Then she'd drag Jake off to her wing of the house and I'd go looking for Jess, who for her part turned cranky and imperious, declaring that the political situation in Baluchistan was giving HER a headache and that she really could NOT deal with having to listen to twaddle about "Cruella," her pet name for Mother.

So I did what any red-blooded, not to mention enormously wealthy, 14 year old boy worth his salt would do. I went to my room and whacked off - usually no more than three or four times although I think once I got up to seven or eight - thinking about that gorgeous man in the other wing the whole time.

Perhaps it was my sudden interest in couturier that scuttled Jake's chances with Mother. More likely it was the saleswoman at "Jus' Grecian Urns and Stuff," who commented - rather archly, I thought - that she was just "pleased as punch" that Mother had brought "BOTH her sons" to her little emporium. "And they're such a handsome pair. You must be very proud!"

A little TOO arch, perhaps. We left immediately, without the $1500 faux-distressed amphora Mother had had her eye on. She had the driver drop me at the front door and went directly - with Jake - to her private entrance. Half an hour later Jake was doing laps in the pool and Mother was announcing brightly (a little TOO brightly, I thought, but she really wasn't one to employ substances other than vodka, although who knows what she kept on her vanity?) that she was leaving IMMEDIATELY for Costa Rica where her dear, dear friend, Heiko Kohannokonnannen, the noted Suomic paleobotanist, was hosting the grand opening of his new luxury resort for the environmentally self-conscious.

Jen raised an eyebrow and glanced toward the pool, where Jake had just completed his 75th lap or thereabouts.

"And.?"

I gave her an evil glance - you really DO learn a thing or two living with a couple of strong-willed women like Jess and Mother - but La Reina just sailed on.

"And I should be back in two or three weeks, I'll let you know when I'm back in town."

With that, she was gone. I never quite figured out how she always seemed to simply dematerialize.

I cleared my throat.

"Uh."

Jess snorted.

"You realize, of course, than HE can stay here FOREVER and she'll never notice - especially if you keep him in our wing," she pointed out.

"It's hardly the first time," she added. "Baron Whosit lived in the Conservatory for the better part of a year when you were just a sprout and I daresay she'd've been happy to have him in the bedroom next to hers, just for spite. So long as she doesn't see them for meals, she really does NOT care."

I nodded.

"I think."

She gave me a side-long glance - the kind an eagle might give a particularly tasty looking mouse.

"I think you could stand to have a - what do they call it these days? Oh, yes, a personal trainer, that's it."

Suddenly JESS was talking brightly. I felt a bit like a gazelle at the riverbank, noticing the tigress on the other side.

"God knows you're at an age where it might come in, uh, handy. And you can bet yer ass you're not going to learn anything of that from ME."

She downed her Gibson and headed for the library.

* * *

I sat cross-legged at the end of the pool, waiting for Jake to finish his laps. For all his bulk he was as sleek and as graceful as a seal.

When he'd finished the hundredth he sort of glided up onto the decking, materializing next to me like some comic book Denizen of the Deep, an Aquaman, all golden instead of blue.

He shook the water from his golden man while I handed him the luxurious terry towel from the warming bin.

"Well," he began, "it looks like it's time for me to hit the road."

I shook my head.

"Only if you want," I pointed out, "and I really hope you DON'T want that. Mother is headed for Costa Rica for at least two weeks, which really means a month or more."

He stopped rubbing and stood there, looking directly at me, the white bulk of the towel wrapped the muscled column of his neck, his meaty hands gripping the ends, his impossibly thick forearms looking bigger than my legs. I felt vaguely dizzy. This time I didn't try to hide my erection.

"And, and." I stammered.

"And what, kiddo?"

I glanced down at my feet.

"I could really use a personal trainer. Aunt Jess says that you can stay in our wing and if you do, Mother's never likely to notice, much less care. So, free room and board - and I can give you part of my allowance, maybe $500 a week - in exchange for working out with me?"

He looked me up and down.

"What do you need a trainer for, kiddo? You're well put together for guy your age, which is what, 15?"

I blushed brightly - and then looked HIM in the eye.

"Well, 14, not 15, but you gotta be kidding! I'm a skinny runt!"

He cocked his head sideways and gave me a blinding smile.

"Well, yeah," he agreed. "You're a skinny runt but you're lean and wiry and strong looking. And about 135 lbs.?"

I laughed.

"I wish! I'm doing good if I can keep it at 125. I've yet to hit 130!"

(Keep in mind that at 14 I was already 5'8" tall - exactly the same height as Jake, who was 10 years older than I.)

"So why do you WANT a trainer?"

I blushed again.

"I, uh, well, I."

And then he did the most amazing thing. Right there by the pool, not three feet from me, he started posing! First one bicep, then the other, then both. Then he puffed out his chest and flexed his lats.

"Lemme guess," he said, putting his hands on his hips and flexing his quads.

"You wanna be big, right? Big like me?"

Only later was I aware that I'd cum in my pants. I licked my lips.

"Yeah," I answered. "Big. I wanna be big."

He put his fucking huge arm around my bony shoulders and gave me another killer smile.

"In that case, let's get to work." •