Family Tradition

“You’ve got the best of both worlds. Ain’t no way anyone’ll think you’re gay when you’ve got her arm around you.”

“Damn straight. And, Christ, she’s hung. She tossed my salad like you wouldn’t believe.”

Ashton winced again, errantly rubbed a hand across his crotch. “I told you, don’t talk like that. It’s killing me!”

Bob leaned forward, grinning like an imp. “She’ll handcuff me to the bed on my back, pushes my knees back damn near to my shoulders and butt fucks me so hard it feel like a piston going in and out of my ass. Then she’ll suck her cum out, spit it in her hand, and slap me in the face with it.”

“You bad bitch!” Ashton proclaimed.

“Then she’ll jerk me off onto a dinner plate and make me suck it up!”

“You whore!”

“That big hard cock goes so far up my ass it feels like she’s fucking my stomach. You should see her in her biker outfit. The chains, the hat, the whole nine yards. Then she pulls that big cock out of the leather pants and waves it at me, her balls going up and down like yo-yos. Brother, it’s a sweet sight.”

“DAMN you!” Ashton snapped, grinding his teeth in angst. “Fuck it! Who’s going to see? That redneck kid? The FUCK if I care!” Ashton stood up at the bow again only this time he wasn’t pissing into the lake, he was jerking off into it.

“Careful you don’t yank it out,” Bob laughed.

Ashton’s entire face looked squeezed shut as he steadily pumped and pumped each and every of the five inches nature gave him. Images filled his mind like dark, sooty smoke: images of stiff, veined cocks sliding into his tonsils, sweaty balls slapping his chin, and Leonardo DiCaprio belly down and waiting for him. Yeah, I got some Titanic for you, bitch… Ashton’s blubber jiggled beneath the Christian Dior short sleeve shirt as his body tremored, and next his sperm was dribbling into the lake.

“Damn, I swear the lake just went up an inch!” he laughed. He zipped back up, wiped his brow again with his shirt sleeve. The boat rocked when he sat back down.

“Look!” Bob pointed to the shore. “You hit the Indian in the eye!”

“Remember the Little Big Horn? Pay-back’s a bitch!”

Ashton and Bob brayed laughter.

A little later, they grabbed the plastic buoys and pulled up the eel-pots.

All empty.

“Damn it!” Ashton griped. “We’ve been out here for hours and we haven’t caught one damn eel.”

“Maybe that dirty redneck kid was jiving us.”

“How could he be jiving us? You saw that box of eel he had in the bait shop.”

“Well then we must be doing something wrong. He said the south side of the lake and—” Bob checked his compass.

“Oops.”

“What?” Ashton asked.

“The bezel was turned around. We’re at the north end of the lake.”

Ashton and Bob both brayed laughter.

“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