Mona and Me Ch. 01

Asian

I intend to write several chapters of this story. The incest will appear in the later installments, so please don’t leave a comment telling me that I have placed this story in the wrong category.

*****

On a mid-summer day in Florida, the humidity is oppressive. The heat can be in the mid to upper 90’s but actually it’s the humidity that makes it so damned uncomfortable. There are only two things you can do on those days; you can either stay inside in the air conditioning or you can get in a pool. I had been in my house for three days getting over a summer cold and I needed to get out, so I chose to go to the pool.

I live in an apartment complex near Jacksonville and every reputable complex in the area has at least one pool. Complexes that have more than one pool often will designate one pool for adults only and another pool for families. My complex only has one pool but there aren’t many kids living in the complex. There are a few teens but they usually don’t get too rowdy during the day. Besides, I can handle kids as long as they’re not crying babies.

It was a Thursday afternoon about 2:00 pm and I expected that I might have the pool to myself since most responsible adults would be at work. I pulled on a pair of swim trunks, fixed myself a frozen margarita, and headed down to the pool.

As I rounded the complex office and approached the pool, it appeared that my expectation was correct. There was not a soul in sight. “Ahhh!” I thought to myself, “I’ll have some peace and quiet.”

Don’t misunderstand me; I’m not 89 years old and looking for a rocking chair to sit in whilst bird watching and preparing to die. I’m a 38 years old, single (divorced, actually) male and I’m looking for fun when it’s time to party, but I still wasn’t feeling 100% after battling the summer cold. I was feeling a bit tired and even a little stiff in the joints.

I spread my towel on a chaise lounge and settled back to enjoy an afternoon of baking and dipping. I enjoyed the margarita and it caught up with me sooner than I expected, probably potentiated by all the cold medicine I had been taking. I fell asleep and dozed quite comfortably for a few minutes before I was awakened by the sound of a splash.

I looked at the pool and could see that someone was swimming a lap below the surface. I quickly concluded that it was most likely someone I didn’t know, for two reasons. First, I really didn’t know very many people who lived in the complex, and second, my friends would all be at work at this time of day. When the swimmer’s head popped into view, I confirmed that it was no one I had ever met.

The swimmer was a young girl – I would guess 14 or 15 years old – who had a very cute face. She had a clear but tanned complexion, a somewhat long and narrow face, and platinum blonde hair. She was looking right at me.

“Hi,” she said, sounding a bit sheepish. “Hope I didn’t wake you when I jumped in.”

“Well, actually, you did . . . but I’m glad you did. Falling asleep in the sun can lead to a pretty nasty sunburn. You may have just saved my life!” I was obviously “hamming it up” just a bit with this little cutie.

“Does that mean you’ll be my slave for the rest of your life?” she asked.

“I suspect that your mother and father would have some big problems with me hanging out with you all the time, so the slave thing probably isn’t going to happen, but . . . I would be willing to buy you a cold drink from the machine in the club house.”

“I only have a mom to worry about but you’re right, she’d probably shit a brick if I brought a slave home, so I guess I’ll settle for a cold drink. My name’s Macy but my friends just call me Mace.”

“Well, my name is Jack and I’m as Southern as an ole Southern boy can be, so I’ll just call you Miss Macy, if you don’t mind,” I said.

“No, sir, I don’t mind at all, Mr. Jack,” she responded. “I wouldn’t mind getting that drink now . . . if you were serious about the offer.”

“Serious as a heart attack, Miss Macy,” I insisted. “A gentleman never breaks a promise to a lady.”

Miss Macy walked to the pool steps and starting coming up from the floor of the pool. As her body came into view, I could instantly tell that she was a little teen dream. Her legs looked like she swam laps every day and her yellow bikini revealed that her torso didn’t have even an ounce of fat. Her breasts were not large; in fact, she probably wasn’t bigger than a 32B, but she was only 15 years old (as I later learned) and they were perfectly proportioned to her lithe and nubile body.

Miss Macy accompanied me to the vending machines and I purchased a diet cola for her. When I turned to go back to my lounge, she followed me and sat in the lounge next to me.

“What kind of work do you do?” Macy asked.

“I’m an attorney. I have an office in Jacksonville. How about you? Are you . . . what, maybe a . . . secretary or a . . . nurse . . . no, you look more like a model,” I said.

She giggled briefly. “I couldn’t be a model. I’m too young bayan arkadaş and, besides,” she paused and looked down at her chest, “I don’t have a model’s body. You know, I’m just in school!” she corrected me.

“Why, I had no idea, I thought maybe you were 19 or 20 years old,” I pretended to defend myself.

“No, I’m just 15, and, hopefully, part of me is still growing,” she said with hope. “Maybe I will be a model one day.”

“Hey, don’t put yourself down. You’re a cute girl and you could be a model right now. If I was a 15 year old boy, I’d want you to be my girlfriend,” I told her, immediately realizing that perhaps I shouldn’t have made that last remark.

“Are you married?” she asked.

“Hey, I said if I was a 15 years old boy . . . but I’m not. You’re a little too young for me but I’m very flattered that you asked, Miss Macy,” I said.

“No, silly, I’m not asking for me . . . you’re an old man,” she laughed, letting me know that she was just teasing me. “No, my mom is single and she hasn’t had a date in like forever. Do you want to go out with my mom?”

Obviously, Miss Macy didn’t lack confidence or assertiveness. “Well, honey, you know you shouldn’t try to set your mom up with dates unless she asks you to do that. She might not want to date, or she might think I’m a dork, or maybe I remind her of her grandfather, or . . . you know, that’s her decision to make,” I explained.

“She’s real pretty,” Miss Macy responded. “She’s an eighth grade English teacher and she just doesn’t meet many guys over the age of 14 and, you know, 14 year old boys are all such big jerks. So, how about if you meet her and then you could ask her out?” Macy seemed really eager to have me meet her mom.

“Well, I’ll tell you what. The day after tomorrow is Saturday and I’m going to be down here at the pool then around 11 o’clock. If you want me to meet your mom, you can bring her to the pool, but I’m not promising anything. For all I know, she might look just like the first girl who broke my heart,” I warned her. “That wouldn’t be good. My heart’s still mending,” I feigned resignation to a moribund attitude. “But, if she’s as cute as you . . ..”

“Okay, I’ll see you Saturday,” Macy said, “and you’ll see . . . she’s beautiful.” Macy stood and walked away while I watched her. She wasn’t wearing a thong but her bikini revealed enough to make me wish that I was 15 years old again.

* * *

By Saturday morning, I felt much better than I had during the week. I remembered my promise to little Miss Macy. I am always a bit nervous about getting “set up” with a girl; it usually means that she looks somewhat less than divine. However, it was hard to imagine a butt-ugly woman giving birth to the little teen goddess who I had met Thursday afternoon.

I got down to the pool about 10:50 am and I saw Macy sitting on the edge of a chaise. She was talking to a woman who probably weighed at least 300 pounds and, even if she lost those 180 pounds of ugly fat, she wouldn’t be much to look at.

I walked over to Macy and said hello.

“Hey, Jack. Are you feeling better?” she asked.

“Much better,” I answered. “Is this your mom?”

“No, this is one of our neighbors, Cindy. Mom’s not down here yet. She said she’d come down by 11 o’clock. I just told her that I had something I needed to show her, so don’t act like this was all set up in advance, okay?” she asked.

“Okay, but I won’t tell your mom any lies, either. That’s not cool at any point in any relationship,” I counseled her.

“Oh, you score major points for that,” Cindy added with a chuckle. “I wish I had a dollar for every lie a guy ever told me!”

“Golden Rule, Cindy. You’ve always got to treat people the way you want to be treated,” I said. “I learned about the Golden Rule when I was a child but I really learned about it the first time I got into a serious relationship. So, Macy, where’s your mom?”

“She just texted and said she’d be here in like one minute,” Macy explained somewhat plaintively. A few seconds later, she said, “There she is!”

I turned to look and saw an older version of Macy approaching. This woman didn’t look like a goddess . . . because when you call a woman a goddess, that means she looks like she’s probably not approachable. This woman looked approachable but she was also very pretty . . . very, very pretty.

Like her daughter, she had the same platinum blonde hair and blue eyes, and the same slightly long, thin face. She definitely had some Nordic heritage. Her breasts didn’t appear to be very large – probably a 34B – but, like her daughter, they looked very proportionate to her body. She appeared to be well-toned without looking athletic and she certainly did not look muscular. She walked with confidence and poise and I could understand some men looking at her and being afraid to approach. You know, some guys just don’t like confident women.

She walked up to us and looked at Macy. “Macy, is this gentleman what you wanted to ‘show’ bayan partner me?” she said. She sounded somewhat irritated. She turned to me and said, “If you want to meet me, you should approach me directly instead of using my daughter. What kind of loser are you?” she said in a louder voice. She immediately turned and started walking away.

Macy ran after her mother and stopped her. “Mom, you’ve got it all wrong. He didn’t ask me to introduce him to you. I begged him to please meet you . . . ’cause he seems like a nice guy and I thought . . . well, I guess it doesn’t matter now, ’cause you called him a big loser . . . and he’s not.”

Macy’s mom stood there and didn’t say anything for about 15 seconds. Then she turned and walked back over to me.

“Apparently, I owe you a tremendous apology,” she said. “I had the wrong idea about what my daughter was up to and I get kind of flustered about this sort of stuff and . . . I don’t know what gets into her head sometimes,” she said, then she offered her hand to me. “Hi, I’m Mona.”

“I’m Jack. I met Miss Macy by the pool a few days ago. She interrogated me rather well before she asked me to meet you; I think she was concerned about trying to set you up with a loser. She may be awkward in doing this but it’s obvious that she really loves you and she’s concerned about you being alone, and . . . her heart’s in the right place, which says you’ve done a good job with her.”

“Thank you. That’s kind of you to say that,” she said.

“It’s not kind; it’s just the truth. Miss Macy told me it had been at least 100 years since you had a date because you teach school and don’t meet many guys. Of course, I didn’t believe any of that when she told me and, now that I’ve met you, I really don’t believe it. . . . I mean, I believe that you teach school, but . . . a lady as pretty as you must have a lot of offers from guys.”

“Well, yes, I occasionally have an offer, but either he’s married, or he’s only interested in one thing, or . . . occasionally I have an offer from a 14 year old boy who has a crush on me, but . . . decent guys aren’t easy to find. You know . . . I would say that I ought to kill Macy for saying I haven’t had a date in 100 years, but . . . somebody would report me to the child abuse registry an I’d lose my teaching job, so . . . let’s just say that she’s going to receive some discipline for this,” Mona explained.

“I’m not sure whether I should take that as an insult, you know, punishing your daughter for introducing me to you,” I offered in jest.

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it in that way,” she said. “I just meant . . ..” She was flustered again, so I had her where I wanted her. In my experience, when ladies are flustered or “off balance,” they are less defensive than normal.

“I know what you meant,” I interrupted her. “I’ll make a deal with you. Let me take you out to dinner tonight . . . that is, of course, if you don’t already have plans, and . . . if you don’t have a good time, you can do whatever you think is appropriate to Miss Macy, but . . . if you have a good time, instead of disciplining her, you could maybe thank her or just, you know, have a talk with her. She really does seem to be a good kid.”

“Well, you’re giving me all kinds of flattery and, then, you’re kind of sure of yourself, too, aren’t you?” Mona asked rhetorically. “I don’t think I have much of a chance against those weapons.”

“Well, I just don’t want to see Miss Macy get disciplined for introducing me to her lovely mother because, if I had seen you, I would have wanted to meet you anyway. And I would have approached you directly, so . . . how about it?”

“Well, it has been a hundred years since I went out on a date, so why not?” she asked.

“Try to restrain your enthusiasm. Just in case you’re wondering . . . I am a gentleman . . . I’m a man, but I’m not an animal and I’m not ‘all hands.’ We’ll have a good time, I’m sure,” I promised.

“Since you’re a gentleman, you probably expect to pick me up at my place, so . . . I’m in apartment 507. Tonight at 7 o’clock?” Mona asked.

“I’ll be there,” I confirmed. “If it’s okay with you, we’ll go to that New Orleans restaurant on Southside Boulevard in Jacksonville. It’s casual attire but great food.”

“See you at 7,” she replied, then turned and went back wherever she came from. Apartment 507, I guess.

* * *

Teachers are almost always anxious to have a roll in the hay. I’ve dated a few and never had a problem getting them naked between the sheets. And . . . most of them have no problem with kinky stuff their first time doing the horizontal mambo with me. Most of them are politically liberal and they would rather die than be thought of as ‘normal,’ so they’re quite anxious to prove that they don’t follow social conventions and traditional mores. They can be tremendous fun for even a few dates but, eventually, there is a ‘teacher’ brand of craziness which starts to infiltrate the relationship . . . and then it’s time to call it bdsm escort quits.

A few years ago, I dated this first-grade teacher and, after we had been dating for a few months, we had an argument about something. It wasn’t a big argument but she wasn’t having her way with me and she couldn’t handle the frustration of not being in charge, so she turned to me and said, “We need five minutes of silence . . . beginning now!” She didn’t have a smile on her face when she made that statement; neither did I. Guess what? That was our last date.

However, I had the impression that Mona was not that kind of girl. I actually thought that she had some potential as a long term relationship and that inspired me to take a different approach. If we didn’t have sex on the first date . . . well, think about it. If a girl will hop in bed with me on the first date, it means that either I am the king stud of all time, or . . . she hops into bed with everybody on the first date. Now, I’m not a dud, but I don’t think I’m a king stud, so . . . if I just need to get laid, an easy night between the sheets is okay, but, if I’m looking for something with some long-term potential, maybe I shouldn’t choose a girl who’s that easy.

Anyway, I got all “dolled up” for my date Saturday night: I took a shower and everything, wore clean clothes, the whole nine yards. Actually, I have good sense about dressing for dates, not too formal, not too casual.

I drove around to her apartment about 6:55 but waited until 7:00 pm sharp to knock on the door. Miss Macy answered the door.

“Hey, Jack. Mom’s still getting ready. Come one in,” she invited me as she stepped aside.

I entered the apartment and looked around quickly. I didn’t want anyone to think I was prying too much, but I was looking for clues about what kind of person is Miss Mona.

“Mom’s been getting ready for two hours already,” Macy complained. “I think she’s kind of excited about having a date tonight.

“You know, that’s not really the kind of things you should be telling a gentleman calling on your mom,” I warned her, “because it would make some people think that your mom’s kid of desperate, which I don’t believe, but some people might think it.”

“Oh,” she said. “Where you guys going tonight?”

“Dinner,” I replied.

“Duh, I kind of figured you were going to dinner. Where you going?”

“Well, Miss Macy, if your mom wants you to know where she’s going, I’m sure she’ll tell you. For all I know, she wants to keep it a secret ’cause she’s afraid you’ll try to come and snoop on us,” I said with a grin. “You wouldn’t try to do that, would you?”

“Absolutely never,” Miss Macy facetiously assured me.

About that time, Miss Mona emerged from what I assumed was her bedroom. She was a vision of loveliness. The word “smitten” aptly describes the way I felt when I saw her, and that made me feel like I was in junior high school again. I could easily understand her male students having a crush on her.

She was wearing a form-fitting red dress that was around knee length. The neckline didn’t plunge too low but it was at least suggestive. It had buttons up the front but apparently they were decorative as I noticed a zipper in the back when she turned around. The dress fit like it had been made especially for Mona.

“I’m sure the Idiot’s First Book Of Dating says you should never tell a girl how gorgeous she is on your first date, but . . . I rarely follow the book. You look absolutely . . . stunning!” I confessed.

“Well, I’ll confess to something I probably shouldn’t say, but . . . flattery always scores points with me.”

“Mom, I need to know where you guys are going,” Macy interjected.

Mona pulled her cell phone out of her purse. “You know the number for this cell phone, right? Well, I’m going to be within hearing distance of my cell phone, that’s where I am going to be.”

“That’s no fun!” Macy said.

“Why do you need to know where we’re going to be?” Mona asked.

“Well, what if something happens?” Macy quickly replied.

“If something happens . . . which it better not . . . call me,” Mona said with a sound of finality to that conversation.

“Okay,” Macy said after a pause. “You guys have fun.”

Mona and I walked down to the parking lot and I opened her car door for her. “Aren’t you quite the gentleman?” she commented.

“I do no less than what a proper Southern man should do,” I replied without bragging. I know that treating a lady right gets her attention. “Didn’t the guy open the car door for you on your last date 100 years ago,” I teased her, “or had cars even been invented then?”

We both laughed. I asked a few questions about her job and Mona started telling me about how difficult it is to teach English to kids who think text lingo is standard English. I could tell that she was dedicated to her profession and I like that in a woman.

We arrived at the restaurant and were seated fairly quickly. I offered Mona a drink and it looked like she wanted to say ‘yes’ but she hesitated.

“Mona, I’m not going to drink because I’m driving. I’m going to do the responsible thing and protect you, protect me, and protect everybody else on the roads. I’m too grown up to let myself be irresponsible. But you can have a drink if you want.”

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