“You may be a Microsoft genius and I may be the best chef in the country,” Ashton posed. “But you know what?”
“We don’t know dick about fishing!”
Bob revved up the Evinrude outboard while Ashton fetched more beers from the cooler. The boat picked up speed and began to head for the other side of the lake.
“Hey, Bobby?” Ashton asked, emptying his coffee can full of petite cigar butts over the side. “You think Sheree has any idea that Carol’s really a man?”
— | — | —
Chapter Eight
Carol’s cock marauded Sheree’s vagina, fucking her so hard it felt like a plunger trying to clear a drain. Sheree came three more times during the action which must’ve comprised a world-wide record for sexual positions within the confines of a recreational vehicle.
Carol had come twice herself, the first a warm flood of sperm into Sheree’s sex, the second a last-second pull-out. “Here you go, baby,” Carol whispered, short of breath. The gorgeous uncircumcised cock glistened (Sheree could smell herself on it), the big nuts bunched up tight under the root. “Let me shine up those beautiful tits for you.” The sperm felt hotter this time, jet after jet looping onto Sheree’s tingling breasts. Afterward, the two of them lay back on the floor, absolutely exhausted, as Carol’s slim hand smoothed the semen around on Sheree’s tanned skin like some kind of exotic lotion.
In the afterglow, Carol explained her particular plight. She wasn’t gay nor straight, nor did she consider herself “bisexual.” Instead she referred to herself as a “sensualist.” Any pleasurable sensation she would pursue. She’d always felt more feminine than the opposite; hence, the modifications to her physique. Hormones, implants, permanent hair removal, oro-facial surgery, but unlike many “trannies,” she had no desire whatever to “complete” the process. “I like my cock,” she revealed. “I love sticking it in people.”
And she could “stick” it well. In the tidal wave of sex that accounted for all of Sheree’s adult life, these few hours with Carol had unleashed pleasures that Sheree had never conceived of.
The best lay of my life, she thought, is a beautiful woman…with a cock.
Perhaps some lingering male phermones explained Sheree’s instant attraction, some exuding oxytocins in the sweat. Whatever the reason, it hardly mattered. Carol was one joyride of flesh Sheree hoped to get on again for a long time to come.
Her pussy felt deliciously sore; it felt like a fat tenderloin cored and stuffed. She lay against Carol, their skin sliding over each other’s sweat. Carol’s hand continued to glide idly over the spermy sheen which lacquered Sheree’s breasts.
“So you’re telling me you never thought Ashton might be gay?” Carol asked, and lit a cigarette.
“No, I mean—” Sheree thought about it. “He’s always acted kind of swishy, you know. And he never wants to—”
“Fuck,” Carol finished. Her shining cock began to deflate between the immaculate, tanned legs. “And let me guess. He mainly asks for head?”
“You got that right. But sometimes I’m so horny I’ll even settle for him…but it never happens. It’s always ‘Oh, honey, I’m so sorry but I’m really tired,’ or ‘I’m not in the mood, there’s a rumor that a Times reviewer is coming to the restaurant tomorrow night.’ That sort of thing. Now I know the real reason.”
“I guess I shouldn’t have told you,” Carol confessed. “Should’ve minded my own business.”
“Oh, no, I’m glad you told me Ashton’s gay,” Sheree insisted, then took a drag off Carol’s Salem. “Forewarned is fore-armed. I don’t care. As long as I’m driving my BMW down Fifth Avenue and shopping at Nordstrom’s any time I want.”
“You’ve got the right atittude, and so do I,” Carol clarified. Now her finger dawdled over the slit of Sheree’s sex. “Everything’s a trade-off, and I guarantee you they both know it. They’re both still in the closet so that’s why they need us. You’ve heard them in public—always joking about all the pussy they’ve busted. Christ, if Microsoft ever found out Bob was a hot-tub bottom, they’d fire his fat ass in two seconds. But every time Gates throws an office party, there I am with Bob. Same with Ashton. He’s paranoid that the other chef’s in town think he sucks cock. So that’s why he’s got you. I don’t mind being used as long as I get what I want.”
“Me either,” Sheree concurred. Her mind drifted a moment, back to previous slew of orgasms. “How did you meet Bob?”
Carol giggled. “At The Porthole. It’s a members-only gay club downtown. They got a ‘back room,’ if you know what I mean. The first night I saw Bob, he was back there doing an ass-bang. Had a leather bag pulled over his head and a rubber ball in his mouth, tied down to rings in the floor, spread out like a fat starfish.”
“You’re kidding!” Sheree nearly squealed at the preposterous image.
“Nope. There were ten of us back there that night, and we all helped ourselves and went back for seconds. By the time we were done, we must’ve pumped a quart of cum up his butt.”
“No way!” Sheree squealed.
“Yes way. And that’s not all. Not only is Bob a hardcore bottom, he’s also a jizz freak and a half.”
“A jizz freak?”
“Oh, yeah. He’s in the back room two, three times a week, blowing twenty guys in a row and swallowing every drop. That’s what he was doing second time I met him, just standing in line and sticking my dick down his throat. I was only about halfway done then but I still looked pretty good. But this guy was a cash machine so I put the make on him hard. After we got together, he sprung for a better set of implants and pays for all of the injections. That’s big money, and I sure can’t afford it. With Bob, I’m made in the shade. And if he ever dumps me…” Carol didn’t finish.
“What?” Sheree asked.
“Well, on one of those blow-job trains he pulled at the club?” Carol snickered. “I had a friend of mine secretly videotape it. So if Fat Boy Bobby ever sends me packing, I’m sending that tape straight to Bill Gates.”
“You’re horrible!” Sheree delightedly shrieked.
Carol grinned. “I know. I can’t help it.”
Eventually, they dragged themselves up naked from the floor. Sheree leaned against the Winnebago’s narrow kitchen counter, looking out the small window. “What’s taking them so long? It’ll be getting dark in an hour.”
Carol pressed up behind her, gently reaching around to cup Sheree’s already worn-out vagina. “Yeah,” Carol said. “In an hour.” A long finger popped in. “We can do a lot in an hour.”
Sheree’s fuse was already re-lit. “I don’t know. You pretty much fucked me out. I feel like I’ve been run over by a city bus.” She hesitated, feeling Carol’s cock grow turgid against her buttocks. “I don’t know if I can do it again.”
Carol quickly turned her around, set her ass up on the counter, and slipped her dick right up into her pussy. “Sure you can,” she said and began fucking her again. She pressed forward, kissed Sheree’s lip, sucked her tongue.
Yeah, Sheree thought in another rising wave of bliss. I think I can…
««—»»
As the darkness of dusk had just begun to stain the horizon, M. Gerald James was maintaining a solid seventy miles per hour down State Route 101 along the glittering Strait of San Juan. Canada could be seen on the other side, and its rising mountains.