“You paid that doctor to mess up my face, Lorna. You played god with my life, you took away my beauty…”
“I’ve been shivering my ass off in Alaska, bitch!”
Right then, right there…Deborah realized that this is where they had been head all along. So with deliberate élan, she took the first swing—BAM!
Choke-spit got caught in Lorna’s throat from being socked so hard in the jaw. But she wasn’t about to back down. It was what her rage lusted for.
“Goddamn white trash peroxide blonde scabby ass bitch!”
Wham and kick! Lorna missed, but she was swinging wild, summoning every ounce of energy she had.
Buck and Kent came running out to see what all the screaming was about, but as Lorna charged into the living room like a cheerleader on steroids, Deborah shouted, “Mind your fucking business!”
She grabbed Lorna by the head, bent her head down and socked the fuck out of her in two places—the face, then the back.
Lorna shook loose, ratcheted up a hunk of snot—spit it in Deborah’s face, kicked her and slapped her all in one motion. She forked her fingernails like knives and dug them into Deborah’s arms, neck, whatever she could hold onto, scratching as deeply as she could get—but Deborah’s rage was the stronger.
Deborah whop-cocked her; knocking out the sound in her left ear. Then she grabbed her by the side of the head and flung the screaming bitch over the coffee table.
Lorna jumped back up, eyes bulging with a yelling bloody nose and mouth as she tackled Deborah. But it was a short effort. Deborah, who had rode bucking mechanical horses in Texas, heel-kicked Lorna’s ankles, immediately collapsing the woman.
“This is how I wanted to beat your ass for so long!” Deborah screamed as she did just that.
BAM—slap; kick; WEP!
Lorna really did get beat the fuck up. But come what may, her rivalry with Debbie Dallas cum Deborah had reached its impasse. Now it was beyond brooding; now it was forever.
Bloody, crying, ripped and bruised, Lorna got to her feet, then got to the door. Over her shoulder, she wailed at Deborah, “This isn’t over, bitch! I will never let you win!”
~*~
Eyes closed, mouth wide, January Crown winced aloud with a final sex moan.
The muscles of her lower abdomen had enabled her pussy to grip Adam’s dick and squeeze it drop-dry. Now he was a puppy; sweating, tongue-kissing, slithering and hollering his moment of primal manliness.
Between her glossy wet legs, he felt like a King.
“I love you,” he panted. “You’re everything I ever wanted.”
But from the darkness of January’s library watching the video monitor, Otis Crown mumbled, “Not for long, son.”
It all seemed to go bump in the night, because truly, this was an endless night.
January lay exhausted on the living room floor while Adam took a shower. Then returning fully dressed and back in character as “college boy,” he tipped a thank you nod to the stripper and left her there alone and naked on the floor.
Otis sighed hard as he heard the lock click automatically behind Adam.
“What should we do boss?”
“Stay here and watch the monitor.”
Stripping down to fruit of the loom underwear and brandishing a knife—the flabby gray haired icon of black high society, departed the library to confront his son’s mighty lioness once and for all.
Dao Ming
“And now ladies and gentlemen…”
Television cameras; thousands of screaming fans all around the open-clam stage; fornication moans replacing the sound of crickets in the woods as night tide rushed the California coastline.
”The moment that all of America has been waiting for!”
“Hell yeah,” several people shouted as the various crowds roared with applause and suspense.
Camera One—Close up on Fox Holden; microphone to mouth as beaming smile hid the jealousy in her face. Bullshit P.R. introduction ala Diana Ross Presents the Jackson 5. Fox lying glamorously, “She’s always been a friend and I’ve helped keep her identity a secret for months! But now for the first time ever, on national television—Daisy is finally ready to be seen. This week—she has the number one CD in the country and the number one single! My peeps everywhere—without chilling a moment longer, here my girl go—DAISY!”
The crowd went ballistic!
An explosion of set-lights as eyes and necks strained to see the “masked” female figure rising up out of the pearl bed of the clam stage as though she were a goddess taking flight. In actuality—they would only be able to see her face by watching the giant screens on either side of the stage. And the more the masked woman rose up into the stage, swinging her hips sensuously and tossing her bouncy black hair as though in a shampoo commercial, that’s exactly where people looked.
To the beat of her new single—Daisy ripped off her mask!
“Oh my god!” people started gasping as they saw that she was not black, but Asian.
“Well I’ll be fucking damned,” Fox Holden muttered off mic.
Lost in the sea of fans, Chen and Ling Mae broke into tears.
No Chinese person in the history of American music had ever been allowed to break down the barriers of “coolness” and “relatable social proxy” and have a major hit record. But now little depressed Daisy from West Linn, Oregon had changed all that. Her CD was the funkiest jam on the market and nobody could deny giving her the props.
Mouths hung open in surprise as bulging eyes spread all throughout the crowd, television cameras clicking back and forth to catch the astonishment—but after the initial shock—the fans began screaming their approval!
“Hooray!” they shouted enthusiastically. “You go girl!”
“Right on, Daisy!”
And for a very long moment—they wouldn’t let her sing. She had to stand there, graciously nodding to their applause and looking so drop dead beautiful that Noble Sinatra thought he’d just die if she didn’t notice him the crowd.
“You did it babe, you did it!” he called out, unheard.
“Thank you so much,” Daisy told the crowd. “I thank you so much—but I have an announcement to make.”
Everyone quieted down. Still straining, crooking and gasping in awe of how humble she was to be so gorgeously beautiful and glamorous. She said, “Now that you’ve seen my real face—and you like it…”
A swirl of cheers flooded the pearl bed.
“…now that you’ve seen my real face. I want you to call me by my real name; my Chinese name. My name is Dao Ming…and in Chinese it means shining path. That’s who I am and that’s how I got to you—by not believing all that society told me.”
People cheered mad crazy and Dao Ming rocked the hell out of that stage with energetically sexy performance. But after it was over and the network camera crews were packing up, her spirit moved on to her second goal for the night—the unmasking of Noble Sinatra as her sister’s rapist.
They hadn’t once had sex since reuniting as a couple, so after Chen and Ling Mae were long gone back San Luis Obispo, a chilly-eyed Dao Ming took Noble by the hand, aggressively dragged him back to her bungalow, her bed of sex, her black widow’s heart.
~*~
Jerry Wiggins couldn’t make out what it was climbing out of the spooky old station wagon jerking and talking to itself.
His job was to refill the gas station’s underground reserve.
Wiping his brow, he suddenly saw that it was a disturbed person dressed in army fatigues—a baldheaded, weird-ass looking black chick with a facial expression from hell.
“Rich people are the devil…rich people are the devil,” she seemed to be chanting directly at him. But in her head, the VOICES were echoing: “Stop it, February! Stop it!”
“Look, don’t bring your ass over here by me,” the swarthy white man told her. “And don’t come asking me for any money.”
February Foster aimed Mace and blinded him.
<
br /> Then, before he could bend over hollering, she slit his neck open from the side and ripped the butcher knife downward creating a shank all the way to the belly. He fell to the ground and she put her combat boot on top of his head, holding it so as to remove it.
VOICES: “Stop it, February…stop!”
“You’re a fucking liar!” February shouted into the air. She couldn’t wait to carry out the suicide mission—to blow herself up. “You’re just trying to stop me from saving everybody! Well it’s not going to work. We’re all going to burn!”
Discontinuing the gas transfer and popping Jerry Wiggins’s head into the trunk of the K-Car with the rest of the heads, February did just as she’d been instructed to do in rehearsals by Critter and Beavis and Butthead when they were brainwashing her—she TEXT MESSAGED the inventory control number in the refuel man’s left pocket so that he was clear for the next few hours.
Then she took the explosives from the station wagon, loaded them into the refuel truck and took Cabrillo Highway to Ocean Boulevard to Papa Sinatra’s private boulevard. Soon her suicide would be justified. She would drive the fuel truck straight into Warm Leatherette and blow all those demonic rich fuckers sky high.
~*~
Push, push
In the Bush
Tiger Holden turned the key to door 48 at the Blue Dingo lodge on Shell Beach Road.
The soap writer, Peter Dasher, pretending to be E-Joe Bradford, had TEXT MESSAGED Tiger and told him to meet him there for a romantic rendezvous.
But when Tiger opened the door—he got the shocking heartbreak of his life.
E-Joe was bent over the bed naked while football star Jared Presser stood behind him, banging his dick in and out E-Joe’s ass cheeks and spanking him with a belt at the same time.
Immediately, Tiger rushed Jared Presser. “Get off my man!”
“Holy shit,” the quarterback shouted, covering his face in shame as Tiger’s punches bounced off his muscles. He pulled up his jeans, bolting from the room with his head down.
E-Joe, who had also been fucking Peter Dasher, of course, coiled on the bed busted, not knowing what lie to tell in order to calm the tears of rage and betrayal welling in Tiger’s eyes.
“I thought you were mines,” Tiger cried in devastation. “I loved you, E-Joe!”
“I love you, too, Tiger. But I’m not the kind of guy you marry. I have a career and millions of fans to protect, you know.”
What a sad person they both thought of the other as they locked stares in pain. Finally, Tiger turned on his heel, walking away.
“Tiger?”
In the doorway, Tiger looked back. “Yeah?”
“Could you finish what Jared was doing? He wasn’t packing the hole as good as you pack it.”
And with that, Tiger shut the door—and that chapter in his life—forever.
~*~
May Day Foster couldn’t believe what she was doing.
Smooth as a thief, his strong but gentle hand slipped down inside her panties to cup and caress her buttocks.
“You’re prettier than your daughter,” Detective Roman Sanchez whispered in her ear.
They were down on the beach, gushing tides sweeping in against their ankles as they slow danced to a K.C. and Jo-Jo ballad and looked so deep into one another’s eyes they could see creation modeling its blackness.
Nothing about it was based on knowing each other romantically. It was pure animal attraction; lust. But that didn’t mean it was invalid. May Day was a grown woman. In fact, she was beyond the age of forty even if she didn’t look it. She had her needs and fine, honey-muscled Roman with the curly hair and pipe bulge in his pants had his needs.
So many people made fucking into something complicated and guilt-ridden. But on Mardi Gras night, these were the two who respected fucking as a ‘sport’ and engaged their imaginations and their sexual energy, not for cheap emotion, but for the sport of it.
May Day had never had Latin dick.
But the way Roman kissed her, devouring her neck; the way he squeezed her ass and pressed his crotch into hers with the confident sway of a panther—it reminded her of being with a black man. May Day was of the opinion that when black men make love; they dance lying down. But now here was a Latino demonstrating that at the end of the day, men are men and women are women.
No matter what the girls back in Philly might say, she wasn’t about to deny herself this moment of pleasure; especially since she’d gone so long without having the proper attention from a man.
Roman put one long, bold lick of his tongue down the center of her face like a big cow-lick…nasty. And that was it.
Their clothes came off and both of them had sand on their faces; the salt of the sea chapping their lips.
“You’re so sexy, it hurts my dick. I cannot help that I am a conqueror. I wanted you so long, Sheba.”
May Day screamed as his tongue and his finger hit the spot at the same time.
On her back, and so thankful to be there at last, the full panoramic purple sky was her view.
She found herself writhing in the sand like a wayward college girl, her flesh feverish and her legs parted as Roman Sanchez galloped between them with all the masculine agility of just what he’d called himself—a conqueror.
It felt so good to be a woman.
“God has made the night for lovers,” Roman told her. “So let us let go, be free…and show god some love.”
And it was beautiful to be fucked that way; no shame, no guilt.
~*~
Caprice and Granny September, as they ran from Yves Malle’s bungalow screaming that he’d just had a heart attack—were the ones to see it first.
February Foster crashing the fuel truck through the front gates of Warm Leatherette as security guards who’d been trying to stop her jumped out of the way!
The monster wheels, the whale-portal horror of the bright moon glow headlights—the guzzling roar of the long, long truck as it was being made to do something that it wasn’t made to do.
“Rich people are the devil…they don’t deserve to be happy!”
Speeding insanity, deathly fire, the bitter rage of goodbye—February Foster was back! And she was bringing to Warm Leatherette what it had brought to her—destruction!
~*~
What a beautiful body he has, thought Dao Ming as they undressed. But alas, she was poisonous. She hadn’t been able to hug her little sister without smelling his scent or feeling his forcefulness as it trembled in the flesh of her sister.
And now…thanks to the Red Panty Kit that Noble loved so much…he would pay.
“Where are you going?” Noble asked from the bed as Dao Ming was on her way into the bathroom to insert the tampon-like garment into her vagina.
“Oh I’ll be back, lover boy,” Dao Ming told him, tempestuously. “Mama just wants to try something new—give you a special treat tonight.”
RED PANTIES
Still in a daze following Adam’s lovemaking, January Crown felt the vibration of someone or some thing moving near her. Lazily, the naked beauty opened her eyes.
“Nasty bitch,” Otis Crown huffed standing over top her.
January refocused her gaze, thinking she must be imaging things. But then smelling the mixture of Old Spice and soggy unwashed balls, she realized that she wasn’t. He was really there, gray, chubby, wrinkled, naked and hanging. His pit bull face sneering hatefully as his hands clutched a knife.
Arising slowly, her expression one of shock, January found herself speechless.
His plan, she realized by the look in his eyes, was to rape her and to somehow convince Adam that she had seduced him; that she had wanted it.
Finally, witnessing his droopy dong growing erect—January hissed in disgusted, “Get away from me!”
She started getting up off the floor, but Otis rose up his powerful leg and kicked her back down hard!
Bracing and screaming in pain, she kicked back, forcing him
to dodge backwards, swung around and punched at his gut as she pulled herself up at the same time.
“Get off my property, now, you rotten bastard!”
Otis cocked the knife, suggestively. He said, “Go up to your bedroom and lay on the bed.”
“Adam will kill you if you touch me!”
“But that’s what you want you dirty slut, for me to touch you!”
Through the mirrors, January could see that two other men were coming out of her library to stand behind her; obviously Otis’s goons.
It’s a film and video set-up she realized. Her bedroom, her bed—it was all planned.
“In a few years time, I think my son will forgive his own father,” Otis said tersely. “But you—he’ll blame you for publicly humiliating him. The people watching your performance on the internet; they’ll blame you for seducing such a respected old man. They’ll pressure Adam to get himself a better wife, a decent woman. Not some gold digging ghetto slut who thought owning saloon made her good enough to be a Crown.”
“If you rape me, you’ll lose everything. You’ll go to prison.”
“Rape,” Otis laughed. “You’ll never prove it bitch. Everybody knows your track record seducing and fucking rich men. And who’s richer than me?”
Yes, I can prove it, thought January. Immediately, she switched gears.
“Look—why don’t you and I make a deal Mr. Crown? Obviously, you already know my big secret—the fact that I have this attraction for you. Why can’t you and I just have a special friendship on the down low, big Papa bear?”
Otis grinned. “So you admit, ha. You’ve secretly got a thing for me.”
“You know I do. But nobody needs to know that, especially not Adam.”
Holding her stomach so as not to throw up, she walked up and kissed Otis Crown on his cold, soggy fish mouth. Deeply repulsed, but acting her ass off, she said, “I don’t want something make believe, Mr. Crown. Please put that knife down and let’s go to my room and celebrate the beginning of a beautiful new secret.”
SEX ON PISMO BEACH by Tweet Page 23
