Carl's physique gets an upgrade.

"So." Just moments later, the two were walking down the hallway to the garage, where she and Ida were apparently setting up beverage preparations. Hailey swished her face to the side. "You were trying to fix the TV in the basement? That old dusty one?"

Carl froze. "Uh-heh. How'd you know?"

Ah, the nervous chuckle. One skill he learned to master at a young age, at least.

"Your mom, duh," Hailey gave him a soft elbow to the ribs, and frowned playfully, lending another hasty jab. "You've gotten a little skinnier, Carl. Don't tell me you're skimping on your meals now!"

Speaking of Moms.

Still, it was a fair sentiment. The boy's metabolism always seemed to increase during periods of stress and, as far as he was concerned, that was all the time in virgin-time.

Believe me, Carl scoffed to himself, familiarly, I wish I was, like, naturally buff and burly enough to make any woman turn thirsty and flirty, just at the sight of me, wanting to dive into my arms and smell and touch and rub against all of Carl Robinson, oh yeah, the same way I'd like to in between their legs, sigh, and of course, it would take them pretty much rubbing their ass against my face for me get the hint. Just like that one time, with Ella, in biology. Oh, Ella.

A weird tingle in the air broke Carl's train of thought, causing him to perk his ears up. Then, wrinkled brow assuaged, "That the doorbell?" He looked to Hailey, who also had her head tilted upward.

"Yeah," affirmed the blonde. "I think your mom's getting it. Or Nicole."

Ah. That's what it was.

Yeah.

Of course it was.

Carl didn't know what he was thinking exactly, but ever since he came home he couldn't shake the feeling that something was going on. Something that only everyone else knew, or something. Crazy, he knew. But being so sensitive to something like the local doorbell system wasn't helping. It's not like it could have been anything weirder than that or anything, right? He was just a bit jumpy. That's what happened during seasonal changes. A bit of electricity in the air, giving bloody noses, changing up digestive patterns; all natural symptoms of the environment. Aunt Ida always said so.

All natural.

Yes. All explainable, fathomable, worldly phenomena.

Everything as tame and same as before.

Then, swiftly, in one smooth motion, before he could react, a tender pressure was cast upon the side of his arm. His eyes darted sideward to see it was Hailey's hand, flatly wiping against his sleeve.

"What are ya--"

"Shut it," assured Hailey as she took the chance to slap him in the chest with her spare hand. Quite harshly, might he add. "You got something on your sleeve here, dude."

One lip burrowed into cheek. Well, not going to stop her from that.

As insinuated, Hailey continued to brush off whatever she'd seen on the length of his arm off. One couldn't help but notice how said limb dwarfed her delicate hand like the shadow of the Eiffel. Of course, no one was there to see. No one but the two of them, that was.

Carl glanced over to add something, saw her concentrated expression, then shelved it. Why it took three to four strokes over the same area to clean off, and why she seemed to be banging her knees together below while clearing an apparently parched throat, he didn't really know, but whatever, he didn't question it. Maybe it was a tangle of hair or something.

"There you go, big guy," finally, the woman was done. She offered another slightly extended set of raps against the upper side of his arm. "Your personal groomer, at your service."

A subtly silly-looking grin seemed to pry through her cheeks -- one Carl couldn't quite pinpoint. It was almost... satisfaction?

Dispelling any suspect thought, Carl rolled his eyes.

"Ha-ha," he gamed as they reached the door to the garage. "You offering?"

"I don't know." She dug a toe into the carpet with a tilt of her head. "Are you paying?"

Shrug. "How much do you charge for your services?"

"Just a little company would do. Every Friday you could put on a speedo and dance to the club music I put on. What do you think?" Hailey's eyes twinkled with, of course, her innocent, angelic humor.

Carl laughed obliviously. "Now that's a deal." Twisting the knob, he found himself looking at Hailey's legs again. Those sculpted, smooth, fit stalks, just casually planted on the ground below. And only a foot or so away.

Instantly, his straining dick unfurled against his pants.

Shit her legs are so hot. Gulp. And that dress is just so dang short for her usual wardrobe! What was she thinking putting that on when she came out today?

Carl shook his head, emotions disparate. What a day has this been. What kind of day ever was like this one? That episode at the market; then at the dining room, with Mrs. Gomez and his mother. That showcase of ass. That grope, of the female stranger, who was apparently a lawyer, or something.

For as much as he knew, those were all figments of his imagination. Couldn't have been real. If they were... if they were, what would it mean?

His rock clunkered slightly in his pocket as Hailey's own giggle broke through his thoughts. A lot of that recently.

"You know, I could still remember the days you asked me to spin you around. Constantly. Non-stop." Hailey gave the young, intensely muscular man a cross between a pout and an affectionate smile. "You were so small and cute. Little 'ol you," she went up to pinch his cheek, only for Carl to flinch away to safety, in jest. "The Carl I knew has grown up so much now, you know." Her wholesome eyes bored into his. Suddenly, he almost felt a little guilt from leering at her. "So so much."

I know, thought Carl as they entered the garage. After all, he was so ripped that some of his clothes got custom tailoring from his mother. It was something that, to the chagrin of the scientifically inclined everywhere, came natural to him, and he didn't have a clue why. He rarely worked out himself.

Too bad it doesn't really feel like it, he ruminated as he and Hailey met with Ida at the table just across from the entrance in time to find her secretly stashing a bottle of wine into the ice box. "Wha--hey, Aunt Ida!"

So much for staying dry.