He takes a breather.

Or else what?

That it unscrupulously meant Mrs. Gomez was chummy enough to show off her hosanna decreeing rear to her friend's teenaged son right before her eyes?

And this was a dilemma?

On his pants, a crease smoothed out of the way of his heartily rising tent.

Of course the thought sent giggle tingles. It was far from off-putting. No, in fact, it was on-turning. Blood vaporizing. Skin reddeningly gratifying!

And that was why there was absolutely no way this was happening, like, for real. Not in the cold hard permutations of his practical, average joe life.

Certainly not with the concrete, chilly shower of reality reminding everyone that even considering the impossible, the fantastical, the illogical as within the realm of possibility indicated you were either psycho-chemically influenced, dreaming, or really, really sleep deprived.

Or, you know. All three.

Gulping down a sizable lump of oral secretion, Carl blinked back into the room.

"UH." Stammer, stammer.

He looked up. Both indelibly poster-ready ladies stared back.

"...excuse me." Swallowing his erection, (though not literally), Carl shook his legs out of their stupor and carried himself out of the kitchen, out of sight of the two puzzled women.

Beatrice and Nicole exchanged looks.

Smack!

"Was it something I said?" Mrs. Gomez unlatched her fingers from her spandex pants, allowing them to spring back over her flesh like a rubbery point man. With a hand, Mrs. Robinson assuredly waved it off.

"You know how Carl can be." She grabbed the chlorine bottle and made for the front door. "He's probably just trying to hide before we get him to make himself useful around here."

"Or maybe he prefers his mama's behind over mine." Behind a subtle laugh, Nicole stood up to get a glass of water from the tap.

Beatrice only looked back and tamely wiggled said behind of hers before relaxing into a small chuckle at Nicole's eye roll and exiting the house.

Splash!

"Pull yourself togerglhber, Vrawer."

Cascades of water curtained away. From behind emerged Carl's still reeling face, pointed to the mirror, as he sighed.

"Pull yourself together."

Twisting the faucet knob off, he adjusted his collar with one scruff of the finger, which naturally transitioned into a miniature grooming session. The hair-swiper was making an attempt at a dignified nod to his frumpy shirt in the reflection when suddenly, the knob of the door jangled.

"Out in a moment!" Carl quickly wiped his hands on a provided towel, grimacing at the pink smiley faces dotting the fabric. "Hailey!" He flicked back after opening the door. A whiff of perfume applied in just the right corners took refuge in each nostril as before him the sunny blonde stood, shadowed slightly against the passage lights, and adorned in the same garb as when he last left her -- minus the hat.

"Hey," the teen finally managed to mime as greeting.

"Carl!" Hailey smiled. "Back, I see."

"Y-yeah." A nervous chuckle imparted from his lips, suddenly folding back into his meandering brain.

Oh boy, he thought, eyes soaking in the taut woman's sundressed figure, and appreciating what he could confirm was indeed a graciously thigh-showing bottom section. Had it really been that short before?

It must have. Right?

He unsuccessfully tried to clear his throat, the brunt of his words bubbling up to the crown of his addled cranium instead.

Whatever it was, he rumbled, internally, thankfully, she sure is looking hot today.