Alter Ego

I arrived just in time to catch her match. I spotted my ex-wife in the stands and joined her. Even though we were no longer together, it seemed appropriate to present a united front in supporting our daughter in her endeavors.

Alexis's match turned out to not be all that competitive, with my daughter dispatching her opponent quickly. She met us in the stands a few minutes later. After I congratulated her, she said, "Daddy, you need to stick around for the next match."

"Why?" I asked.

I knew that Alexis's teammate Ashley Richardson was playing next. Ashley was the coach's daughter and was always scheduled to play the opposing team's best player. I knew my daughter was better than her, but I didn't let it bother me too much. Ashley was a senior and would be going off to college, so my daughter would get her chance next year. Besides, if Ashley's dad was willing to put in the commitment to coach, I was willing to accept that bought him the right to a little favoritism. He was a very good coach otherwise, and my daughter's game had improved immensely under his guidance.

Ashley had a big following among the boys in the club and, though most wouldn't admit it, among the dads. She was a model-pretty, buxom blonde and many men found it entertaining to watch her and her "assets" bounce around the court. The rumor that her boyfriend had shot a racy video of her on her 18th birthday only added to her popularity, though as far as I knew it really was just a rumor. I was pretty certain, however, that my daughter was not inviting me to ogle her teammate.

"Ashley is playing Emma Collins," my daughter explained.

"Who's Emma Collins?"

"She's the best player in the state, hands down. You gotta see her serve, it's incredible."

Ashley came on to the court, her blonde hair in a ponytail. She wore a traditional tennis outfit, except that the top appeared to be a size too small. Her ample bust strained against the fabric. A wolf whistle came from a group of teenage boys, then laughter. Ashley was not at all flustered by this attention. If anything, she threw her shoulders back more to accentuate her chest. Personally, I didn't see the appeal. I was never into big boobs. OK, I do confess that I had googled the alleged sex tape like every other male in attendance. But I preferred petite, tight, athletic girls. Girls that looked like...Emma. I drew in my breath when I saw her the first time. She embodied everything I found sexy in a girl. She had a petite, lean, well-muscled but feminine body. Her legs were long and shapely, her ass nicely rounded and firm. Her breasts were small, but rounded. You could just make out the little bumps where her nipples pushed on the fabric of her top.

Emma's club wore non-traditional uniforms with midriff baring cropped tops. The coaching staff believed it gave the girls better freedom of motion, I just appreciated the view. Some guys are ass men, some are into breasts and others, legs. For me, the one thing that always captured my attention was a tight torso, with visible abs and oblique muscles. Not ripped like a body builder, but with lean, smooth feminine muscles. Emma's midriff was perfect.

Her face was more cute than pretty. Her auburn hair was tightly French braided against her head. I had the vague idea that I had seen her play elsewhere.

The match began, and Emma's domination of Ashley was almost painful to watch. Alexis was right about Emma's serve. It came off her racquet like a bullet, almost too fast to see. I was fascinated, watching that tight torso stretch at the top of the backswing, then suddenly contract and twist, delivering all its power to her arm. "Awesome," my daughter said. I agreed.

The match was mercifully short. As Emma came off the court, a man whom I presumed to be her dad joined her and they walked toward the gate closest to where I sat. I heard Emma's dad getting into her about her game. You would have thought she had just lost, not thoroughly annihilated her opponent.

"You can't coast just because you are winning, that is not going to get us on to the Olympic team."

Emma mumbled something in return that I didn't hear.

"Emma Macy Collins, I am still your dad and you will not speak to me that way!"

I felt bad for her.

"Wait!" I thought, "Macy...Mace?!" I looked up as she passed and our eyes met. Stunned recognition crossed her face and she looked panicked, then quickly looked away. Now that I knew, it seemed so obvious and I could not fathom how I hadn't recognized her before. More than the dramatic change in hairstyle, I suspected it was the matter of context that had blinded me. That the wild girl at the bar could be this up-and-coming young tennis star was just so incongruous that my conscious brain chose not to make the connection.

After the match, my daughter left with my ex-wife, and I made my way out to my truck. I was just climbing in when I heard a small voice behind me, "Excuse me, Mr. Maynard?"

I turned to see Emma. On the court she had been intense. In the bar she was brash. On my boat she was flirty. Now she looked shy, and very young.

"Please, call me Eric. So Mace is really Emma...Emma Macy," I said.

"Yes"

"You are an incredible tennis player"

"Thank you"

She pressed a piece of paper in my hand and said, "I gotta go," and walked away.

Emma's father was walking toward her, "There you are...I was looking for you. Who is that you were talking to?"

"Mr. Maynard. His daughter Alexis played Meredith in the match before mine. He was just congratulating me on my game."

I look down at the paper in my hand. It had a phone number on it and said, "text me 2nite. Mace"

I found it interesting that she chose to sign off with her alter-ego.

I texted her that night: "What's up? - Eric"

"2day was awkward"

"It's all good"

"Pls don't tell anyone about me"

"About Emma, or about Mace?"

"Either one"

"No worries"

"Can we meet somewhere and talk?"

"Sure, when?"

"10:00 Saturday morning?"

"OK, meet me at the dock at 'Ray's Landing'"

Saturday was a classic, warm, Indian-summer day. As I made my way to the landing, I wondered if it would be Emma or Mace waiting. It was Emma. She wore faded jean shorts, a tee shirt and a baseball cap with the Wisconsin logo. I also noted a bikini string tied off at her neck.

I eased the Riva up to the dock and Emma hopped in. She approached me awkwardly, not quite sure how to greet me. She gave me a quick hug and backed away, blushing.

I pulled away from the dock and opened up the throttle. The boat climbed on plane and quickly accelerated. Emma took her hat off and let the wind blow through her hair. She extended her arms like Kate Winslet in "Titanic." She seemed to be tossing her worries to the wind and just enjoying the sensation of speed. I decided this was the best version of her I had met so far; carefree and just being herself.

I pulled up to one of the many islands on the lake, entered a quiet, shallow cove and dropped anchor. I cut the engine and silence enveloped us, broken just by the gentle lapping of ripples against the wooden hull.

"I love the lake. It's so peaceful here," Emma said.

"I agree, that's why I bought a house here."

"It's such a contrast to the chaos that is my life."

I waited patiently, sensing she just wanted someone to listen to her.

She started to cry, "I just don't know who I am anymore."

I moved over and sat on the bench seat next to her. I reached out tentatively to put an arm around her. She leaned into me and cried softly.

She regained her composure and took a deep breath.

"It used to be so simple. Not everything was about tennis. I just did what daddy said on the court and everyone was happy. Afterward, we'd get pizza and ice cream. Sometimes I won, sometimes I lost, but no one made too much of a big deal about it. Gradually, the losses came less and less, then not at all. When I was 15, Tennis News ranked me 13th in the nation in my age group. Daddy hired a renowned coach and suddenly, I had to be perfect all the time. I couldn't do anything fun because I might get hurt, distracted, miss practice time or get on social media and ruin my reputation."

"My sister Stacy tried to help. She would tell daddy we were going to the gym or the library. She would take me to parties, football games or just out to get ice cream; anything to get me away from the pressure. My sister is real funky. She has a giant eagle tattoo on her upper chest, lots of piercings and usually wears her hair in a Mohawk. Mom and dad had fits over her, but she did what she wanted. At some point, I think they completely gave up trying to control her and just focused on me."

"When I turned 17, Stacy decided to bring me out to the nightclub at Ray's. We worked on the Mace alter-ego together. She came up with the hairstyle. It seemed like innocent fun, being someone else, someone with attitude, someone with moxie. Stacy lent me an ID and sent me in with her friends. She came in a little later and joined us. The one mistake she made was to let me get drunk that night. I was so sick the next day. Dad thought I had a virus, but I'm pretty sure mom knew. Since then I've been careful with the alcohol, especially now that I don't have Stacy to watch out for me. She got a job in Portland, Oregon, 6 months ago. God, I miss her."

"I gotta admit I like being Mace. She has control, she does what she wants. I know it sounds stupid, but the things I do and say as Mace, I would never have the nerve to do as Emma. People see Mace and expect attitude, so I give it to them. It has become addictive, being her. It has also gotten easier now that all the regulars at the bar know me. Jillian is one of Stacy's old friends and she lets me do my hair and get in character at her place. I really don't know why, we have nothing in common."

"The problem is, the more fun I have being Mace, the harder it is to go back to being Emma. My tennis game is suffering because I can't focus anymore. The late nights and drinking aren't helping either."

"You made me realize I have to make a change."

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

"I don't follow. What did I do?"

"Two things: the first is how easily you manipulated me the other night."

"Manipulated?"

"I assumed Mace would always be in complete control, but you got me flustered. Every time I thought I had regained control, you would knock me off balance again."

"I didn't mean any harm, I was just having fun with you."

"I know. That makes it worse; the fact that it was so effortless for you. Imagine if your motives were more sinister."

"I'm sure Mace would have picked up on it and told me to fuck off."

"Really, would I? Think about where I ended up: sleeping half-naked in a small space next to a man I didn't know with no one around for miles. If you were a rapist and murderer, about the only way I could have made things easier for you would be to handcuff myself to the bed."

Now there was an interesting mental picture.

"OK, but I'm not a rapist or a murderer. Maybe you are just a good judge of character," I replied.

"You know, I woke up about an hour after we went to bed that night in a cold sweat. I actually considered the possibility that you had somehow orchestrated the police sobriety check. I had a huge panic attack. Eventually, I calmed down and concluded if you were going to attack me, you would have already done it.

Then an hour later, I woke up to completely different emotions. I had an overwhelming urge to make love to you. Eventually I settled on just spooning with you. You didn't think we got in that position accidentally in our sleep, did you?"

Now that was interesting news.

"Anyway, the point is being this crazy bar girl is not just innocent fun. I realized I'm playing with fire."

"The second thing was seeing you at my match Wednesday. The idea that I could keep this alter-ego secret forever crashed and burned as soon as you recognized me there."

"But you know I won't tell anyone," I interjected.

"That's not the point. Sure, I might dodge a bullet this time, but my luck will run out eventually. Did you know Ray's has a Facebook page? I checked it out today. Guess who is in a bunch of pictures posted on it? Thankfully none of them show my face clearly enough to ID me."

"So what do you plan to do? Retire Mace?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"I only met her once, but I am going to miss her."

We sat silent for a while, with Emma resting her head on my shoulder. Eventually, she said, "I'm hot, let's go swimming." Mentally, I agreed she was hot, but perhaps not the way she meant.

Emma stood up and peeled off her shirt and wriggled out of her shorts to reveal a coral color bikini and her firm sculpted body that I had so admired from afar at the tennis match. "You're staring at me."

"Yes"

"Well stop"

"Why?"

"Because it's not polite"

"I reject that notion. I say if a stunning representation of the female form undresses right in front of you, it would be impolite not to stare."

She blushed a little, then, not knowing what to say climbed onto the stern and dove into the water. I undressed to my shorts and followed her.

When we climbed back aboard, I noted that her suit was slightly translucent, giving a better hint of the treasures hidden beneath the fabric. I could just barely make out her dark areola. Her firm nipples jutted out proudly against the wet cloth. I let my eyes follow the rivulets of water running down her pale torso until they disappeared into the bikini bottom. A darker patch announced that she was not clean shaven. Below that, Emma sported a prominent camel toe. I turned away and bit my tongue, trying to quell my rising erection.

I looked back at her face. Green eyes, slightly upturned nose, subtle freckles, full lips...I reached out and ran a finger along her jawline. "God, you are so beautiful".

She blushed and took a step toward me. Our lips met, just brushing each other at first, then pressing harder. She leaned her body into mine as we kissed. I sucked on her lower lip, then the upper one. Lips parted and tongues explored.

She put both hands on my chest, then she started to push away. Our bodies separated. She seemed to be trying to pull away, but her lips wouldn't cooperate with the rest of her. Finally, those separated too. I looked at her quizzically.

"I have to go home," she said.

I was disappointed, but I did my best to hide it. I brought her back to shore. For the second time in a week, she gave me a peck on the cheek and took off up the dock, leaving me frustrated.

_____________________________________________

A few days later, my cell phone buzzed, signaling an incoming text, "RU free Sat Nite? - Mace"

"Available, but not necessarily for free"

"Smart ass"

"Didn't expect to hear from you again. Thought you were retired."

"Not yet. Emma is throwing me a retirement party." She was really getting into this split personality thing.

"Where and when?"

"Meet me at the dock in the Riva at 7...and bring a bottle of wine"

I pulled into the dock and tied off just as a Ford F150 pickup pulled into the parking lot. Mace stepped out in full splendor, all spikes and leather. She walked with an exaggerated hip swaying swagger to the dock and hopped aboard. I opened my arms to greet her. She grabbed my shirt, pulled me to her and kissed me with a passion I wasn't expecting. After the initial shock, I tried to respond, but she planted her hand in the middle of my chest and pushed me away again. The message was clear; Mace was intent on taking control for her "retirement" party, and it was going to be an interesting tango between us.

"Game on," I thought to myself.

"Where to?"

"Let's just cruise for a little while."

I eased the throttle up until we were just on plane and let it level off.

"Faster," she demanded.

I complied, bringing us to half throttle.

"Faster," she insisted.

"Screw this," I thought, and threw the throttle control wide open. Mace had complained about me figuratively "throwing her off balance," but this time it was quite literal, as the sudden acceleration caused her to fall backwards unceremoniously onto the aft bench seat. I looked back at her and grinned. She stuck her tongue out at me.

I marveled that her hair stayed in its spiky form even though we were now topping 50 mph. "Must be some industrial strength hair spray," I thought.

She came up behind me and said, "Head to our favorite cove."

I complied, wondering when we were expected at the party. After we had set anchor, Mace said, "Open the wine."

I did so, and poured us each a glass. Sitting down next to her, I asked, "OK, so when do we go to this party?"

"We're here"

"Who else are you expecting?"

"Nobody...we only need the two of us for the kind of party I was planning." With that, she reached into her handbag and pulled out a set of handcuffs, twirled them around her finger suggestively, then handed them to me.

I looked at her, stunned. This time she had me off balance. For all Emma's talk about Mace needing to be in control, she appeared to be relinquishing it to me. Maybe this was her way of retiring Mace, by having her willingly give absolute and total control to me.

"Do you have a safe word?" I asked. I already knew her answer.

"Emma," she whispered.

Mace went to the cabin, reached in and pulled out a blanket. She came back and spread it on the cockpit floor. She lay down in the middle of it and stretched her arms over her head and smiled seductively.

I cuffed her in her outstretched position to a seat bracket. I reached under the aft seat and pulled out a rope. I look of uncertainty crossed her face. I tied one end to an ankle and wrapped the other end around an aft seat stanchion. I did the same with the other ankle and another stanchion on the other side.

Now that she was immobilized, I went to her purse. "What the fuck are you doing? Get out of there!" She exclaimed.

I found the two things I was looking for. First, her driver's license. It confirmed she was 18. I'm not sure what I would have done if she wasn't, but I was relieved. I put her license back in her purse.

The second thing was a makeup brush.

"What are you going to do with that?"

"You'll see."

I stopped to take in the view. Mace was wearing a black leather halter top with a zipper down the middle. That amazing abdomen was stretched out in front of me. Below it, she was clad in tight black leather pants with a zipper on each side that ran from hips to ankles.

I ran the soft bristles of the makeup brush down each outstretched arm. She squirmed when I got to her sensitive armpits. I explored every ticklish spot on the rippling muscles of her torso. I was delighted to find that I could induce her body to involuntarily duplicate the twisting, contracting motion of her tennis serve that I had found so mesmerizing on the court. Mace was biting her lower lip and breathing hard.

I touched the brush under her chin and dragged it slowly down her neck, then down her upper chest in the vee of the halter top until it reached the top of the zipper. I reached up with my other hand to the zipper. I gave Mace a questioning look. She gave me a slight nod.

I slowly pulled the zipper down until the halter top was completely separated in two. I traced the brush through this new path of bare skin. I spread the halter top open to reveal her beautiful, perfect little A -cups. I traced the brush up each little mountain to its dark pink peak. Mace gave a little sigh each time the brush touched nipple.

I grasped the zippers on each side of her leather pants. I looked in Mace's eyes, again seeking permission. She gave me another nod. I unzipped and removed her pants revealing tiny black panties. I traced the perimeter of this triangle of fabric. Mace rocked her hips and her breathing increased.