The Fabricated Tales Of Mary Teresa, Part 2

The Fabricated Tales of Mary Teresa 
(Episode 2) 

MORE SUNDAY 

There wasn't a whisper of breath left in my body. 

"We're doing what?" I stammered. 

"The four of us are going to head to Europe on Wednesday," he repeated, 
"first to Paris for a couple of days and then to meet up with our folks at 
Lake Como. It's just a ten hour overnight train ride. After that who 
knows?" Panic began to set in from every direction. 

"I don't have a European wardrobe. What will my folks say when I show up 
with you?" And though while mundane, critical, "It's not such a big deal 
for Jeremy and you, but how the hell will Lexie and I survive a seven hour 
no-smoking flight?" Before yet another caveat slipped from my lips he 
pressed his finger against them and interrupted. 

"So, listen! The four of us are going into the city Tuesday morning and 
we'll simply buy whatever we need. Three thumbs up and you own it - like it 
or not. One of dad's Lear's - the four-seat, two bedroom one - flies over 
from Paris tomorrow and will depart Teterboro at eight Wednesday night. 
There will be no shortage of good champagne and there isn't a single `no 
smoking' sign on the plane. As for your folks, that one is in your court. 
I'm guessing, however, that the sibling exchange won't confuse anyone for 
too long." 

In shock I reach for yet another, sort of celebratory, cigarette only to 
discover the morning's near full pack is expired. Anxious for a cigarette 
but not anxious to move a muscle, I accept one of Liam's Marlboro Reds. 
I've never tried one and have no idea what to expect but find it a bit more 
than the normal rush. That's a plus but the length and look isn't. I 
resolve, though, to complement my two cartons of Marlboro Light 100's with 
a carton of Marlboro Gold 100's on the travel list. With my pussy still in 
perpetual twitch it's pretty obvious that I'll explore an added rush 
anywhere I can find one. 

MONDAY 

See last Saturday. 

TUESDAY 

Lexie and Jeremy seem as enthralled with each other as Liam and I are. I 
make this pronouncement based upon the affection displayed and the racket 
they're making this morning. Liam and I are hardly discreet in our love 
making - it is already some blend of brute sex and tenderness - but those 
two are downright raucous. I'm almost mesmerized by the "Fuck me harder, 
harder, harder Jeremy" emanating from the bedroom next door until I 
recognize that I'm the recipient of its effect upon Liam. It's not only 
Avis that tries harder - hell, is harder - and my own acoustics now 
compete. 

Since we'll be departing New Jersey the following evening we prepare for 
the trek back into the city. The limo arrives at eleven and by 12:30 we're 
lunching at Twenty One. Around a quarter after two the shopping spree 
commences and lasts until six. It's kind of embarrassing to admit but we 
ran up over $100,000 in charges in those four hours. To say that we'd be 
dressed to the "nines" ignores several digits. 

We return to Jeremy and Lexie's home to offload our purchases and our 
libidos and are ready for dinner by eight. We hit an in Upper East Side 
bistro and are treated to divine cuisine. We don't risk alcohol and they 
don't offer. The guys do have false IDs but no amount of surgical 
augmentation has us girls passing as twenty one. After dinner however Lexie 
coaxes Jeremy into stopping by the hottest new club in town - Christina 
Aguilera is rumored to be putting in an appearance - and to my surprise 
we're ushered right in. I guess a wad of hundreds doesn't hurt. 

Once inside, ID seems a non-issue and soon we're knocking off a third fifth 
of Cristal and replenishing the nicotine shortage from dining at a 
no-smoking restaurant. A little while later Ro is ushered in with a group 
of other folks loosely of our strata. The way she's dolled up she might get 
served in a legitimate bar. It's clear however that's she's with a crowd 
rather than a date and her jaw drops beneath her ample and shamelessly 
exposed breasts when she first sees, then computes, probably gags on, and 
finally digests our foursome. Lexie and I do our best to assist her 
calculations by necking conspicuously with our very significant others. 

Clearly she's torn between an intense desire to investigate and the fear of 
what she would discover. Like a bear to honey she acquiesces and approaches 
the table. Lexie rightfully first greets her and invites her to join us 
which she can't not do. Cuddling up to our honeys in as nonchalant a manner 
as we can manufacturer we ask about her past few days. They clearly aren't 
in the same league as ours and when we drop that we're headed for Paris 
tomorrow she visibly blanches. Remember earlier when I said I wasn't nearly 
as big a bitch as Ro? I had no idea my true potential. 

We're chatting amiably and for the first time ever I clearly have the upper 
hand with Ro. We share bottle four of Cristal with her as I'm peeling open 
my third pack of cigarettes of the day. I notice but then again I really 
don't. I'm just having too much fucking fun. It so pains me to see Ro 
cringe as Liam - who I know she's been crushing on for years - completely 
ignores her invitingly dangling cigarette while lighting mine and feels me 
up in every way publicly acceptable and a few not so much. "Will you be 
joining us on the continent?" I offer as a long overdue and justifiable 
diss. Ashamed? Not so much. 

WEDNESDAY 

It had been exactly 111 hours and 17 minutes since Liam and I hooked up and 
now I face the first four hours apart. Jeremy and I head back to our house 
shortly after lunch in order to pack, pick up our passports, and get ready 
for two weeks abroad. In the process we leave Liam and Lexie to precisely 
the same set of tasks. I find in packing that my suitcase is approximately 
70% stuff bought yesterday with Liam's seal of approval, 25% borrowed from 
Lexie, and 5% at best of my pre-existing wardrobe. Call that a makeover. By 
the way I did have a makeover yesterday at Bergdorf Goodman and it was 
worth every cent of the $3500 we spent on recommended cosmetics - 
especially now seeing Ro an uncomplimentary shade of green. 

"So brother dear, I don't think I've ever seen you so smitten before. Does 
Lexie have your number?" I inquire. 

"Lexie is a number," he responds and then continues that she differs from a 
lot of other girls in "loving sex for sex's sake, has a brain to go along 
with her fabulous body, and she's `one of us' if you know what I mean. She 
sure as hell isn't after our money. So what about you, little sis -seems 
like we're discovering a new side to you?" 

"Ya," I responded, "I'm guessing Liam's assessment of me wouldn't sound so 
different than yours of Lexie." 

"There you're wrong," he replied to my immediate dismay, "he's so over the 
top gone for you his brain's fried." Dismay melts into delight. 

"Just as long as his dick isn't," is my rejoinder and Jeremy's chuckle 
cements a new relationship between the two of us. 

We reconvene for a quick snack at five - along with the "early bird 
special" elderly - and are on our way to Teterboro by six. One does not 
need to arrive an hour early for private jet service nor check or carry on 
one's bags. The limo encounters a little traffic on the GW but still 
navigates well to get us there by 7:15 and we're relaxing onboard taxiing 
with cocktails in hand by ten to eight. I've been on private jets more 
times than most - okay, so most never have - but this one blew me away. The 
main cabin was simply four captain's chairs encircling a marble table with, 
as promised, built in ashtrays and wine goblet recesses - adjustably sized 
to handle highballs, stemmed wine glasses, and in our immediate case, 
champagne flutes. Need you even ask if there's a receptacle for the 
decanter? 

The back half of the plane was neatly and discreetly split in half - one 
bedroom on the right and one on the left. The early twentyish flight 
attendant made all of the amenities and accommodations clear to us and in 
her inimitable Frenchness didn't even wink. I applaud the boys for not 
obviously ogling her because if I were a guy I'm not sure I'd show that 
restraint. If a "menage a trois" didn't ring in their heads I'd almost be 
embarrassed for them - it kind of did in mine - but soon it became apparent 
that it was the co-pilot she was into. 

For a couple of hours we simply enjoyed the bottomless champagne, an 
endless chain of cigarettes, and each other's company and overarching, the 
incredible luxury we lived in - but by ten EDT we were yawning - whether 
from exhaustion or horniness it seemed immaterial. The back of the plane 
was rocking well before 10:30. I wasn't truly tired so I watched a movie 
lying in bed ill-advisably smoking one cigarette after another and sipping 
Cristal from the bottle through a straw. I wanted to test the limits of my 
new found decadence and at 35,000 feet over Greenland smoking, drinking, 
and again tongue massaging Liam's dick in hopes of yet another renaissance, 
those limits seemed rather boundless. 

SECOND THURSDAY 

My wake-up call was a warm shiver shooting up my groin which I soon 
discovered was sourced by Liam's head nuzzled tightly between my legs and 
his tongue on an exploratory mission. I grabbed the headboard behind me, 
opened my legs spread eagle until it nearly hurt, and held on for dear 
life, challenging my body to silently absorb endless waves of clearly 
audible pleasure. When I could stand no more I encourage him up, on, and oh 
so deeply in - and we both exploded in near record time. There is no such 
thing as premature ejaculation when fucking ferociously over the Firth of 
Forth. 

Too long together - seriously together - in the on-board shower 
necessitated simply a glass of OJ, a cup of highly-creamered coffee, and a 
quick chained pair of cigarettes - the Gold's now, not the Lights - for 
breakfast. While we were now only moments from landing at Orly, the stifled 
yawns all about the table suggested that perhaps I was the only one of the 
four of us to get something approaching a full night's sleep. Admittedly I 
was more emotionally blasé than they since they'd all been in Paris as 
adults (or near adults) but my memories were as a bored tween trailing 
after my folks or more often my nanny. The combination of a kind of 
excitement I couldn't yet comprehend - and the flight attendant scoring the 
first officer repeatedly on the marble table during his fifteen minute 
"rest breaks" - apparently had compromised a good night's rest for all 
three of them. 

We were ushered through Customs in seconds and the driver had the limo 
packed up with our eight suitcases (one each for the guys and three apiece 
for Lexie and me) in no time. The drive into Paris was beautiful in a way 
that I hadn't recalled from my earlier trips but let's face it - my 
perspective couldn't have much more altered this time gently nestled in my 
lover's arms. Our boutique "suites hotel" in the Opera District was 
charming - and probably $1500 a night as well for each couple. Lexie and 
Jeremy disappear in short order and I look around to find Liam out cold. 

I, on the other hand, am now feeling the adrenaline rush, and feel the need 
to explore and maybe grab a few private moments for myself. It's barely 
10:30 AM and I figure Liam would probably be out until early or maybe 
mid-afternoon so I deck myself out in what I consider Parisian fashion - a 
little too tight skirt, a little too low cut blouse, a little too much make 
up, excessively flamboyant earrings, and way too high heel pumps - and head 
off on my own. A quick afterthought has me back dip-sticking my purse where 
I discovered I was low on cigarettes so I snatch a couple of spare packs 
from my suitcase. Now I was really ready to go. 

Negotiating sidewalks in four inch heels isn't for every fifteen year old 
girl but when you began doing so at eleven it becomes second nature. At 
eleven I had the balance but nearing sixteen I now also have the moves - 
both the erectness and the sway. I light a cigarette mid-stride and haven't 
yet gone two blocks when a number of pairs of male eyes have already 
checked me out in what I'm guessing is an approving way. Unlike their 
American counterparts these guys make no effort whatsoever to shield their 
interest. I spy an outdoor bistro and head for it, not yet fully cognizant 
that in Paris smoking is the national pastime and that indoors is as 
acceptable as out. 

I pull out what is now my third pack of these scrumptious Gold's in the 
past couple of days and order a vanilla latte from a very cute but likely 
gay waiter. My cigarette dangling, Jacques flames his lighter before I do 
and I'm accepting it with my most courteous "merci". The way he watches me 
drag and exhale quickly reassesses his sexuality. I'm head over heels over 
Liam, but if I weren't - 

As I draw deeply once more and, exhaling a bit askew, give him my most 
beguiling thanks, this perfect package of pleasure verifies that I've 
already switched allegiance to the Gold's. They're a bit more flavorful 
than the Lights - I suppose that means more nicotine but frankly don't 
dwell upon that - but not at all harsh like Liam's Reds. Somehow the gold 
filter also feels more sophisticated. As silly as this might sound, my 
lungs feel happy - maybe not in the same league as my vagina , but organ 
happiness - regardless the organ - is a new kind of bliss. 

The latte arrives concurrent with a second cigarette - again dangling and 
lit by a very attentive Jacques - and I settle back to people watch and try 
and come to grips with the past week. I review the happenings. A week ago 
yesterday my identity as a smoker unexpectedly emerged and a week ago 
tomorrow my role as a lover did as well. A week ago I was a fifteen year 
old dreaming of being eighteen; today I'm a fifteen year old living as 
eighteen year old could only dream. It's quite a heady shift that it now 
appears I was better prepared for than one might have imagined. 

Leisurely drawing on my cigarette and sipping the latte, so many things run 
through my head. A week ago I would have told you that three years down the 
road I'd be starting my undergraduate work at Harvard and four years later 
my medical degree at John Hopkins. I can't recall when I didn't want to be 
a cardiologist. Today it looks more like a career as a pole dancer with 
only my severely corrupted lungs meeting admission standards to the Harvard 
Medical School - pathology department that is. 

This shockingly re-altered identity - shocking even to me - required coming 
to grips with two issues. The first of course is self-acceptance and as 
seemingly deprived as my recent behavior has been, all things considered 
I'm good with it. Cancer sticks and meaty dicks are now "what's for dinner" 
- breakfast, lunch, and snacking too. I could say that it's a passing fancy 
but that sounds like bullshit even to me. I can't imagine having this 
ecstasy pass. Life sucks - nipples, pricks, and cigarettes - and that's a 
very good thing. 

The second issue then is familial acceptance. Tentatively I can say one 
down given Jeremy but then he has given me thirty seconds attention this 
past week which, to be fair, is no more than I've given him. Our folks 
remain the wildcard. In two days we'll emerge from the train in Milan and 
head up to Lake Como. When Liam appears carrying my suitcase, when I light 
up my first cigarette in front of them, when I down a third glass of 
Chateau Nuef de Paup with dinner, and when I most obviously share Liam's 
quarters, that's when the shit - if there's to be any - will hit the fan. 

My ashtray would now be overflowing in the States - given that I was even 
allowed to smoke - but here the wait staff took good care replacing it with 
a fresh one with every spent butt or two. I was also wired on three lattes 
- wired yet recognizing that my highly traveled body was more tired than my 
tripping out brain. I knew that I'd need rest and smiled at the thought of 
how I might "relax". Within minutes I'd be awaking Liam in a manner not 
dissimilar to how I'd arisen earlier. In his case arisen should soon be an 
even more apt metaphor. 

Dinnertime came soon after we had and, by consensus on our first night in 
Paris, this would be a dressy affair. In case I haven't mentioned this, our 
bedrooms share a common living room so we do have a place to hang together. 
Just as I was putting the finishing touches on my makeup I felt a certain 
wetness and knew this not to be of Liam's making. Oh my God - it's that 
time of month and I'm clueless. First off I haven't a single Tampax packed 
and the last thing I want at this moment is any interference with our love 
making, fucking, whatever you want to call it. I want a peter tube - not a 
paper tube - up my pussy. 

Lexie and I meet in the living room as the guys clean up and I ask 
desperately if she's planned better than I. 

"Of course I have Tampax with me, MT" she replies but looking a little 
unsettled she adds, "but do you have some birth control pills I could 
borrow?" I did happen to plan ahead on this count and had next month's 
supply in my overnight bag. Even knowing that I was ten days from calling 
upon them, I handed them to her willingly. 

"Just run out?" I queried and again that unsettled look. 

"I'm not sure," she retorts "I'm not always so good at remembering". 

It's my turn to look quizzically and so she continues. "Hey, up until this 
last week my specialty has been blow jobs - and I haven't had much worry 
about protection - protection of either kind. Now I realized that I better 
get on the ball. Honesty MT, the reason that my Tampax were so readily 
available is that I'm already a day overdue." The gravity of the new game 
we were indulging in suddenly hit us simultaneously like a ton of bricks. 
As cool as fucking eighteen year old studs is, having a baby at sixteen 
would be decidedly unwelcome. 

"Keep me posted sweetie and I'll keep my fingers crossed," ended the 
conversation. 

Dinner itself was fabulous and it was really the first time that the four 
us held a real conversation together. There was much reminiscing about 
previous interactions between our families and even more speculation upon 
the reaction that our "new interactions" might encounter. I expressed some 
concern about how the folks might react to me smoking and the other three 
broke up. "MT," they all chimed in "banging Liam on all corners of the 
planet should mask smoking and drinking issues more than adequately." I 
sort of laughed then as well. 

Part of the evening's mellowness was also due to issues still unbenounced 
to the guys. Liam would soon understand that he'd need to take things a 
little slower with me for the next few days. Jeremy, on the other hand, 
could have more complex issues at hand. How well disguised those might be 
relied wholly upon Lexie's acting skills. My guess was they were pretty 
good. 

SECOND FRIDAY 

Today was "sightseeing in Paris" day and morning certainly found Liam and 
me less exhausted than the previous six. This boded well for a high energy 
day so maybe a period is just nature's way of calling time out but then the 
reality set in that in Lexie's case this period issue was far more than 
that. With their bedroom on the opposite side of the living space, we'd 
been unaware of their evening's ardor but as we sipped coffee and I 
indulged in the first of several Gold's, a slow but deliberate rumble was 
detectable. I concluded that whatever Lexie's current mental state, her 
physical one overrode it. For the first time ever I felt for her. 

They joined us with that happy satiated look by just before nine, shared 
cigarettes, coffee, and a couple of mimosas, and by eleven we finally 
loaded ourselves into the limo that had been waiting for more than an hour. 
I could only suspect what the true feelings might be of the driver who 
respectfully addressed us as madams and monsieurs. He had to find us in 
many ways obnoxious little Yankee brats but never showed a trace. 

The day was by far the most low key we'd had - not because of the sights 
which were fabulous but because frantic heat had been replaced by 
comfortable companionship. Today we were just four kids out having some 
fun. We'd done the Arch de Triumph early rather than the usual each other 
and then grabbed a sidewalk café lunch up at Montmartre. Late afternoon 
found us grazing around the Eiffel Tower where we had a 7:30 dinner 
reservation on the first level. Lexie and I, ever seeking an opportunity to 
veg out and grab a cigarette or two, lounged on a park bench and did so. 

Suddenly Lexie elbows me and points to the WC. I get the hint and, fresh 
cigarettes in hand, I accompany her in that direction. We duck in and she 
heads for a stall. Moments later she emerges displaying a red soaked 
Tampex. My relief was significant so I could only imagine hers. 
"Girlfriend," I said hugging her, "you need to take care of yourself. You 
don't need to be a mommy any more than I need to be an aunty. 

"Regardless our age, we're physically women now and that means being 
responsible. If sometimes you need a reminder, just ask me - but I'm 
guessing forgetting your pills won't be a future problem. By the way, do 
you happen to have an extra prescription because I'll be out before this 
trip is over and I'm guessing Liam won't be in favor of five days of 
abstinence? I sure as hell know I won't be." 

The conversational floodgates were now open. Lexie and I were now what you 
could call situational BFFs - we're fucking each other's brothers and 
there's nothing casual about it - so rather than dash back out to the guys, 
we relocate to the staircase down to the WC and light up another couple of 
cigarettes. It's clear that both relationships are more than a simple fling 
and we need to share our feelings with someone - and we're all that we've 
got. It may be firsts for us girls but the guys have had enough experience 
to know the difference and they're both clearly into us. We may be young 
but we're not all that naïve. 

Lexie opens up first and she's as crazy about Jeremy as it appears. The sex 
is amazing but it's also that he's a pretty interesting guy. Lighting 
another cigarette myself while offering her a light, I confess that that's 
probably true even though it's hard to see from my perspective. Once I 
confess equal passion for her brother all barriers have been stripped away. 
We're now two girlfriends talking about two boyfriends - the sibling thing 
is no longer relevant. And for Lexie an evening of lighter passion is a 
small price for peace of mind. My brother will likely never know the bullet 
he dodged. 

By this point the guys probably think we've been sold into white slavery so 
we head back up the steps and find them waiting anxiously. We have dinner 
reservations in fifteen minutes and the elevator line up is not 
insignificant. We fall in line and easily reach the first level five 
minutes ahead of time. The maître `d looks a bit askance at us but checks 
the reservation made under GFR Industries and shows renewed interest. Liam 
slips him a hundred Euro note and we're seated at a spectacular window 
table looking north over the Seine at the city lights in the City of 
Lights. 

The French are not so gauche as to concern themselves with drinking age or 
smoking restrictions. Cute waiters appear out of the woodwork to light our 
cigarettes - much to the amusement of Jeremy and Liam - and there is a 
bottomless flow of daiquiris, chardonnay, and champagne. I have no idea if 
I've even actually ordered something to eat - maybe an escargot hor 
d'oeuvres? I'm getting wasted and I'm sure not alone. We're all also 
getting a little frisky - public display of affection you would call it - 
and this too seems to be discreetly overlooked by the staff. Sharing French 
kisses over dinner at the Eiffel Tower certainly can't be wrong. 

It's pushing eleven by the time we notice that no one else is left in the 
restaurant - again, kudos to the French for not being obvious about this. I 
must have polished off a pack of cigarettes and eight drinks as I stumble 
toward the elevator. Liam, always the gentleman, provides some guidance but 
he's really no more sober than I am. He and Jeremy had been sloshing back 
single malts at a ferocious rate. And Lexie, celebrating her non-pregnancy, 
is in a class by herself. Jeremy carries her out of the restaurant 
completely oblivious to his recent proximity to fatherhood. Whatever 
conjugal disappointment follows pales in comparison to what might have 
been. 

SECOND SATURDAY 

We have just one more day in Paris before meeting up with our folks. It was 
just a week ago that I woke up sharing a bed with Liam for the first time 
yet it feels like we've been an item forever. He's dead to the world at 
7:30 when I awake so I again meander the neighborhood. I desperately need a 
double cappuccino to wake up and a fresh cigarette to feed my need and mask 
the residue from the night before. 

I'd always heard friends talk about how nasty their mouths were in the 
morning after a long day of smoking but until recently I'd never indulge 
sufficiently to share the experience. Now that was a daily occurrence. 
You'd think that the foul taste would dissuade one from smoking but the 
effect is the opposite - it demands that you feed the beast even more. Once 
it becomes the norm you no longer even recognize the issue. You just 
surrender. 

The setting: same bistro, same cute waiter, same vanilla latte, same 
nicotine craving, and same desirous glances from similar males. This time 
I'm actually approached and know just enough French to recognize that I've 
just been propositioned. I play the American ingénue and feign an innocence 
that lacks any true sincerity. I'm not fooling myself and I suspect I'm not 
faking him out either - but he lacks sufficient English skills to call me 
on it. I accept his light - but nothing else. 

We do have a trip to Versailles scheduled for the early afternoon and then 
a very late check out before we catch the train to Milan. For the life of 
me I don't know why I'm nervous about encountering my folks. If they don't 
like my choices they'd either have to care enough to attempt action and/or 
feel like there was some action they could take. My lost virginity was 
irreversible, my nicotine addiction monumental, and my adoration of Liam 
infinite. What did I really have to worry about - a diminished reputation? 
Sadly, that was it. Whether they'd cared or not I'd never in any way 
disappointed or embarrassed my folks. I now ran that risk. 

Deep in this conversation with myself, I'm just packing up when my three 
friends round the corner knowing full well awhere to find me. It seems we 
can enjoy a leisurely breakfast because the staff would pack us up, load up 
the limo, and shuffle us off first to Versailles and then the train 
station. An English muffin, a third latte, a glass of OJ, and now halfway 
through a morning-opened pack of Marlboro Gold 100's and I'm satiated on 
every dimension - well except perhaps one. 

Lexie, admittedly nursing a headache of staggering proportions, prescribes 
to a nourishment regimen resembling mine while the guys wolf down Breakfast 
Americana and split a magnum of house champagne mostly between themselves 
with a dash landing in our OJs. A dash is frankly more than either of us 
need after last night. 

The limo is stocked as always and more cigarettes, margaritas, and necking 
- and at least one hand job later (the one I can speak to), we're in 
Versailles. The trip back to the station was a near replica as I realize 
that I'm already on a second pack of cigarettes for the day and it is less 
than half over. A little ripped with all the booze, I take a triple inhale, 
go down on Liam without regard to our companionship and leak smoke out 
every direction around his immediately rigid dick. Lexie, with a look of 
mild disgust - mild disgust that she hadn't originated this move - follows 
suit to the clear delight of my sibling. The era of couple privacy has come 
to an immediate climax - as too have the boys. The only indelible taboo now 
is switching partners. 

The night train to Milan is the stuff of legends - one branch of the old 
Orient Express. The first two cars are luxury sleepers which we redefine as 
luxury fuckers. Well, not entirely, since Lexie is still midstream and I'm 
just drying up. The action is still considerable and the pleasure is not 
compromised. By midnight though we're all blasted, sexually spent, and I've 
done damage to a third pack of Gold's. 

Smoker's mouth awaits in the morning and I know of course that I won't 
care. In less than two weeks I'm as hooked as three year smoker Lexie - in 
some ways I suspect even more seriously. The only trigger to lighting the 
next cigarette is extinguishing the last. There's a name for that and it 
rhymes with what we're riding on. 

SECOND SUNDAY 

It's a little before nine when the train reaches the station. Two limos are 
waiting - one with a sign for Lexie and Liam and another for me and Jeremy. 
Perhaps some surprises and explanations do wait ahead. Lexie and I of 
course switch identities and snuggle in with our guys. If the drivers 
believe this to be incestuous sibling activity, they're stoic enough to not 
let on. It's more than an hour's drive to the two homes our folks are 
renting and it seems they're only a few kilometers apart. 

I'm still rehearsing and rehashing my initial contact with my folks, when 
the realization sets in that that's not what's about to happen. I'm about 
to meet Liam's folks and Lexie will be meeting mine. Now there's a 
potential break for you. I can test my "new Mary Teresa" persona on his 
folks with seemingly less risk. While they've known me all my life there 
are little if any stated or unstated expectations - I guess singularly "if 
I'm good enough for their son" and, with the possible exception of my jail 
bait status, coming from an equal station in life, that shouldn't be a 
problem. 

Smoking in front of them is also a non-issue since their whole family 
smokes. Lexie's mom, knowing no different and caring even less, may well 
assume that I've been smoking as long as Lexie has - which was 
pre-pubescence. Fortunately I look the appropriate girlfriend part too. I 
relax just a bit and then contemplate the scene at my folk's condo. They 
know that if it walks, Jeremy fucks it, so again if someone of similar 
background if not similar age, materializes that passes some muster, that 
could be good. 

Her smoking up a storm over there will also be a good scene set for my 
later encounters. I remain uncertain, however, whether the not-so-committed 
Jeremy will light up in front of our non-smoking folks. Even if he doesn't 
it probably doesn't matter particularly - the skids are pretty well oiled 
this way already. 

The Simpson's are actually outside awaiting our arrival - well, more 
precisely, Lexie and Liam's arrival - and as Liam opens the door and 
escorts me out there's a moment of confusion. It doesn't last long as both 
of his parents instantly comprehend "their teenagers'" interest in joining 
this vacation. I must say a look of bemusement hits them simultaneously as 
Mrs. Simpson graciously greets and hugs me. Mr. Simpson followed suit as 
they then escort us into the villa. It's very cool that they "just get it" 
and I'm hoping a similar encounter is occurring nearby. 

The next hour was spectacular. The butler took our bags to "our room", we 
sipped some lovely Bordeaux, and we all smoked up a storm. If I didn't know 
better I'd even say that Mr. Simpson lingered an inordinate amount of time 
on every occasion he offered me a light. I knew enough to do the coquettish 
thing of touching his hand, smiling, and thanking him. As he covertly 
watched me smoke out of the corner of his eye, I was already on my way to 
being a daughter-in-law material - seductive smoking might not be a 
requirement but it sure was extra credit - and I made certain to pay him 
all due attention. 

Sipping brandy was a new experience for me and I must admit a bit of a 
comfort - I hadn't yet gotten the hang of drinking hard alcohol at room 
temperature. Nonetheless I nursed down one and warmly accepted a "top off". 
This enjoyable reverie however was interrupted an hour or so later when the 
phone rang and it was my folks checking in. I was insanely curious as to 
how that vignette had played out. As it turns out, I'd know before long it 
since it seems they'd be joining us for dinner. 

Our mothers don't "do", they "organize" and therefore a catered meal for 
eight was hardly a shock. Before recognizing this, I'd thought about 
offering to help but then in truth I'm as helpless as they are. The other 
four arrive around seven, well after Liam and I had settled into our room 
and done a test run on the bed springs. It's always good to dispose of 
unnecessary tension. We made a grand entrance on the spiral staircase with 
smiles as wide as the Mississippi delta. 

"It's `so good' to see you, mom and dad." 

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