PB Teen

Beware Ladies of a Certain Player Named Howie Donovan

"Where are you going, dear?" Howie Donovan asked his maid demurely as she wrapped her bare shoulders in his dress shirt and headed for the bathroom. She turned and blew him a kiss, which he pretended to receive it and press it to his lips. "Mmm, thank you," he said, lying back on the bed, his body covered in numerous white sheets thrown about during their night together.

He placed his arms behind his head and recalled whether the experience fit his fantasies. He had wanted this particular girl from the day he set his eyes on her when she started working three weeks ago in his luxurious apartment building with it's stunning view of the ocean and the sexy tan lines of the girls on Midtown beach.

Ever since his parents moved from sunny Palm Beach to equally sunny California two year, he had had his own apartment, and that meant he practically had his own life. Sounds great, yes to every teen who lives under the same roof with their parents, but Howie was under the watchful eye of his mother's strict father.

A near dealbreaker, but he lived with it. But besides that, it was perfect because he had his own place to bring girls home to. Which was all that really mattered in the brain of this spoiled Casanova.

' Howie Donovan was the biggest man whore in his class and he knew it and accepted it with whatever perks it carried. Three years ago in freshman year he had gotten really drunk for the first time at Lola Holtz's fifteenth and he had lost it to his then girlfriend, Stacy Clark. He loved the sensation he got in bed with a women, and he savored the passion of the lovemaking situation. Some may call him a sex addict but he considered himself a conosuer of the purest art form there was. Oh Howie, what a cultured young man!

But ever since then, he was on a role. The only nights he didn't do the deed once or twice or more was during test weeks which his parents expected him to ace, but with girls or without girls, he couldn't seem to quite make their expectations.

He may not be able to make the grade but he sure had his girl numbers lined up. Hell, he had gone thorugh nearly all the girls in school, and now he had to move on to the staff.

But impressing his parents was considerably hard since his father was a Scripps scientist and a Harvard graduate. Howie sometimes wondered why the smarty-pants gene didn't pass on to him. But he was bound to be a trust fund baby, and he accepted that with ease as well.

He sat up again when he heard his phone beep on the sleek side table next to his bed. Nearly all the furniture in his senior bachelor pad was made from fine woods and stones which were polished daily to keep their lusterous shine. He held the Android before his face and clicked speaker phone.

"Hello," a deep gravelly voice on the other line spoke to him.

"Well hello, Grandfather," Howie answered, wondering the reason for this call.

"I just thought I'd let you know that I'm stopping by in a few minutes to check up on you."

"Oh, really?" Howie stammered, looking around his bedroom; clothes were strewn everywhere and twice opened bottles of Pinot Noir sat on the mantle of his fireplace. He got up from his bed, and put on his navy blue silk robe which hung on the door.

Shit, he thought, peering out the open door at his trashed living room. Had he thrown a party last night? He couldn't remember. But the place was a mess. How was he ever going to clean up before the scariest man he knew was going to "check up on him?"

"Yes, young man, and I'm hoping everything is in order considering the fact that I'm the one paying for your home."

"Oh, don't worry Grandfather, everythings... emaculate," he responded, hoping to hide the discomfort in his voice.

"Okay then," his grandfather said, and hung up before Howie could say anything more.

Without another second to spare, Howie began running about the apartment brushing plastic cups off the tables and chairs, throwing misplaced articles of clothing under the rug, and carefully scrubbing the stains out of the apolstry. Wasn't this the cleaning lady's job? Oh wait, that piece of ass was in the bathroom naked.

When Howie had finished his living room work, he was sucking in air as though he had just run a marathon in fifteen minutes. It looked sorta better. Not bad for a beginner, he reflected, wanting to give himself a pat on the back. The living room was clean and he moved back into the bedroom. He quickly made his bed, and slid their clothing under it. He threw an opened condom pack in the trash bin and followed it with the two wine bottles.

"Babe, are you all right out there?" he heard the maid ask from the bathroom.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine," He mumbled, making last minutes straightenings about his bedroom.

"Babe," she started when Howie heard the doorbell ring in the foyer.

"Shut up!" he shouted to her in a quiet whoarsey voice. "Don't say anything."

"Why?" she asked confused, beginning to open the bathroom door.

But he saw this and quickly held it nearly shut, saying quickly, "Never mind that, just be quiet till I come and get you." She nodded her response and he turned away.

He dashed to the door and threw it open abruptly. There before him was all six-five feet of brooding oldness that was his Grandfather William. He wore a grey trenchcoat which Howie recognized from Burberry and shiny tassled loafter which Howie could see his embarrassed face glinting back at him. He considered giving him a big hug but the look in his grandfather's matching grey eye told him that he was in a lovey dovey mood.

"Do you know why I'm here, son?" William said sternly, his thickly mustached lip in a tight line. Howie hated when he called him that.

"Um," Howie murmured, lacing his fingers behind him, recollecting their conversation."To check up on me?"

"Not exactly."

"Oh."

His grandfather crossed his arms, and stared Howie down with an invisible force that felt almost physical. He teetered back and forth uneasily, considering if he should say something more. Howie had a grasp of what this visit may mean, but he really didn't want to consider it.

Did his grandfather know about the drugs? Or the partying? How could he know? But then it hit him. The money he used to buy whatever suited his fancy came from his grandfather's bank account, and had since his parents moved out to Silicon Valley.

This situation was getting worse by the minute. Howie wondered to himself why he hadn't considered all this sooner. Probably because spent most of his time having sex and being stoned, or even better, both at the same time! That didn't seem as cool to him as it used to.

"Um, maybe we should sit down," Howie said unsteadily, motioning William to the leather couch which still had the damp rug from scrubbing the barf and alcohol on it. He stepped lightly over to the couch, and edged it under with all the cups. "So, we can discuss this predicament."

"That would be advisable, Howard," William answered, sitting down next to his grandson.

"Yes, sir."