by Sasha Pearl
Carman Fan Club
The Carman
Fan Club
Sasha Pearl
3
Carman Fan Club
Copyright © 2013
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-1481986694
ISBN-10: 1481986694
3
Carman Fan Club
3
Carman Fan Club
3
Carman Fan Club
LEGEND OF THE CARMAN FAN CLUB
(from the plaque on the wall)
THE CARMAN FAN CLUB
Once upon a time there was a glorious man who was put together so well he moved like a machine. Each part of him was strong, each part of him was uniquely talented and each part of him was exquisitely pleasing.
And so there came admirers before him, each pleasing him and themselves and finding pleasure in pleasure, just as it should be.
.
3
Carman Fan Club
3
Carman Fan Club
Chapter #1: Creativity
Dear Carman,
Its just past dusk on a ridiculously long day, and I wanted to send this before everyone comes back to the cabin we’ve been randomly assigned to.
I am staying in a Cabin called “Creativity” which is living up to its name. The walls are red and decorated with Brito-esque undulating murals; the faucets are Alice in Wonderland whimsical; the shower tiles are arcs of teal and black Miami Art Deco swirls.
I took the bed farthest in the corner, away from the front door, away from the bathroom.
A partially translucent sliding divider separates my bed from the room,
The woman whose bed I have to pass to get to mine is named Marisol, and so far, I like her.
She didn’t wear a bra during yoga today and I kept peeking at her tits, wondering if they were sliding around even just a bit. They didn’t seem to, but I need more data, so I’m looking forward to tracking their progress and movement during our 7am jogging hike tomorrow morning.
Next to that is Angie’s bed.
Angie is this little blond twinkie with all this long hair who prances around in the tiniest shorts I’ve ever seen. Three times last night I had to keep myself from interrupting her story about her boyfriend name Crowbar who is always stealing her shit, and tell her to shut up and turn around because her ass is so much more interesting than anything coming out of her face.
The brunette with the long straight hair and dark eyes is Nicole; her bed is the blue and purple one by the front of the cabin.
Last night she slept in a plain white tshirt and I swear to you (would I make this stuff up?) when she was sitting on the her yoga mat this morning reading a book and drinking coffee, she wasn’t wearing panties.
This, I think, was no accident, because remember – or did I already tell you? – Nicole is the one who broke the ice last night by asking who brought their dildos, who brought vibrators, and, who brought wine, corkscrews, joints or rum.
So far, she’s the most interesting in the group.
I promise to keep my promise to tell you every bit of all the sex that happens here, but I’ve got nothing to say so far, except there is definitely potential.
Good night Carman, where ever you are.
************************
Rules, No No’s
This morning it was my turn to pick the workout, and lead it, so I picked running over yoga.
The only person who joined me was Marisol, wearing a dark blue running bra and blue matching shorts which were just short enough when we ran up the first hill (I let her win the race, thanks for that tip) I could see half moon bottoms of her ass escape from her running shorts.
By the second mile she was happily trotting along next to me and every time I looked across her to admire the lake I got a more than decent view of her tits bouncing up and down together.
Carman, you really have to teach me more about this stuff.
Is that normal? Do they usually bounce left-up-right-up-left?
Or do they move up and down together like one monobreast?
If I’d looked at her tits any harder, I would have tripped over a rock.
The worst part was that she talked the entire time, but since you didn’t ask me to report on that, I didn’t listen. I’m sure it went something like Blah blah he doesn’t respect her, blah blah he treats her like a child blah blah do I think she’s fat.
Next time I’m packing my iPod and sunglasses.
Don’t ask me if she is a stay at home mom, or if she is even a mom at all. They haven’t told us too many of the Camp Rules yet, but the first one was that we can’t talk about our jobs. Or our kids. Period. No exceptions. Everyone is equal here, that’s what they say.
The idea is that we should – for once – intentionally meet people where they are by finding out who they are for real, not what they do for money.
Rule #2 is that no one can say no.
There is no no.
No is not allowed. (These phrases roll around my head, laughing, clearly).
If someone asks you to try something, asks for time or affection, you are just supposed to roll with it, to the degree that it is pleasant for you.
Anne, that tiny-tittied redhead who welcomed me and helped ferry my suitcases to the cabin explained it as, “take one bit, then you can say more or you can say enough or you can say maybe later or even just thank you and walk away thankful that someone wanted to share pleasure with you.”
It was that “No saying no” that brought me to the group shower today; I would rather be doing something quiet and alone but since that wasn’t an option I arrived late and last, finding myself in a bench and showerhead lined sauna, the size of a small living room.
For the first few minutes I stood quietly by the door, partially blinded by the hazy steam.
All three of my roommates were there already.
Angie was in her usual position (legs open, talking too much).
Marisol was next to her, listening with one ear while running her soapy hands up and down herself in long lingering ovals.
Nicole was standing by herself, one leg up against the tile wall, pulling a dark blue and steel razor up her thigh in soft straight slow lines.
Still wearing my one piece bathing suit, I stationed myself at the shower to Nicole’s left, sitting on the bench with my back to the wall, waiting for her to acknowledge my presence.
When she finally looked at me, we smiled warmly at each other.
“I’m about to shave the rest so divert your eyes if you’re not interested,” she warned me, waving her razor benevolently, drawing my attention away from her stiff nipples.
“Knock yourself out,” I told her, turning to stand under the running water.
Nicole turned herself slightly towards me so I could see the razor run all the way up to where her thighs began. “The trick is little strokes. Gentle ones, you don’t want to cut yourself there. There, now its all smooth. Would you like to feel it?”
I guess I took too long to answer because Danielle stepped up and, well, Carman, I wish I’d had a camera.
Since I don’t, I went through some applications to your fan club
7
Carman Fan Club
CHAPTER 2: MINNIE MOUSE DRESS
After one week I am sure of one thing: I know nothing.
There is no internet, nothing to buy, no tv, no phones (OK, everyone else has phones but I didn’t bring mine because I realized every day it doesn’t ring, I already die a little bit), and so much empty time between appointments.
I
could play board games, but I’ve never done that and now – here, alone, facing this – I just don’t care about dice and squares and rules. Life is confining enough.
There are days I can’t breathe as well, I think I will delete this later, but right now I wanted to tell you because I know you’d ask me, if you could.
**************
Dear Carman,
I’m the first one back to the room again, having ducked out when the survivors of the massive human s’more decided to move their party to the group shower.
I’m going to write this as fast as I can because they’ve been making fun of me for writing to you instead of embracing these sixty sacred days.
I promise you – and myself, in case I forget – that a lot more is going on here, the stuff I came for.
But you only wanted to hear about lesbian sex and how camp ends for me, so I won’t waste your time on the other stuff until I know how it ends, then I’ll tell you.
The last I saw of Marisol, she was rubbing marshmallow crème on a redhead’s amber nipples, then nibbling it off cheerfully.
Behind her a tall woman built like professional volleyball player had lifted Marisol’s pink circle skirt up and tucked it into her waist, and was drawing circles and swirls of chocolate syrup art all over Marisol’s round ass.
I didn’t say good night to her, or to Nicole, whose silhouette I last saw about an hour ago walking along the lake alone, kicking at waves.
And of course, I tiptoed past Angie was right near the bonfire, curled up on a baby blue blanket resting her head on her knees, staring at the smoldering fire.
Since it was silence day today, I didn’t have to listen to her talk about how Crowbar smells, how Crowbar sounds, how Crowbar could get anything, anytime, and how he would get this crazy great energy rush and landscape and refinish the floors and wash her truck for entire weekends after he scored some really good junk.
I also didn’t have to listen to what a raging dick Crowbar was when he’d decide not able to score or when money was too tight to afford the good stuff, how he broke all her pots and pans by throwing them at her when she burnt rice, how he slashed all of her clothes and shoes the day he was so drunk he forgot to pick her up and she accepted a ride home from a male coworker.
So here I am, in the quiet room alone, and now that I’ve filed my office report, I’m considering whether to slip my dildo into the bed with me.
Dare me?
What? I can’t hear you! Do you?
Goodnight *
**********************
Carman,
The hours have become days. I’m almost used to being here, to being so far away from everything I have to give and do and offer.
At least I can tell stories, right?
Camp is still odd for me – did I ever tell you that I never went to camp as a child? I didn’t do these American things like ride ponies or be prodded by Baptist teenagers to sing repetitive songs about worms or whatever.
Every summer, every year until college, I was at home, with a book or a remote control, so bored by the day that I’d put myself to bed before dark.
Hot, huh? Other girls were sneaking out to meet guys, get high, get drunk, just play, and I was curled up in a small room in a small house in a small world. At least I stayed safe enough to make it this ar.
Anyway, I didn’t know there would be this guest night party thing, this mixer, like a date night thing here.
I’m glad I didn’t know – you know I hate crowds and questions, strangers and stares.
No kids came (thank God), but if that was Crowbar in the black leather jacket all wrapped around Angie in the corner, rocking against each other to the rhythm of their conversation, then he’s a lot younger than I’d expected. Taller. Happier, and louder. That’s what junk does to you – makes you shout, sweat, smile too brightly, forgetting your own appearance while happily sliding around your own mind.
From the looks of their fashions, I’d say the two of them must spend all their money on drugs because they don’t seem to see they need new shoes, haircuts, (and in her case, a pedicure and some professional bushwhacking in forest).
Besides him, all the other men looked clean, nervous. I slipped right to the bar not because I wanted a drink but because everyone had to stay for an hour and I figured I’d spend that hour with my back to the room, turn away from the lipgloss and hairspray and high heels and giggly chattering.
Maybe later the room will settle into a deeper slower beat, after people relax into each other in groups of even and odd numbers, sinking into the bedlike banquets that line the room.
Hopefully I’ll be out of here by then.
I ordered one glass of wine and then looked in my purse for a book which I knew wasn’t there but still hoped for. As the bartender set the wine in front of me, I looked up to thank him and he pointed across the bar. “That’s from the gentleman at the end.”
I shook my head and paid anyway; what was I going to do?
Ask him to spill out this wine some creep paid for and pour me a new glass?
Grapes gave their lives up for this precious substance, and I honor their sacrifice.
Before I could take the first sip, he was next to me, sitting on the deepseated barstool next to me, turned outward to face the room, arms crossed tightly across his chest. He was tanned and slightly sunburned; preppy in a way that told me he owns a boat and uses it, but pays someone else to clean it and stock it.
“You’re Nicole’s roommate,” he said, introducing me to myself.
“Yes. And you must be the man she’s here running away from. “
He didn’t laugh, but looked at me sideways, a little sad like he hadn’t expected a heat seeking missile, but also relieved.
“I guess so, “he said, offering his right hand and giving me his name. I didn’t tell him that Nicole hadn’t mentioned him one time.
“I hear there is a special rule at this camp,” he said, breaking our eye contact and picking his beer up off the bar. “I’m here to have a threesome, to watch Nicole go down and eat pussy with her naked ass up in the air, I’m here to watch her lick tits and I’m here to see the look on her face when another chick bangs her with the strap on I sent with her. So, he said, after taking a long drink, now that I’ve asked for it, you can’t say no.”
I took a sip of my wine and let the silence grow between us.
If he spoke next, if he pleaded or begged, he’d lose.
I needed the time to draw myself a big enough hole to slip out of.
“Is she your wife or your girlfriend?” I asked, knowing we weren’t supposed to discuss jobs, marriage anything like that. If he answered it, he’d be out of the game, right now.
“Fine, she’s your wife, I can tell by how happy she is to be here, away from you. And that she’s over there while you’re over here.”
The two of us stared at her across the room, sitting on a banquet with her knees slightly open, part of a group of about five clearly entranced by a story being told by a woman whose back was turned towards us.
“She’s shown me her pussy four times since we got to camp. Four times, and I haven’t even asked. Does she do that at home?”
His silence told me no, so I continued, chipping a hole for myself out of this room, and out of this situation.
“Does she sit cross legged with no panties, drinking coffee on the floor?”
He didn’t answer.
“Does she spend half the morning getting dressed, flashing you tit while she simply can’t hold up her towel, then bending over so you can see the rest?”
Again, no answer.
“Usually, when she takes a shower, she invites you in, and expect you to watch while she shaves herself, leaning over naked with her tits covered in streams of water, am I right? And then, of course, she offers you her tits?”
His stony silence was enough, but I pressed it one more time.
“At night, when she wears that see-through white babydoll, the one that you
can see her nipples through, you know which one I’m talking about, right?” I stop and lean over and around a little forcing his eye contact. “Yes, you know which one?” He nodded then looked away again, “Does she lean over a lot when she wears it? Bend over, at least? Just so you know she’s swollen down there and thinking of you?”
He swallowed hard, looked at me briefly, then turned back to the bar to order another drink.
“If you want a threesome, I won’t say no, but I’ll say not me. Clearly I’ve gotten more than my share of your wife this week. I’ve rubbed her soft heavy pussy, from one side to the other, and from the front to the back, and I’ve sucked her tits while she rode her dildo.”
His beer arrived, and I waited until he took a long swallow to finish shooting my way out of this corner. “So, Mr. Husband, your sweet wife has shown me her pussy four times more than I’ve asked for, and basically I’ve had enough of her for now. You clearly don’t need competition like me, anyway. Not really part of your fantasy, right?”
He didn’t shake his head no, but I think he leaned a little with his head cocked sideways just a little bit so that the idea of me and his wife might slide out of his mind before it took root and tortured him.
Before he could officially say no, I leaned forward and took a sip of my wine which actually was really delicious; spicy, warm, bold. Too bad I couldn’t bring it back to the room with me.
When I was sure my words had sunk in, I continued, “And besides that, when we were getting dressed, she told me I looked sexy, like one of those WW2 USO girls, right? Then a minute later, she told me I looked like Minnie Mouse. So as far as I’m concerned, she can go fuck herself.”
