mind of flatulence. She didn't let on, even to herself if she could help it, but she was nervous...not because it was a big operation (which it totally was, by the way), but because Lacy was going to be there...in harm's way.
If she could, she would sneak out away and leave Lacy behind, but she needed her; she couldn't do this by herself...no matter how much she wanted to.
Even so, she was worried sick that something would happen to Lacy. If it did, she didn't know what she would do, and she really didn't want to think about it.
As she did with all things that scared, bothered, upset, or offended her, she roundhouse kicked those thoughts into a dark corner where she couldn't see them. No use in worrying. Worrying makes you sloppy, and now was not the time to be sloppy: Her family depended on her (whether they knew it or not)...Lacy depended on her.
Fifteen minutes later, she and Lacy were both dressed and in the kitchen, Lacy in tight fitting yoga pants and a purple tank top and Liby in form fitting bicycle shorts and a sports bra: The idea was for their movements to be as unrestricted as possible. "It's gonna be cold out there," Liby warned as she stared out the back door: The sky was staggered tiers of purple and orange, and mist clung to the ground as if to a block of dry ice.
Lacy came over munching a sports bar, and handed one to Liby. "I know," she said. She didn't mind the cold; during football season she got up early every morning for a little pre-school jog, even if it was bitter out. "You should wear something a little...more," she said and waved her hands in front of Liby's chest: One ached to touch, the other ached to be touched.
Focus, girls, you gotta get this done.
Right.
"I'm not worried about me," Liby said archly, "you, on the other hand…"
Lacy's brow crinkled.
"You're going down," the older girl clarified.
A competitive light crept into Lacy's eyes. "Am I?" she asked.
Liby nodded. "Yes. You are." She poked Lacy's chest, loving the fire and determination on her face that only being threatened and mocked could bring out. "Then when you're laid out on the ground, I'm going to make you eat my ass."
Both girls broke out in hysterical giggles, their cheeks blazing with color. Neither minded...things going in their butt, but both agreed that eating ass was gross, disgusting, and unhygienic. "It's funny because you think I'm joking," Liby said and patted her sister's shoulder as though she were a cute kid, "but I'm not. If you go down, you're dining on booty."
"Too bad I'm not going down."
"We'll see about that," Liby said and opened the door; a needling gust of wind swept into the kitchen, and with it a single brown leaf that tumbled end over end across the floor. Liby went out and Lacy followed, her arms raking with gooseflesh. A few stray stars still twinkled in the west, where soft purple gave way to dark blue. They walked to the middle of the backyard and stopped fifteen feet apart facing each other.
During their weeks of training, Liby had shown Lacy a little H2H (hand-to-hand) but nothing advanced. She was a quick study, as many of the sports she played were physical in nature. Today, however, she was planning on introducing her sister to hardcore combatives.
First, as with all training, comes the verbal stuff. "You ready?"
Lacy, arms folded and hip cocked, nodded. "Yep."
"Alright," Liby said and shifted from one foot to the other, "The three basic options upon encountering a resistant opponent are:
Option One, disengage to regain projectile weapon range
Option Two, gain a controlling position and utilize a secondary weapon
Option Three, close the distance and gain control to finish the fight."
Lacy nodded as though she understood.
"Today, I'm gonna show you how to disable a combative head-on." She took up a wide stance and put her hands up in loose fists. "Come on."
Lacy stared at her for a moment. "I'm gonna get my ass kicked, aren't I?"
"Yes," Liby said plainly, "you are."
The younger girl considered for a moment, looking for weak points in her sister's position. Her knees, of course, and her solar plexus. The thing was getting there...Liby was a fighting expert and could lay her flat with a single pinky.
"I'm waiting...Loud," Liby said, a tiny smirk running across her lips.
Taking a deep breath, Lacy came forward at a run. Her plan was to spear Liby's legs, knock her down, then gain the dominant position. That didn't happen. In fact, Lacy didn't know what happened: One moment Liby was in front of her, the next she wasn't. Pain exploded in the side of Lacy's head and she lost her footing. Liby was suddenly on her back, her forearm threaded around her neck in a sleeperhold to end all sleeper holds, her free hand fisted in her back and limiting her movement. She thrashed and choked, and Liby let her go. "Come on, sis," the older girl said and got to her feet, "you can do better than that."
Lacy, on her hands and knees now, caught her breath; her face burned with shame and she felt two inches tall. She wanted to impress Liby, she wanted Liby to be proud of her...and that's what drove her to her feet...what fueled the fire within. She turned to her sister, threw up her hands, and assumed the orthodox boxing stance - left foot farther in front of the right foot. Liby grinned and did the same. "Alright," the older girl said, "make your move."
Lacy ducked and weaved...then danced forward. Liby jumped aside and lashed out, slapping the top of Lacy's head. Lacy threw a punch, but Liby slid away like an ice cube across a tile floor. Lacy turned just in time for another slap, this one to the face.
Now she was starting to get angry...not at Liby but at herself: When you're thirteen, the absolute worst thing in the world is looking dumb/weak/stupid/etc in front of your girl...especially when your girl needed you to be strong and not a failure like you were at football. Growling, Lacy bowed her head and threw herself at her sister, crashing into her and knocking her to the ground. Immediately, Liby shot her forearm up and across Lacy's throat, pushed her back, and jabbed her thumb into Lacy's chest. "I'm stabbing you," Liby said and did it again. "Now your guts are hanging out."
Lacy tried to land a punch, but Liby easily rolled her off and leapt to her feet. Lacy got up and faced her; the younger girl's eyes were hard and her face was red. "Throw a punch," Liby said. Lacy did, and Liby karate chopped her arm away as though it were nothing more than an annoying bug. "I'm going to come at you now," she said. "I want you to do the palm-heel chin strike I showed you last time. Remember that?"
"I remember."
Liby lunged forward, and Lacy shot out her right hand, the heel hitting the tip of Liby's chin and rocking her head back. It hurt like a son of a bitch. What hurt more was the sharp and sudden shin kick Lacy tossed in on her own accord. Liby stumbled back, and Lacy came after, launching a fist at her forehead. Liby ducked and threw out her elbow; it connected with the side of Lacy's face and knocked her off balance. Liby followed up with a heel strike of her own, this one to the temple.
Grunting, Lacy collapsed to the ground in a heap. In a split second, Liby decided to keep going - Montoya's guards wouldn't stop because oh no, she fell down and neither would she. She straddled the girl and grabbed her arm, which she folded across her throat. Lacy's face turned red and her eyes shone with rage. "Roll me off."
Lacy flailed her free arm and tried to hit her in the face, but couldn't reach. "That's not going to work," Liby said, "roll me off."
Sneering, Lacy summoned all of her strength and rolled to her left. She simultaneously reached out and lucked into snatching a handful of Liby's hair; suddenly she was on the bottom, and Lacy's forearm was across her throat. "Good," Liby strangled, "you're learning."
I won't go into detail about the rest of their training session, but suffice it to say that Lacy got her ass handed to her more often than not, but she was improving, and Liby was immensely proud of her.
Sunday morning started early for Lemy Loud...6:57 to be exact. He was snoozing, like dudes do, when something jumped on his chest and started him awake.
"Hi, Lemy!" Lizy piped, her eyes and smile both wider than Mama Juicy's ass. She fisted the blanket in her hands and leaned in.
His first thought was Huhhhh, whaaa? Then the fog cleared from his brain and his second was Oh, hell no. He was a lot of things, but a child molester wasn't among them (limit one per household), especially not...Lizy. Jesus, his little sister? The one he played dinosaurs and shit with? Man, he couldn't bring himself to do that even if someone had a gun to his head.
Anyway, Lizy's nose was touching his and she was grinning. "What are you doing?" he asked sharply.
Her eyes blinked, and he saw uncertainty in them, which made him feel bad. "I need your help," she said.
"With what?"
"My remote control T-rex," she said, "it's not working."
Oh. He laughed nervously. Of course it...it was that. Why'd your mind go straight to the gutter? You got some kind of fetish deep down you wanna talk about? Go ahead, you're among friends. We won't judge you.
Uh...no. I'd rather cut my dick off with a rusty butter knife.
Lizy favored him with a confused head-tilt. "I thought you wanted something else," he explained.
"To do grown up stuff?"
Lemy blinked. Oh, wow, I didn't expect her to know what I meant.
"Maybe when I'm older," she said.
Gag.
"Go get your T-rex," he said, and she leapt off with a happy bounce, the pitter-patter of her running feet trailing away. He swung his legs out from under the covers, sat up, and raked his hand through his hair. What time was it, anyway? He glanced at the clock, and that's when he saw it: 6:5fucking7. Son of a shit, what was Lizy doing up this early? Didn't she like sleeping in? I mean, kindergarten can be a bitch. When he was her age, you needed a crowbar and six burly bikers to get him out of bed before nine on a Sunday.
She has drive, you don't.
Oh, good morning to you too, self-loathing. I thought I sent you packing.
Nope, brah, still here.
Okay. Just keep it to a low rumble, huh? My head hurts, my eyes ache, and my little sis needs me to fix her toy.
Kay.
Momentarily, Lizy returned with the T-rex in her hand. "He won't stomp around like he's supposed to," she said glumly and sat next to Lemy. He reached out, and she gave it to him. She loved this damn thing. Other little girls slept with teddy bears or Barbie dolls, she slept with a voracious, man-eating monster. He guessed it was kind of cute if you tilted your head, squinted, and ignored the rows of razor sharp fangs crowding its mouth. "Did you check the batteries?" he asked and looked at her.
"Yep," she said with a curt nod, "I used the screwdriver just like you showed me."
"Remote?"
She dug in her pocket, her tongue plastering to her upper lip, then got it and handed it over. He checked the back, and yep, there was evidence of a Lizy: The little screw wasn't all the way in. He moved to the desk, sat the remote and the T-rex on, and grabbed a mini Phillips head screwdriver from the top drawer. Lizy laid her hands on her knees and craned her neck to see; she liked watching him work, and sometimes she'd sit in his lap and he'd do his best to explain what was going on. It wasn't easy being a teacher. It takes a special kind, you know? He still enjoyed it; she was pretty good at mechanical stuff for a six-year-old. Of course, her mother was Lana Loud, and she was basically Ty Pennington with a vag. Hands on stuff was in her blood.
He unscrewed the battery compartment and checked inside to make sure they were in right. "These are fresh?" he asked over his shoulder.
"Yep," she replied.
Alright. First, he'd open the remote itself and see if he could find a problem. If not, he'd have to open the dino itself.
He operated quickly, his fingers deft and sure. Like his older sister, he entered The Zone when he worked, a trancelike state in which nothing existed but him and the object in front of him. He didn't realize that Lizy was standing next to him with her hands clasped behind her back until he was done and the plastic casing of the remote was in one piece again. "It's not this," he said and and pushed it aside. He grabbed the T-rex, looked for the point of ingress, and found it. He reached for his screwdriver, but Lizy was already holding it out. "Thanks," he said and took it. "You're a good helper."
Lizy beamed.
He was afraid that the problem would be hard to find or impossible to fix, but for once in his sad, sorry, miserable life (I'm exaggerating, shit, it's early and my head hurts), things went smooth: It was just a loose wire. He tightened it, picked up the remote, and pushed a button. The T-rex stomped across the desk with a prerecorded roar. "You fixed it!" Lizy cried joyously. She snatched the toy up and hugged it to her chest, twisting back and forth like a little girl reunited with a long lost friend. He grinned. Alright, headache or nah, this was worth getting up early for.
"Thank you, Lemy!" She pushed up on her tippy toes and pecked his forehead.
"You're welcome," he said, then pointed his finger at her, "be careful from now on, huh? No more letting this guy tumble down the stairs."
"But he likes falling down the stairs."
He cocked his brow, and Lizy buckled. "And...I kind of like it too."
"If you keep doing it, you're gonna break him and I might not be able to fix him."
Lizy's brow furrowed. "But you can fix anything."
He didn't have the heart to contradict her (your big brother's really a loser and a joke), so he simply agreed. "Alright, point taken."
She smiled and bounded off to play, and Lemy watched her go with a wistful smile. She was a really cool kid. If he had one of his own one day, he hoped it was like her.
Adult stuff? Maybe when I'm older.
He frowned. Could he...in the future…maybe? He'd learned to never say never, but, man, that thought made him sick. Like...if he was, you know, with her, it wouldn't matter how physically attractive she was, he'd always see her as she was now: Cute, pure, missing tooth...a baby. How the fuck does Dad do it? He-He f- it left him speechless when he really sat down and thought about it: One minute Dad's holding, say, Lupa as an infant, and the next he's putting his dick in her.
You know, he had his problems with his old man, but he didn't hate him and he didn't think he was evil. On the other hand...dude's fucking sick. Yeah, okay, the girls are the ones who pursued him, still...he couldn't get it. If his daughter came to him one day wearing a little nightie or something, strap all slipping down her shoulder and Daddy, can you put out the fire in my belly with your hose he'd shit himself...then ground her or something. Who the hell do you think I am, your grandfather?
A terrible idea struck him then.
What if he had a daughter...and Dad did something with her?
Guess I'm beating my old man to a pulp.
That was a worry for another day, though. Right now he had to piss.
Being so early, there was no line, which was boss. He whipped it out, aimed, and unleashed a torrent of yellow furry into the bowl. Hm...yeah, still better than sex.
Back in his room, he dropped onto the edge of the bed and rubbed his temples; it was almost seven-thirty and the others were starting to stir, the sound of soft moaning drifting down the hall telling him that Dad was up and doing something gross already. Sounded like Lucy, which, okay, that's fine. Lucy's hot.
Speaking of hot aunts, Lola, huh? She seemed interested, which was fucking righteous, man. Don't mention this to the guys down at the Krusty Krab, but Lola was his first crush, and when he was ten he blew his inaugural load while thinking of her boobs. Bedding her would be a (wet) dream come true.
He stretched out on the bed and yawned,. He could see her now: On top, head thrown back, big old tiddies bouncing as she rode him. Oh, Lemy, you're so much better than your father; he can never make me cum but you've me cum twenty times already. Yes! Yes! Yes! You know, it's every man's dream to do twins...maybe Lana could join in and they could have a dirty, sloppy threesome. Those are fun: He knew that from personal experience.
A smile touched his lips and he closed his eyes. Yeah...that was...a….lot of…
"Bro!"
Lemy started, his eyes flying open. Lyra leaned in, her arms braced against the door frame. She was wearing tight jeans and a little shirt that exposed her creamy, fleshy, fucking perfect stomach. W-Was this a dream?
"You getting up? It's 9:30."
Huh. Guess I fell asleep. "Yeah," he slurred, "I'm up." He drew himself to a sitting position and rubbed his temple. Dude, my headache's gone. Sweet. What's mine say? Duuuuuude. What's mine say? Sweeeeet. That was a dumbass movie. The parody one was better. What was it? What's mine say? Ray. What's mine say? Fucked me. Ray! Fucked me! Ray! Fucked me! Ray fucked me! It's funny because dude got drunk, passed out, and his friend raped him.
Actually, that's not funny at all.
Getting up, he dressed in a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, then put on his cap. Hey, Silent Bob will eat your ass.
Oh shit! Speaking of eating...it's omelette time, bitches!
I know I've said that before, but this time I mean it. I'm getting that goddamn omelette if it kills me. I mean it, I am prepared to literally die for this fuking egg dish. No more delays, no more rain checks, no more cancellations, no more nah, boi, you gettin' a steak. The time for games has passed.
Determined, he put his shoes and socks on, then went downstairs. Go straight for the door, don't stop, don't talk, don't give them a chance to detain you, don't…
His hand was on the knob when a familiar voice spoke from the couch.
"Hey, Freak."