Badlands
And I open my eyes again only to receive the throbbing of a palesick dawn. I glance at the clock and it confirms that I’m up way too fucking early. There’ll be no chance of slipping off for a few more winks—I’m famished yet my stomach quakes from nausea. Something’s terribly wrong, and I fear it has nothing to do with the three cocktails I had. Must’ve been something I ate. What then? Pussy? I have a painful hardon and I’m in no condition to do anything about it.
I prop myself up on the pillow and survey the remains of the night. Leslie’s here next to me and then… nothing. A girl-sized void.
Leslie stirs. It takes me awhile to get my mouth moving. “Where is she?”
“Wha? I dunno.”
“Well go find her. I can’t get up.”
Leslie disappears. I hear two female voices coming from the living room. Les returns and informs me Susan tried to leave early to put in some overtime at work, but couldn’t find half her shit and so fell asleep on the couch. Doesn’t really add up. Something tells me we won’t be seeing her again.
Susan’s on her way out. I clench my jaw and rise from my sickbed, just to get a final glimpse. I hug something that looks and feels and smells vaguely like Susan, but I can’t be sure. Standing no longer seems like a very good idea.
Leslie, thinking I am merely hung-over, teases me mercilessly. She finds Susan’s g-string lying about and rubs it in my face. I groan. Les leaves for mentoring.
There’s no juice in the house, and at any rate I’d never make it to the fridge. I’d give my left nut for a glass of something cold and sweet. Can’t sleep. The heaves come on suddenly and the cat’s eyeing me as if to say who’s got the hairball now, fucker?
By late afternoon I find myself able to stand on weak legs. Leslie’s out with Nova. I go out to grab a breakfast sandwich and a Mountain Dew.
By the time the girls arrive I’m feeling slightly better. Nova presses her massive knockers to my face, promising to nurse me back to health. I should be sick more often.
“She’s hotter than I am… and skinnier than I am,” Nova sighs after seeing a few pictures of Susan.
“Don’t be ridiculous Nova,” I chide. “Your tits alone are enough to make a grown man cry.” And then there’s the belly dancing. No, can’t beat that.
The girls begin to fool around. I undress, disappear into the shower and soak under the hot stream for a good half hour.
I watch Leslie lap at Nova’s pretty puss as I towel off. My knees buckle onto the bed and I inch myself into Nova’s mouth. I assist Leslie with her task, flicking my tongue across Nova’s clitoris as Les fucks her with a couple fingers. And there’s that soft wet noise that cunts make. Still a little weak, I lie down next to them as Leslie brings Nova to a noisy climax.
“It’s your turn,” Nova announces.
“What about Leslie?”
“She already got me off while you were in the shower,” says Les.
They take me into their mouths. I’m pinned under their darting tongues. Leslie’s hoovering me now, pretty ass jutting skyward. It’s too much. “Point me at her tits,” I manage to yelp. Leslie pumps me all over Nova’s chest.
They got hula hoops at Ding Dongs. They got Ms. Pac Man—the two-player, sit-down kind. They got punk music. They got guitar stems for beer taps. They got dingy wooden tables. My girls play with the hula hoops and all I can do is sit there taking measured sips of my Corona and trying to muster up approving nods.
Emma arrives. We’ve fallen into the comfortable rapport of people who’ve fucked each other and dealt with the consequences. I show her the thong I’m wearing, the one Nova bought for me. Emma pokes at my ass with frigid fingers. She doesn’t understand what she’s supposed to be looking at. Finally she yanks at the fabric, wedging the garment even further up my crack, and I nearly leap out of my seat. Thongs no longer seem like a very good idea.
We’re in the Badlands now. The news clipping affixed to the plate glass window tells me so. “Local Bar Saves a Neighborhood,” the headline reads. Anything can happen up here in the Badlands.
I peer over Emma’s shoulder and see a girl hula hooping, the millimetric thrusts of her firm bottom forcing the hoop to levitate at waist level, as if by the machinations of hover technology that we really ought to have now that we’re four years past the millennium.
“Check that out,” I say. Minutes later the girl takes a seat next to me. She smells of perfume and vodka.
“I was mesmerized by your hula dance,” I say. “Funny how such a subtle motion can produce so much action.”
Someone calls attention to her cleavage and she invites us to look at it. She cups her milk-white breasts and leans into me a bit. But I can’t handle this—not tonight—and I try to ignore her.
“You’re awfully quiet,” she teases.
“I’m not myself tonight.”
“You don’t seem that interesting to me, but there must be something special about you with all these women hanging all over you.” She smiles and glances at my crotch. “So what’s your secret?”
Not giving a shit, perhaps. “The secret is… there is no secret.”
“Mind if I go find your girlfriends?”
I feel like a pimp—as if she’s expecting me to make her kiss my giant gold ring. “You don’t need my permission.”
And she flits away. And Les and Nova return with the tale of a three-way romp in the bathroom. They feel bad that I wasn’t included. I tell them I wouldn’t have been up for it anyway.
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