“Oh! OH! OHHHMYGAWDDDDD!” Maria cried as I pinned her to the mattress from behind.
I had two handfuls of breast, so I was a little preoccupied.
Maria told me later her parents were from Lebanon. She had dark skin, and she’d shaved. What was different was the area between her legs was a darker color. Not that anything didn’t work the same, but it was just an unusual look. Maria also had a tongue stud and one through the top of her labia. I had already enjoyed her piercings, especially the one in her tongue.
“Mind if I join in?” I heard a guy ask.
“What the hell?” Sasha said.
Maria looked over when she felt the bed move. Al knee-walked up as if he expected her to blow him while I continued doing her.
“Get that baby dick away from me!” Maria yelled.
I stopped in mid thrust and looked at his penis. Al Faulkenburg, forever to be known from this day forward as ‘Baby Dick,’ had the tiniest penis I’d ever seen. Al wasn’t a big guy, but Jesus! It was smaller than my pinky, and that’s with a raging hard-on. It wasn’t like he was thick, either. He looked like a ten-year-old boy.
Notice I called Al’s member a ‘penis.’ You really couldn’t call it by the usual nicknames; those terms had particular meanings that just didn’t apply here.
Craig and Trip burst in to see what the problem was.
“I thought women said that size doesn’t matter,” Al ‘Baby Dick’ Faulkenburg said.
“We want to at least feel it,” Sasha blurted.
I felt bad for creepy Al when everyone laughed, but not bad enough to chase after him when he burst into tears and ran out of the gazebo.
“Ah, while you wait on him, do you want to have some fun with us?” Trip asked Sasha.
I figured Sasha was a big girl. If she wanted to have sex with Trip and Craig, she could have at it. I watched her check the two guys out and smile. I guess she was willing. You had to love LA. It looked like we had gone from a threesome to a fivesome without missing a beat.
“No weird stuff,” I said, and then blushed.
“You don’t know what you’re missing,” Craig teased.
“I mean it. Don’t even want to see guy-on-guy kissing,” I warned them.
“I might,” Maria said.
“Then hang around after we’re done,” I said. “Now, where were we? Oh, yes, now I remember: I was about to stuff myself up your keister.”
I don’t think she believed me. I lubed up the condom, put my little head against her rosebud, and pushed. Maria’s face scrunched up, and I stopped halfway home.
“Holy shit!” she complained.
She would relax a little, and I would stuff more of myself in. It took a while, but I finally had my bone buried. In the meantime, Trip and Craig were double-teaming Sasha. I began to move in and out of Maria.
“Rub yourself,” I told her.
Maria must have liked it.
“That’s it! Do me!” she yelled, telling everyone what was happening.
As they said on Star Trek reruns, I ‘made it so.’ Maria was bouncing her body beneath me like a bucking bronco, and it was taking most of my strength to restrain her. I grabbed her hips so I could control her better and then fucked the shit out of her. Well, not literally.
“AHHHH!” Maria shrieked, as I banged her tight ass. “OHGAAAAAWD!”
She came, and I jerked out of her. Her gaping little rosebud made contraction motions as she climaxed. I pulled off my condom and hosed down her back and her cute, tight bottom.
Once I recovered, Trip slapped my hand to tag out. Sasha was on her hands and knees and was blowing Craig. Trip dropped between Maria’s legs and took over, so I put on another condom and lubed it up. Sasha either had more experience, or she’d had it in the backside before because she took me like a champ.
When I finally got off, I was done. I left the other four to continue playing.
◊◊◊
Chapter 20 – Don’t Say It Unless You Mean It Saturday December 12
Fritz found me after I’d had breakfast.
“I’m taking my staff and making sure they’re qualified to remain on my security team. I was wondering if you wanted to come with us.”
“What’re we talking about?”
“We’re going to a gun club to test our skills; we do this about once a month. I hear you’ve had some training. Then we’re going to my favorite taco stand, and if you’re good, we’ll go surfing.”
I gave him my big eyes and nodded.
“I’ll be good, promise,” I said in a little boy voice.
“That means you can’t shoot anybody,” Fritz clarified.
“Not even Paul?”
“Not even Paul.”
The gun club was enormous, with both indoor and outdoor ranges. They also had tactical ranges where they had houses you could clear, and even a city setting.
Since I wasn’t yet eighteen and was from out of state, they made me take a thirty-minute gun-safety class. They taught me which end the bang came out of and that I wasn’t supposed to point that end at anyone, even if I thought the gun was unloaded. That included myself (people must be stupid if they had to add that). I then had to take a written test. When I wrote in that I would probably shoot a terrorist if he or she were in the process of killing people, that got me a lecture. I was told that terrorists were people too, and I wasn’t qualified to determine if they were terrorists.
I’m not sure how I kept from rolling my eyes. Perhaps my acting experience was finally doing me some good in the real world.
I rented a SIG SAUER 1911 .45-caliber pistol, holster, and ear and eye protection. I also bought a box of ammo and left to find Fritz on the range.
Fritz had us practice from ten feet to twenty-five yards. I was rusty, but Paul worked with me so I was at least hitting the target by the time we were done. We then stepped outside. I had to stop to buy another box of ammo before going to the tactical range. Fritz ruined my day when he told me we weren’t going to clear a room or use the street scene. Instead, we were going to use an area where you’d shoot pop-up targets from a standing position.
Paul was first. There were three round pop-ups, and it would randomly have them come up. Paul had his gun holstered and drew when the first one came up. The drill was to get you used to drawing your weapon and engaging multiple targets. It was a lot of fun and reminded me of an arcade game. Turns out I was better at this than I was shooting at paper targets. I attribute that to football. As a quarterback, I had to make quick decisions and release the ball. I’d trained my eye-hand coordination by throwing many thousands of passes over the last three years. That muscle memory translated well to this.
We next worked on a quick draw. This was where you would draw your gun so it was barely clear of the holster, point and shoot all in one motion. Normally you would raise the gun and aim. Fritz admitted that this technique had saved his life at one point when he’d been drawn on. The goal was to get a bullet into your opponent and follow up with two more aimed rounds to finish him off.
This reminded me of what I had thought cowboys were like when I was little, so I took to this with gusto. Fritz explained that this wasn’t how you should normally shoot. But if it was life or death, the first one to put a .45 slug in the other usually won.
Fritz brought out a shotgun.
“David, in the back of each vehicle, you’ll find one of these. This is a Browning Auto-5, and we load it with nonlethal beanbag rounds. Being shot with one of these will put you on your ass. The idea is to shoot for center mass.”
I enjoyed shooting the shotgun until I found out each round cost upwards of ten dollars.
◊◊◊
The ‘taco stand’ turned out to be a food truck that overlooked a beach. I got brave and ordered ceviche, fresh raw fish cured in citrus juices. It was made with lime and seasoned with chopped onions, salt, and cilantro. They served it with sweet potatoes and avocado. I also got a couple of different tacos.