Getting Rosie Laid by Bill Tope

Getting Rosie Laid by Bill Tope

Rosie, my girlfriend Cathy’s younger sister, had over the past year been spending most of her weekends with us at our apartment near the college. Nearly a month ago, however, she had moved in with us. So far, the arrangement has worked out well. After some debauchery during the previous year, an epiphany on my part prodded me to reduce the amount of partying, drinking, and using illegal drugs that I, and consequently, Rosie, indulged in. No more LSD, no more alcohol other than an occasional beer, and I even tapered off on the pot. Rosie, though, still used weed, but only on the weekends. What could I say? She bought her own pot.

Meanwhile, Cathy, the once-dedicated, studious student, was in her final semester of college and beginning to unwind a little. She went out regularly, partying with her old friends, mostly people she knew from before we met. I did the same thing, though on a markedly lesser scale. My girlfriend seemed to be developing a hedonistic side. Like I remarked once before, Rosie and I were close; we were buds, and I loved her like the little sister I never had. So it was with some misgivings that I received news from Cathy regarding Rosie’s latest obsession.

“Rosie wants to get laid,” she announced one day, without preamble. I blinked in surprise.

“And you,” I said, “know this how?”

“She told me,” replied my girlfriend.

“Rosie’s only seventeen,” I pointed out.

“She’ll be eighteen in March,” she replied. Two months. Wow, where did the time go?

“So she’s (nearly) eighteen and wants to have sex for the first time?” I asked, feigning outrage. “Isn’t that kind of young?”

“No younger than I was,” said Cathy, ignoring my outrage. “You were probably younger than her too.”

My head was spinning. I was thinking, “Yeah, but look what happened to us.”

“And so what do you expect me to do about it?” I asked next.

“Take care of it,” she said. “Fix it up.”

“How? Just look up Pimps R Us in the phone book? Hasn’t she had any boyfriends?”

Cathy shook her head. “They’re as stupid as she is.” Rosie attended a strict Catholic high school. “She needs an older man. Now, she went on conversationally, “Who do we know…?” She stared blankly at me.

“Me?” I was aghast. It was like incest.

She rolled her eyes. “No, not you, one of your friends. Line someone up.” She made it sound so simple. but it wasn’t. Most of the men I knew were cretins—not the sort of paramour I’d choose to “date” my little sister. How could Cathy be so indiscriminate? I wondered. So cold and unfeeling?

“It’s against the law,” I pointed out, citing the penalties for statutory rape. She waved away this objection.

“She’s perfectly legal,” she insisted.

“I don’t know; I don’t feel right about this. What if I can’t find anybody?” I asked.

“She’s cute, sexy, and seventeen,” she said. “There is no downside for any young stud.”

“Young stud?” I repeated aloud. “She’s a virgin; she’ll be getting in over her head!”

Cathy turned away. “Just find someone,” she muttered dismissively.

“I just thought of something else,” I said. “Birth control!” Cathy had become a mother at the age of fifteen.

“We took care of that weeks ago,” asserted Rosie’s sister. “By the time you find the donor, it’ll be copasetic.” And so that was that.

I didn’t spend a lot of time searching for a lover for my young friend. I was still working twelve hours a day, six days a week, at a restaurant in town, plus searching for a more profitable job. I had only taken this job to help Cathy through college, because it was immediately available. I had a degree myself, but it wasn’t in culinary arts. And my mother was ill. Frankly, I had a lot on my mind. I was happily surprised one day when one of my old buddies happened into the diner. A man my own age–27– Jan was once a local Lothario who had moved away several years ago. He was back, just visiting a few old friends. His mantra had always been “Sex, Drugs, and Rock & Roll,” as was true of many of us.

Jan had met Cathy once before and asked me if it would be alright if he slept with my girlfriend. I replied very honestly that such an eventuality might crimp our friendship, and he took the hint. Cathy, meanwhile, had been pressuring me—as had Rosie—to find the girl a Romeo of her own. So, reluctantly, I asked how Jan’s sex life was.

“I’m still married,” he said.

“Meaning?” I asked.

“It sucks,” he answered. “I’m thinking about getting a divorce, but I haven’t decided yet.” I performed a little mental math and calculated that Sharon was wife number five, if you didn’t count the two quick annulments. And who counts annulments? Luckily, he was never directed to pay alimony, mostly because he hadn’t had a steady job in his lifetime.

“Why do you ask?” he wanted to know.

I went on to tell Jan the story of Cathy’s errant sister.

“You’re still with that Cathy chick?” he inquired. I admitted that I was. “So Rosie is hot to trot, huh?” I nodded slowly, wondering if I should just drop the whole thing. “Is she a dog?” he went on. I shook my head no. “Is she as cute as Cathy?”

“Cuter,” I said. And this was true—an endless bone of contention between the sisters.

“Okay,” said Jan with no apparent reservations, “I’ll do it.”

That night we had a guest for dinner. Inasmuch as it was a Saturday and I had to work till six p.m. Cathy did the cooking, preparing the only meal of which she was capable: rock Cornish hens with all the trimmings. She usually did a pretty good job with it, too, in my professional opinion. As Jan walked through the door, I introduced him to Rosie and reintroduced him to Cathy. He and Cathy looked at one another rather lasciviously, but I tried to ignore that. And as for Rosie, she was immediately smitten.

Said Rosie: “So you’re Bill’s friend, huh?”

Looking her in the eye, he replied, “So far. But the evening is still young.”

She blushed, gushed, and blushed again. Next, we did what people did back in the day: we drank some beer and got high. Meanwhile, Jan and Rosie were figuratively feeling each other out. They discussed music, concerts they’d seen, and Rosie’s previous boyfriends. Interestingly, Jan never whispered a word about his five wives. Most likely, it would have ruined the mood—sabotaged his mission.. I excused myself to the bathroom, and by the time I got back into the living room, Jan had stripped to the waist and the girls were brushing his waist-length blond locks. They were oohing and ahhing over his damn hair, and I felt a little disconcerted. It got to the point where I thought Cathy had in mind a threesome—Rosie, Jan, and herself. I suppose she would just send me to the store for more beer or maybe suggest that I watch. At length, however, some messaging was effected, and Jan went to the bathroom, presumably to suit up, and Rosie journeyed to Cathy’s and my bedroom, where the two lovebirds reconnoitered. (We had a king-sjzed waterbed).

By the time I learned what was happening, Cathy approached me, giddy, and said, “They’re doing it!  He’s banging her!” I received this news with perhaps less excitement than she did. I was still concerned for the girl. As Cathy and I set the table, we heard a blood-curdling scream from the bedroom. We looked at each other. Suddenly, Cathy roared with laughter; Her laughter was an ugly sound. I, on the other hand, saw nothing to snicker at. I had told Jan to be patient and understanding and to take things slow; this was the girl’s first time. He said he understood. But clearly, he did not understand. Now silence prevailed, until it didn’t. Another heartbreaking scream of pain rang out across the apartment. No additional vocalizations emanated from the boudoir. I wondered what was happening; this was maddening. Cathy, meanwhile, continued to cackle with mirth.

Later, Rosie emerged from the bedroom draped in Cathy’s robe, her cheeks a vivid red. She plunked down on the sofa. Jan stalked out a few moments later, unaccountably angry. He said he felt like he’d been deceived, though I reminded him that I’d told him that Rosie had been a virgin. He said he didn’t know I was serious about that, and suddenly Rosie spoke up: “I’m right here, guys.” Jan cast a disdainful look her way; it was as if she had somehow failed him.

“Time for supper,” sang out Cathy, reentering the living room from the kitchen.

“I’ve already eaten,” said Jan, and he smirked. Rosie got even redder. “In fact, I had cherries jubilee for dessert. I’ll see you guys,” he said, grabbing his coat and heading for the door. He gave Rosie a perfunctory kiss as he left, leaving her full of recriminations, guilt, and embarrassment.

I looked sadly at the seventeen-year-old and said, “I’m sorry, Rosie.” She shrugged.

“I’m going to bed,” she murmured, and set off for her own bedroom.

Cathy watched her walk off and snarled, “That’s the thanks we get for all we’ve done for her!”

“What’d you expect?” I asked, “Rainbows and sunshine?” She ignored me.

“I wonder,” remarked Cathy thoughtfully, “if he’s a natural blond?”

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Bill Tope 2024

Editor’s Note: Read the previous adventure among the characters of this story at “Taking Rosie Home” by Bill Tope (click here).