Just a bit deeper under the Lincoln’s seat, where James had kept the Pyrex cup of his perverted pleasure, was another object.
A small .22 revolver.
««—»»
“I don’t know about you,” Carol proclaimed, “but I’m shit-faced!”
Sheree lounged opposite her, her bare feet propped up on the Winnebago’s small kitchen table. “Then I must be double shit-faced.”
The two of them had sufficiently plowed through half a case of beer and two snifters each of Ashton’s prized bottle of 1977 Gers Armagnac white brandy. Giggling, Carol had brought the bottle level back up with tap water.
With some difficulty, Sheree got up, looked out the window. Full dark had settled over the lake. A full moon glowed over the water.
“You see them?” Carol asked.
“No. I don’t know where those two fat peckerheads are. They should’ve been back by now, though.”
“Who cares? All that matters is that they’re not back. And that means it’s time for us to have some fun. I’ve got some Bebo.”
“Some…what?”
Carol was rummaging in her purse on the bed, her gorgeous breasts swaying in the tank top. “It’s the latest designer acid,” she said. “You’ve done acid, haven’t you?”
“Well, no. When I was in L.A., I was too busy doing coke,” she admitted, remembering all the hard producers’ cocks she’d sniffed lines off of.
“You’ve gotta try some Bebo. I’ve only got two tabs left.” Carol displayed the small strip of paper. On the paper were two scarlet ink-prints of what appeared to be the head of a bald baby with enormous ears and a third eye in the middle of its forehead. “It’s pretty mild, so don’t worry,” Carol added. “You’re game, right?”
What the fuck? Sheree thought. “Sure. I just lick it, right?”
“No, put it on your tongue and swallow the whole thing. But not here…” Carol got up, led Sheree by the hand to the RV’s narrow metal door. “We’re not going to drop acid in this dork-box.”
“Where are we going to do it?”
Carol opened the door. “On the lake.”
Sheree, however drunkenly, followed her new friend out to the shore. The entirety of the earth sounded pin-prick silent. Moonlight floated in ripples on the water; across the lake, the island’s trees looked like crags of mountains.
“Help me,” Carol asked. “The boat’s on the other side now.” Sheree got behind the crank on this end, grabbed the crank-handle, and began turning it, Carol cranking from the other side. In a matter of minutes, the “pull-ferry” arrived and they both stepped on.
They began cranking in the other direction, dragging the old rowboat back across the lake. Sheree took inadvertent glances over her shoulder. “Aren’t you…a little worried about them?”
“Bob and Ashton?” Carol chuckled. “They’re big boys, they can take care of themselves.”
All of a sudden, the night and its tranquil surroundings began to bother Sheree a little. Sure, Ashton was a self-aggrandizing fat dick, but she supposed she cared about him, his gayness notwithstanding. “Well…”
“You’re drunk, Sheree. Makes you a little paranoid. Don’t worry.”
By now they’d hauled the rowboat to the middle of the placid lake. They stopped. The boat just sat there under the bright moonlight.
“They’re probably drunk too,” Carol added. “They’ll be back in a few hours and have hangovers tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right…”
They sat facing each other in the boat. The boat, riding on the water, gently rose and fell. Sheree at once felt lulled.
“Here ya go.” Carol passed her the tiny snippet of paper. Sheree took it between her fingers.
“Put it face-side down on your tongue, then swallow the whole thing.”
Sheree shrugged, did it, and watched Carol repeat the process. Neither of them noticed, though, that as they sat there, the lake’s mild current was slowly drawing the boat toward the island’s shore.
“Feel it yet?”
“Nuh…no,” Carol said, still buzzed from all the alcohol. She lay back on her elbows.
“Doesn’t take long. Goes straight to the brain…”
Sheree was gazing up at the stars, smiling and breathing in the crisp, clean air. But then she momentarily flinched at an abrupt sensation.
Carol’s bare foot was rubbing up and down over the crotch of Sheree’s cut-offs.
Sheree sighed.
“One thing I forgot to tell you about Bebo,” Carol commented. “It makes you horny.”
Ordinarily, considering all the sexual activity the day had brought, even Sheree would’ve objected. But…
Sheree sighed again. Sensations slithered up to her breasts like warm phantom hands.
Soon the stars turned into fine white lines whenever she moved her head. She was trailing already. She moved her hand from right to left in front of her face, and saw a thousand fluttering duplicates like some surreal card trick.
The moon gazed back at her, an animate face.
All the while Carol’s foot kept pressing against her crotch.
It wasn’t long before the night and its moonlight was caressing them, and it wasn’t long, either, before each of them had stripped off their meager garments like dropping handkerchiefs to the boat’s floor. Sheree’s skin felt coolly ablaze. They embraced, kissing and sucking tongues. Sheree cradled the warm sac of Carol’s balls which felt big as starfruit. Carol’s finger went right up Sheree’s ass.
Dimensions seemed to stray, sound seemed to echo. Now the gentle lap of the water against the boat’s hull sounded like hands clapping, and the distant moonlight beamed on them like fluorescent tubes. They lay nude in the bottom of the boat. Sheree on top, in the position often referred to as A69.” Carol’s tongue delved deep into Sheree’s pussy, while Sheree jerked the abundant foreskin of Carol’s cock back and forth over the gorged shaft. Eventually she stuck it all down her throat like a South Beach coed in a Kielbasa swallowing contest.
Sheree was winning the contest.
Carol sucked the tender pink meat of Sheree’s sex like warm taffy. Sheree came in her friend’s face twice, her legs widely spread as if sitting on the seat of a Harley panhead. When the sensations of sheer sucking became too painful, Sheree moved her rump off, concentrating on Carol’s long, night-stick-thick cock.
“Jerk it,” came her friend’s feminine plea. “Jerk it right off!”
By now, Sheree’s mouth tinged with the salt-taste of pre-ejaculatory ooze. Her woman’s intuition told her just the right time to slip off her mouth, and then she jerked the fleshy pole back and forth. Carol’s legs vised and she moaned like a low horn.
Sheree watched the loops of semen shot high into the air, but on acid, each plume looked like jettisons of white, liquid phosphorous. Fluid flares which blew out of the swelled piss-slit, flew over the boat’s side, and landed in the lake water.
“Fuck,” Carol softly gasped.
Sheree gleefully played with the deflating dick as it slowly gave up its turgidity. The great foreskin fascinated her. She squeezed the softening meat, watched a final pearl of sperm appear at the slit, and licked it off.
When Sheree glanced up the slope of Carol’s perfect female body—perfect save for the cock she was still licking—it looked like Carol’s eyes and open mouth were bright flashlight beams.
“God, that was good,” Carol slurred.
When Sheree raised back up, her mouth drooped. The lake, now, looked kaleidoscopic, the moon a long white bar smeared across the sky. She could see silver-orange waves of heat waft off of Carol’s taut body. Then, squatting, she glanced at her own vagina and saw something that looked like eggshell-white light beaming from a bald, wet tart.