The Luckiest Guy in the World

	Miles inspected himself in the bathroom mirror while he brushed his teeth. Was that a zit, godammit? He rummaged in the vanity drawer until the found his concealer and dabbed some on the growing pimple. This would be his seventeenth date with Peg and he was certain she would open her shirt for him this time. He wasn't about to let anything like a disgusting blemish  queer the deal.
"Dude! What the fuck? Are you putting on makeup?" asked Charlie, one of Miles' roommates whose face suddenly appeared in the mirror behind him. He tilted his head back, drained his beer can, and burped as he crushed the can in his fist. Miles didn't answer, but Charlie continued, undeterred.
"So what's tonight's bribe going to be? More flowers?" Charlie asked. "Maybe lease her a new car and get her a... ." His words turned into a faint mumble as he walked away.
"It's not a gosh darn bribe!" Miles insisted. "We have rapport. She deserves to be treated like the goddess she is. Besides, it's a sorority formal. Needs to be a little special."
"Dude, you haven't even fucked her yeaaahrt," Charlie said, his words ending in a deep, prolonged belch punctuated by the tab popping on a fresh beer.
Miles smiled. "Maybe not," he said to himself. "But when I do, it'll be glorious." He gave himself one last look in the mirror. "You're a catch," he said out loud to his reflection, "and even you don't deserve her." An empty beer can flew spinning through the bathroom door and landed in the bathtub with a clank.
"You're a piece of shit!" Charlie yelled from the other room.

* * *

Miles parked the rented red Mercedes convertible on the street near the sorority house and walked to the door. He was careful not to let the bouquet of flowers he was carrying brush the fabric of his suit. He wanted each petal to remain unbroken, glistening with the droplets he'd misted on them with a spray bottle before getting out of the car.
Inside, Peg was already coming down the stairs, those slightly pointed, pouty breasts he couldn't stop thinking about bouncing beneath the thin, tight material of her pale pink formal gown. It clung tightly to her tiny waist and flat stomach. He smiled. That body! he thought. Benefits of being a college gymnast. And no bra. Got to be a good sign.
"Hello, Miles," she said when she reached the bottom of the steps, her voice even and direct. She briefly and stiffly hugged him. He kissed her on the cheek.
"You look beautiful, Peg. Just beautiful." He handed her the bouquet.
"Thanks you so much. Such pretty roses," she said. "But you remember what I said right? Just friends?"
"Sure, Peg. Sure. But I think you need to know how I feel about you."
"I do," she said. "You've made that very clear. But you know I see you as a good friend. A true friend. Why can't that be good enough, for now? We both have our entire lives ahead of us."
Miles stood there and looked at her breasts testing the fabric. Those fucking tits! he thought. All he could think about was grabbing the top of the shoulderless gown and pulling it down, releasing those magnificent cupcakes into the wild. Maybe if I walk away, she'll chase me now, he thought.
"I know but--."
She cut him off. "I understand, Miles. I really do."
"But Charlie said--"
She perked up when he mentioned Charlie, and cut him off again. "Charlie! I wouldn't listen to anything he says. He's always been a liar. The way that boy uses girls is just—disgusting! Is he going to be here?"
Goddammit! Miles screamed silently to himself. She doesn't give a shit! That asshole, Charlie, was right! He turned to go.
"Uh, Miles," she said, catching him by the shoulder.
He felt his heart quicken. Holy shit! he thought. It's working! He couldn't believe a little hard-to-get was all it took! Charlie was right! He turned quickly to face her, his smile wide, his face beaming.
"I still need a ride," she said sweetly. "And someone to record me at the dance."
He held the door for her on the way out.
"Hey!” she said. "Is that a Mercedes?"

* * *

Miles inched the Mercedes along the slow-moving car line at The Coventry Inn and Club toward the covered entrance. As they neared the drop-off point, he felt awkward and tense. When they got close enough that the valet began walking toward the passenger door, Peg put her hand on his shoulder.
"Thanks for being such a super nice guy," she said.
Miles flushed. He was beginning to sweat and could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't let it end like this! I need to man-up, he thought, and then, locking eyes with her, he gave voice to the cinematic ending playing in his head.
"Look, you know I love you with every atom of my being," Miles said. "And I know there's nobody out there better for you than me."
"Oh Miles, let's not ruin a perfect drive over--" she said. "Get your phone ready so you can get footage of me getting out of the car. Try and keep me on camera as I go inside."
Miles fumbled with his phone and hit the record button.
"Just listen," he continued. "I know you're saving yourself for marraige. So if you're still single in twenty years or whatever, come find me. I'll marry you on the spot."
"You would do that?" she asked.
"I'd be stupid not to," he said. "Any guy who locks you down would be the luckiest guy in the world."
"Aw Miles," she said as the valet opened her door and stared down into her cleavage, her nipples already stiffening from the cool night air. "You're just the best."
Then she took the valet's outstretched hand.

* * *

The petite blonde had smeared icing on her body effectively creating an edible bikini.
"Happy Birthday, Baby!" she shouted when Miles entered the bedroom. She walked up to him and removed his robe. "How does it feel to be forty?" she asked.
Miles smiled and squeezed her ass and bent down to lick icing off her tit. He came up with some icing on his chin. She stood on her tiptoes and licked it off.
"Not a day over thirty-nine," Miles said with a chuckle. "How does it feel to be nineteen?" he asked in return, but she had already dropped to her knees and couldn't talk with her mouth full.
He had just started face-fucking her when the doorbell rang. She looked up at him for instructions without breaking stride. "Ignore it, honey," he said and wound her ponytail around his fist as a tall, lithe brunette entered the bedroom.
“Started without me again, I see,” said the brunette.
Miles savored the moment. All of this, he thought. It had become his mantra. The years had been good to him because he had been good to himself. Wealth. Women. Success. His progress had been so fantastic and fulfilling that if he did think of his weak, younger self, it always struck him as though it were someone else. It was as if...
The blonde's liquid, smacking sounds and the clicking of the brunette’s heels as she walked toward him broke his reverie and brought him back to a reality far better than anything in his imagination or memory.

* * *

A week later, a man in a cheap, ill-fitting suit approached him in the reception area at his office.
"Hey, aren't you Miles Noe? Cumberland College, Class of Fifteen?" the man said.
"Do we know each other?"
The man handed him a padded envelope. "It's me, Charlie!" he said as Miles accepted the envelope. "You've been served."
"Charlie? Holy shit, man. I thought you looked familiar. What's this abou--"
"There's one of them holograph players in the envelope," he said as he turned to go. "Guess you're not a simp anymore. Just a rich douchebag." He laughed. "I'll see myself out, guvna."
Must be a joke, Miles thought. Anna, probably. Maybe Lara. Back in his office, Miles poured himself a few splashes of Laphroaig and took his glass and the little hologram projector over to the leather couch. He set the device on the coffee table, spinning it so that the arrow pointed out in front. He pressed his thumb against the scanner to verify his identity and unlock contents, then settled back into the couch expecting another naughty performance by one of his girlfriends.
A bluish-green hologram of a woman appeared a few feet in front of him. This was not a girlfriend but he still thought it was a joke. Had to be. He sipped his scotch and tried to place her. She looked familiar, but he didn't know any chunky women with skin like shoe leather. Something was off and he was trying to think. There was something familiar about her eyes and sharp, small nose set in the doughy face. The projector scanned his face to locate his eye level and the hologram blinked and reappeared slightly higher and larger until the image towered over him. A soft female voice from the box's speaker said, "Autoplay selected".
Miles squinted. Holy shit! he thought. That looks like--"
"Hi Miles," the hologram said. "I'm Lillith Seventeen. You knew me as Peg in college, remember?"
Miles set his drink down on the coffee table and stared at the projection. Her face looked puffy and he could perceive no appreciable shape in her tits apart from some loose mounds of flesh pushed together by some kind of power bra so that they spilled out over the top.
"I've so been looking forward to this day," she continued. She was beaming, and while the years had not been kind to her, the giggle sounded just as cute and lilting as it had twenty years ago. "I know, blue isn't my best color. Time, huh? Anyway, I'll make this quick. Now that we're both forty I'd like to take you up on your offer which I hope you remember."
What. The. Fuckity-fuck? thought Miles.
"I've booked flights and made reservations for Vegas--we'll be staying in a tower villa at the Wynn--and I hope you don't mind but I went ahead and bought a wedding dress. Don't worry, I kept the receipts. I was so relieved and impressed to see how successful you've become. One thing: I did book a two-bedroom unit because I was going to bring the kids too, but we lucked out and they're all headed to their dads' houses for winter break. The wedding will be in their grand ballroom and we're booked for Saturday afternoon at five."
Miles downed the rest of his drink. He walked over to the bar to pour another, never taking his eyes off of the hologram. The usually cheerful, successful businessman's countenance had turned ashen, defeated, as he poured a fresh drink, this time pouring to the rim.
"As the years wore on I realized how right you were that night," she continued. "I was such a silly girl. But your love and commitment means more to me now than ever. I'm the luckiest girl in the world, and I'm in love with the best man I've ever known. The man who won in the end. Won my heart like you've always wanted. See you soon, baby! I can't wait to start our life together." She blew him a kiss and her image disappeared.
Miles stood there swallowing more whisky when the small projector whirred back to life.
A blue-green image of a man began talking to the still-visible depression in the soft leather sofa where Miles had just been sitting a minute earlier.
"Hello, Mr. Noe, I am Earnest Frank, an attorney for the Bureau of Domestic Relations contacting you on behalf of performance artist and protest organizer Lillith Seventeen. As I'm sure you're quite aware," he continued, "any pledge or promise of financial support made to a woman is subject to the force of law pursuant to the Domestic Fairness and Equity Protection Act of 2032. Namely, in accordance with the act, your promise of future domestic--which, by definition, includes financial--support made on October 17, 2015 and executed on a video made that night, a video in Ms. Seventeen's possession and included here as an attachment, is fully executable and binding under the statute of limitations retroactive to twenty years and one day unless otherwise adjudicated by a federal court. Because this offer was executed with a consensual physical act by at least one of the parties, which, by statute, includes affectionate physical touch anywhere on one's person, the Bureau is satisfied that all requirements have been met, and, barring any successful contest of this contract, your notorized holograph indicating your intent to comply is expected in this office no more than ten business days from receipt of this notice. Thank you and please contact me with any questions."
Miles tipped his tumbler up and downed nearly eight ounces of scotch in two long gulps. An avid scotch collector and indulger, the quantity nevertheless made his throat burn. It was good that it did, he thought. It pulled him out of his initial shock and confusion.
Moving quickly, he pulled the couch away from the wall and removed the bag of cash and cryptocurrency wallets and other basic supplies from the hidden compartment, thinking all he needed was twelve hours to start a new life with a new identity. Eight hours if all went well and the plane was ready. But it was too late. The GPS in the hologram had been activated the moment he scanned his thumb, and several domestic justice enforcement officers were already moving quickly toward his office, tazers drawn.

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