Emmy And Me

It only took a few days and we settled into a regular schedule. I got up early and ran to the sand courts for a couple of hours of pick-up games, then ran back to the house and made breakfast. After breakfast, Grace had her surf camp and Emmy did whatever it was she had planned for the day. I would spend a few hours on work, then go work out with Grant for a couple of hours. On days that Mom could swing it, we’d go house hunting after I was done with Grant.

I’d told Mom that my training with Grant Henry was general fitness stuff, but I’m pretty sure she noticed some of my bruises and the limp I had on one particularly rough day.

I was grateful that Grant didn't hold back at all once he’d come to the conclusion I wasn’t just some sort of rich girl playing G.I. Jane. We worked on all aspects of close combat, not just knife work, and I came to realize pretty quickly that I had a lot to learn. The biggest difference between what Ruben had been teaching me and what Grant was coaching me had to do with the very basic nature of the combat the two excelled in.

Ruben was a fighter- he’d fought in the ghettos of São Paulo as a kid, then in the slightly more sanctioned pits of the vale tudo fights as a teenager. Graduating to MMA and real prize fights had been his move to legitimacy, and allowed him to leave his gritty roots behind, but taught him to fight scrappy and never, never give up. This is what he’d taught me after Emmy’s attack- the down and dirty, do what it takes to beat the other guy mercilessly.

Grant Henry, in contrast, wasn’t concerned about putting a severe beat-down on anybody. No, his style of fighting was to do what you had to do to kill the other person as quickly as possible, and not get killed doing it. He didn’t care about pummeling the other guy into submission- submission was never, ever the goal. It was kill as fast as possible and move on. So that’s what we worked on, and it really opened my eyes to the fundamental difference between a fighter and a killer.

I learned how to deal fatal injuries with as few moves as I could, and inflicting injuries that would disable or cripple my opponent in short order. This wasn’t about hurting the other guy- hurting him took too long and left too many opportunities to get hurt in return.

After about a week of working with Grant, he made a comment one day that I’m sure was meant as a compliment, but I’m not really convinced was a good reflection on my character.

“Leah, I gotta say I am impressed,” he said after a particularly brutal session. “I think you have what it takes.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, taking a moment to stretch out my sore muscles.

“You find your trigger point easily,” he said. “Not many folks can do that. And when the situation is over, you shut it right off again, and that’s a very rare ability.”

“What do you mean by ‘trigger point’?” I asked, unsure what he was getting at.

“It’s when you switch on, into combat mode,” Grant explained. “In sports it’s usually called ‘flow state’ or some horsheshit like that. It’s when your conscious mind switches off and you act on instinct, but more importantly, on training and conditioning.”

“I think I understand what you mean,” I said, thinking about how the outside world vanishes the moment the ball is served in a volleyball match.

“The thing is, thinking slows you down,” Grant said. “A reflex is faster than a conscious movement because it doesn't rely on the brain for processing, right? Well, when you hit that trigger point and switch on, you don’t take time to think. You simply act. Precious few people can get there at all, and even rarer are those who can trigger instantly. Rarest of all are those, like you, who can switch it right the fuck off when you’re done.”

“Well, thanks, I guess,” I said, trying to think what this meant.

“Thing is, it’s something that takes most guys years and years to even learn to trigger, if they ever get to that point at all. Then, switching off after everything’s over, well, that isn’t something that can be trained. Either you can do it, or you can’t.”

“So what does this mean for me?” I asked. I thought I understood what Grant meant, but the ramifications were still unclear.

“Well, if you were in the Marines, I’d recommend you for special operations training. But since you’re not, and you aren’t going to even think about any of the letter organizations, it might not mean much. But what it does mean is that you have an automatic advantage in any sort of confrontation. Use it as a tool, like any other, and it’ll serve you well.”

Still thinking about what Grant Henry had said that evening, I talked about it with Emmy after dinner. Grace had gone out with one of her new surfing friends to see a movie, so we had the rental house to ourselves.

Sipping some wine Emmy had picked out, we relaxed on the back deck, enjoying the gas fire pit, since the evening was damp and cool- typical for a Southern California June evening.

“It sounds as if he is saying that you are… I am not sure how to express it,” Emmy said, thinking.

“It kinda sounds like he meant I’m a sociopath on demand,” I said, shrugging. “Like I can turn off normal human emotions and reactions when I want.”

“Yes, I can see that may be an interpretation,” Emmy mused, sipping her wine. “But I do not think that is accurate, either. But I do believe that he is right. I have seen it in you,” Emmy said, looking me in the eye.

“What?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

“It is clearly obvious when you play volleyball, Leah. When you play, from the moment you step on the court, your focus is pure,” Emmy said. “The gymnasium could catch on fire and burn down around the game, but you would not notice. Your ‘trigger’ has been pulled and you are there to do what needs to be done, with no interference.”

“You make it sounds as if I’m some sort of robot or something,” I said, not really comfortable hearing Emmy confirm my ‘on demand sociopath’ status.

“No, not a robot,” Emmy replied, leaning against me and resting her head on my shoulder. “I do not know how to express it, but it is something else.”

“Well, thanks, Em. That really cleared it up for me,” I said sardonically. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze to show that I wasn’t taking the conversation as any sort of criticism, but to be honest, I wasn’t too comfortable with the idea that I had the unusual ability to become a mindless volleyball (or killing) machine on a moment’s notice.

Emmy refilled our glasses, finishing off the bottle. Picking up her glass, she stood and indicated we should go inside. “I would very much like it if you you would demonstrate to me another of your amazing talents, Leah.”

“What’s that?” I asked as I stood.

“Your ability to turn all my bones to Jello with your lovemaking,” she said with a saucy grin, then turned to enter the house, wiggling her perky little butt at me.

“I will do my best, but I make no promises,” I said, following that amazing rear, watching her hips sway. Whatever amazing abilities I may have had, she absolutely knew how to trigger my libido.

In the bedroom I set my glass down and when Emmy did the same I swept her up in my arms and tossed her through the air onto her back on the bed. Her squeal of surprise at the move was music to my ears. I loved it when I could get her to make noise like that.

Emmy stared at me as I slowly pulled my T shirt off over my head, revealing my bare upper body to her. For maximum effect I tensed my muscles to make them stand out but not look as if I was flexing.

“Oh…” was her response, which was exactly what I wanted to hear. I shucked my sweatpants, making sure my briefs went with them, leaving my body completely nude for her gaze. I stood there for a moment, doing my best to pose without posing, still keeping my muscles tensed for her visual pleasure. It had the effect I was looking for, as Emmy stared at me lustfully, licking her lips while her eyes roamed over my body.

I stepped forward and grabbed her ankles as she tried to scoot away from me higher up the bed. Pulling her towards me, her light summer short skirt slid up, revealing her lack of panties.

“Looks as if you were ready for me,” I growled as I drew her legs apart.

“Oh, no!” Emmy cried in mock despair. “It is that evil beast again! Oh, what depravities will she inflict upon me this time?” she wailed, putting the back of her hand to her forehead.

I slid my hands down to just above her hip bones and said “I am going to eat you, my delectable morsel!” With this, I lifted her hips up off the bed, and brought her sweet pussy right to my face as I stood there letting her upper body dangle over the bed as I braced my knees against it for balance.

I held her there, dangling upside down, my face buried between her legs, growling as I lapped up the moisture flowing even before I started.

Emmy continued to make little squeaks of protest, gasping words in French that I didn’t hear very clearly as she wriggled in a completely ineffectual (and honestly, halfhearted) attempt to get free as I licked, suckled, and even nibbled a bit on her perfect little pussy. I could feel it as her movement turned to uncontrolled spasms, backing off a bit until she regained control. I returned to work on her tiny little bud, swirling and stroking it with my tongue to bring her back to the edge before easing off and giving my attention to nearby, less sensitive spots.

“Oh! You truly are a monster!” Emmy gasped after the third or fourth time of easing off. “You are evil, you beast!”

Taking my cue, I buried my face in her delicious folds one final time, not sparing her one bit. I swirled, flicked, and sucked on that little pearl until her thighs clamped my head like a vise. Emmy let out a loud gasp as she lost all muscle control, going limp in my hands.

Setting her down gently, I carefully rolled her onto her side so I could unzip her sun dress and slide it off her, then spooned her in my arms until her breathing evened out.

“That was… incroyable, Leah,” Emmy finally managed to say. “I do not understand how you could hold me in the air that way for so long. You have become so strong…” she said as she ran her hand on my arm wrapped around her like a boa constrictor. “I never want you to let me go, Leah. Never let me go.”

“Em, I will always hold you,” I answered, loving the feel of her body against mine.

Emmy soon fell asleep, but I wasn’t tired. Energized, more like, and thirsty. I carefully slid out from around Emmy and admired her beauty before covering her with the blanket.

It was in moments like this that I was reminded just how perfectly gorgeous and completely unusual Emmy really was, and how very lucky I was that she had chosen me.

I left the room quietly to avoid waking her and got quite a shock as I stepped into the living room on my way to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Grace and her little surfer friend were sitting on the couch, not making a noise, their eyes as big and round as anything, watching my naked stroll through the room.

By the time I realized they were there I was committed. Halfway to the kitchen anyway, there was really nothing I could do. It was obvious they’d gotten in while Emmy and I were making love and probably heard it all. Now they were watching me walk through the house in the buff, still a bit sweaty and smelling like sex.

Every single option at that moment was wrong, so I took the only course I could to retain any shred of dignity. I acted as if there was nothing wrong at all.

“Grace, Cait,” I said, nodding hello as I proceeded on my course.

“Um- hello, Beast,” Grace said, confirming they’d heard enough. Caitlyn, Grace’s friend, slapped her on the shoulder and the two giggled, but stayed in their seats and watched me walk naked across the living room.

I got myself a drink, then walked past them and back to the bedroom. “Don’t stay up too late,” I said, still in my dignity retention mode. Emmy was still fast asleep, so I just settled in the big spoon position again and fell asleep, putting the embarrassing encounter behind me.

At five thirty the next morning, just as I was eating my pre-workout snack of a glass of rice milk and a banana, Caitlyn walked into the kitchen, looking nervous and shy, and also completely naked.

“Um, Leah,” she said, her voice shaky. “I’m sorry about last night…”

“Cait,” I said, trying not to laugh. “I have two- no, three questions for you. First, did you spend the night with Grace?”

“Um, yes?” Caitlyn replied, surprised by my reaction to her standing there in the kitchen of our vacation rental without a stitch on.

“I figured that was going to be the case when I saw you were here at ten thirty last night,” I said. “Second: are you guys getting serious?”

“Oh, no,” Caitlyn said with a bit of a nervous laugh. “We’re just F.W.B.” Yes, she said the letters. “I mean, I like Grace and all, but you guys are going back to NorCal in a few weeks, so it wouldn’t work out.”

“O.K., this brings me to my third question,” I said, still trying not to laugh. “Did you realize you forgot to get dressed?”

Caitlyn looked down at herself and suddenly became shy, covering herself with her hands for a moment, then uncovering herself and standing straighter. “No, this is on purpose,” she said, regaining a little of her composure. “I wanted you to look at my body.”

“And why is that?” I asked, unsure where this was going.

“Well, last night, Grace and me heard you and Emmy, like, having sex, then you came out and got yourself a drink, you know, completely naked. You said hello to us like it was completely natural, like, um, it was nothing, you know?”

“And?” I asked, hoping she get to the point soon- I wanted to be at the nets when the six A.M. matches started.

“Well, a couple of things. I asked Grace and she said it was the first time she’d ever seen you walk through the house naked, so, like, you must not have known we were there, right? Because if you had, you would have put something on?”

“Yeah, that’s true,” I admitted.

“But when you saw us, it didn’t bother you. You just did what you were gonna do anyway, right?”

“I guess so, but what does that have to do with you being naked?”

“Well, I wanna be like you,” Caitlyn said. “No fucks given, right? I mean, you have a body to die for, seriously, but I should be proud of mine, too?” she said, her voice rising at the end as if she were asking me if she was right.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “You should be proud of what you’ve got. Never let anybody tell you otherwise.”

“Do you think I look O.K.?” Caitlyn asked, standing a little straighter, rolling her shoulders back and sticking her chest out. “I mean, like, I know I could lose a couple of pounds, but, like, I look O.K., right?” she asked, turning around so I could look her over.

“Whoever told you you need to lose weight is full of it,” I told her. “You’re fine. Seriously. And besides, it isn’t my opinion that matters. It’s yours. You’re the only one who should ever get a say.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Caitlyn said, standing more normally now. “You’re like, unbelievably hot and totally perfect. Nobody ever gave you a hard time about your weight,” she said, sounding just a bit petulant.

“No, nobody ever did give me a hard time about my weight. With me, it was about my height. I was always much taller than any of the other kids in middle school, and I got teased mercilessly about it. Kids called me names to make me feel bad about my height all the time,” I said, remembering how those words stung. “But you know what? I was the height I was, and nobody saying mean things was going to change that, so I came to realize it didn’t matter. I was the way I was. As the old saying goes, fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke- or something like that.”

“So you really think I look O.K.?” Caitlyn asked, just for a bit more reassurance. “I mean, would you do me?”

“Well, no, because you’re sixteen years old,” I replied with a snort. “And besides, you’re not my type.”

Puzzled, Caitlyn asked “What is your type?”

“Well, not blondes, that’s for sure,” I said, getting up to rinse my glass. “Blondes are nothing but ditzy airheads.”

“But-” Caitlyn started to object, then realized I was yanking her chain. The fact that it even took her that long to realize that we were both blonde and I was giving her a hard time did a little bit to reinforce the stereotype, though.

“Look,” I said. “You didn’t need to come out here and show me your naked body for confirmation that you’re sexy. I mean, Grace certainly seems to think you’re hot, right? Go back in there and wake her up the good way if you aren’t convinced,” I said as I stepped out the back door to start my run to the V Ball nets.

I can’t say I really gave the encounter much thought on the two mile run on the beach, beyond a simple ‘Glad I’m not a teenager any more.’

Thankfully, I got to the board in time to sign up for one of the six o’clock spots. As unexpected as it might be, the first couple of hours of the day were the best as far as the competition went. The really dedicated players knew that only the similarly committed would bother to get there that early in the day, and it gave them a chance to get a few good games in before work. The regular crowd at that time was pretty hard-core, too. On any given day there were likely to be several ex Olympians or current beach volleyball pros in among the competitive amateurs.

Since beach volleyball wasn’t my specialty, my game tended to be a touch lower than some, but still much better than most. There weren’t any regulars that I’d played that could blow me completely off the court, but a few of them would beat me more often than not. Of course, beach V Ball is played by two-person teams and it was random draw who your teammate for any given match would be. This generally had the effect of evening up the competition, but sometimes two powerhouses would get paired together and absolutely smash everybody. I always signed my name on the men’s list, since I needed the tougher games to keep myself sharp.

That morning, my teammate was a new guy, one I hadn’t seen before. I heard him grumble a bit when he saw that he was going to get paired with the only woman playing on the men’s side, but one of the other guys told him to shut it until after I showed him how the game is played.

The guy was tall, maybe two inches taller than me, and tanned from plenty of time on the beach. He looked plenty fit, too, so I figured he was some sort of star wherever it was he came from, with the attitude to go with it. I introduced myself and I could see him evaluating me as a teammate.

“You play much?” he asked.

“Some,” I said. “You?”

“A bit,” he said, playing the same game.

After we completely demolished our opponents in our first match, he had a bit of a different attitude.

“Well,” I said as we took our ten minute break. “You did pretty well for only just playing a little bit.”

“You know, if you played more than just ‘some’, you could do pretty well at this,” he replied, waving at the nets. “Hey, sorry for getting off on the wrong foot,” he said.

“No worries,” I replied. “I’m just here to play, and as far as I’m concerned that’s all that matters.”

“I’d heard the competition here was top notch,” the guy said. “I’m out here for the Manhattan Beach. My partner is still back in Miami.”

“What do you think so far?” I asked, curious how the Florida scene compared.

“The South Beach has some pretty good players,” he said. “A few pros, you know? But the average level is better here, that’s for sure.”

“Well, get ready with your A game,” I told him. “Our next round is against a couple of regulars on the pro circuit.”

“You’ve played ‘em?” he asked, curious.

“Yeah, a few times.”

“And?” the guy asked, wanting more info.

“Well, if we play as well as we did last game, we can beat ‘em. I mean, they’re good, but not invincible,” I said.

“It’d be awesome to beat a couple of real pros. Hey, what was your name again?”

“Leah Farmer. Yours?”

“Mark Marquez,” he answered. “Hey, your name sounds familiar. You play in the AVP tournament in South Beach last fall?”

“Nah, I’m not a pro. In fact, beach really isn’t my thing,” I explained. “I play collegiate indoors. I’m just here on vacation, playing here to keep in form.”

“Well, it’s freaking working,” Mark said. “You have excellent form,” he added, eying me up and down. It didn't feel sexual, more like he was appreciating the athleticism of my body more than anything.

“Thanks,” I said. “Hey, we’re up.”

We actually really played well in that match-up, and for whatever reason our two opponents were just off enough that we cleaned their clocks. It wasn’t easy, but Mark and I played as if we had been teammates for years, not just an hour and a half.

After receiving our congratulatory handshakes, I told Mark it was great playing with him but I needed to head back to my place.

“Um, any chance of maybe having lunch?” he asked, suddenly a bit shy.

“Maybe,” I said. “I’ll ask my wife when I get back to the house to see if she has any other plans.”

“Wife?” Mark asked. “So I guess asking you out on a date is a no go?” he said, laughing.

Emmy was awake when I got back to the house, but still lounging in bed. “How was it this morning?” she asked as I entered.

“It was good,” I said. “Hey, I’m going to jump in the shower. Care to join me?”

“I would, but only if you promise to be gentle,” Emmy said, sitting up. “I am feeling a little bit sore from where some beast mauled me last night.”

“Hmm… I wonder how that could have happened?” I said as I stripped off.

As Emmy requested, I was very gentle as I made sure every inch of her body was soaped up and rinsed off.

Emmy took her turn washing me, and she spent a fair bit more time making sure that I was quite satisfied with the job she did in all those difficult to reach nooks and crannies. It took a while, but finally we were both completely and totally clean and also in a very, very good mood.