by F. G. Adams
"Give me the short version."
"I fucked this crazy girl years ago and when I came back to London, I looked her up. She needed a husband, so I married her." He chuckles enjoying stringing Aurei along.
"You’re fucking with me." Aurei laughs.
"No, man. I’m serious. I’ve made a deal with a devil, but she’s one helluva devil." He pauses, then asks. "So, can you help me find an apartment?"
"Of course. No problem. When?"
"Sometime in April or May. Not sure of the dates yet."
"Just let me know. I’ll stock the fridge with a case of beer."
"Yeah. Sounds good. Thanks, Hard."
I can’t wait to meet the hellion that caught him. She’s got to be a real piece of work. Aurei smirks, then laughs about hearing his nickname again. It’s been a long time since he was called that, but some names just stick and that was one of those names.
Army Aviation Flight School, Fort Rucker, Alabama. Six years earlier.
Dirk bragged to the others on the flight line Monday morning. "Dudes, my wingman Moore, earned a new nickname Saturday night."
"Spill it!"
"His new name is Hard Core, but I call him Hard for short."
They all laughed at that.
"Hey Hard, come over here and tell them what happened Saturday night."
"Naw man. Let it lay."
"Hell no!" They all chimed in. "Spill it!"
"We walk in, right? And immediately, Ole Hulk here draws the ladies’ eyes. You can hear the word 'Eye Candy' buzzing around the bar."
"That’s two words, Sam."
"Shut the fuck up, Moore! Anyway, we sit down at a table and nothing happens, right? Wrong! Some drunk chick comes up, plops down in his lap and starts to grind him."
"No she didn’t. Quit exaggerating."
"Yes she fucking did. But our Officer and a Gentleman here, being the best damn wingman ever, simply stands up and excuses himself to the restroom leaving me the drunk chica. When he comes back, I’ve done made a move to hold her right here." He points to his dick and they all laugh. "But her wing-lady rescues her from my evil cock, and they leave." He frowns and everyone boos. "Which should be bad, right? Wrong! That’s good, because she broke the ice and now Mr. Muscles here is acting like a fucking chick magnet. I swear they were swarming." He flexes his biceps. "Maybe I should improve my guns."
Everyone is laughing now.
"By the time midnight rolls over, there is a sure 'nough a catfight brewing as the pussies positioned themselves to make a play for my main man. While I’m here working my ass off to pick one up, he’s working hard over there not to have a threesome at the table."
"So how did he get the new nickname, Hard Core?"
"Patience. I’m getting to that!"
"Did he go hard core on them and fuck those pussies like the dawg we know he is?"
Someone chants. "Who let the dawg out?" And everyone barks.
"Naw man! He mows them down! It was brutal, I tell you!" He hangs his head then shakes it. "He told them. 'Look! I’m not into you and I'm not getting in to you.'"
"Ahhhh!" They all moan.
"That’s a hard core rejection right there."
Aurei laughs. It’ll be good to see ole Sam I am again.
The first time he laid eyes on Dirk Sam, they were asked to stand at the Hail and Farewell party and were introduced as the only two bachelors in Green Flight. Sitting at opposite ends of the same table, the two alpha males stood locking eyes and sizing each other up. Both were athletic specimens at 6’ tall and 220 pounds, but one was wearing a J-Crew shirt with khakis and the other faded distressed jeans with a t-shirt that read Loose Cannon. One was blonde with a golden tan. The other was dark brunette with olive skin. They appeared to be opposites, but the look in their eyes were the same. Then Aurelius was singled out as the youngest candidate of the two, and all eyes turned to the dark haired, dark eyed young man. When Dirk realized those eyes were on him instead of the blonde buck with the crooked grin, he quickly set the record straight and called the crowd out with a wise-guy grin of his own. "I hope you ladies and gentlemen did not just profile this dark meat as the Mafioso because I’m Dirk Sam. He’s Aurelius Moore."
The horrified ladies and gentlemen turned their attention to Aurei whose eyes stayed locked with Dirk’s and what he saw in them created a bond of brotherhood. Dirk was enjoying the hell out of pushing their politically correct buttons. Aurei gave him a heads up man salute and simply said to the crowd. "Ciao."
From that point on, the practical jokes and the antics were nonstop. If they weren’t pushing each other’s buttons, they were teaming up to push everyone else’s.
He leans over the balcony railing and spits, then smiles at the fond memory that simple action conjures. The seed spitting contest was one of the best. Vodka filled watermelons produced quite a show. First place was hard to earn.
He stands, then stretches. He and Sam were made from the same mold, just handed two different lives. Sam joined the military out of necessity. His mother passed away and at 18, he found himself homeless. After trying unsuccessfully to establish a relationship with a British father he never met, he joined the US military and made it his family. Aurei, however, enlisted because he wanted to fly Apache helicopters. Having been raised in the military and living in rural south Alabama once his dad retired, he fell in love with the war birds flying overhead, but he rushed into enlisting when he received unwanted publicity from an Italian tabloid that featured him on their cover as "Maximus Moore, Rising Star on the Italian Social Scene. Perhaps we should consider this young American inline to inherit the Liotine Fortune as the most eligible young bachelor in Italy. We will definitely be keeping a watchful eye on him." That 'watchful eye' comment sent him straight to the recruiter without telling a soul, and at 18 years of age, he signed away 6 years of his life determined to be who he chose to be, not who someone else said he was.
He smiles. Man, did that announcement cause an uproar. They were all at the family villa in Italy on spring break, when Grandpa Al asked him to come to Italy after high school to discuss his future. He stood at the dinner table and announced. "This is as good a time as any, I reckon." Then proceeded to tell them he had enlisted and would be leaving the day after graduation for basic training.
The air seemed to have been sucked out of the room. Grandpa Al was the first to speak. "Maximus, what have you done?"
"I’ve done what I wanted to do. I want to serve my country and I want to fly helicopters. Grandpa, I’m not university material. I don’t think I can stomach four more years of school to earn a boring degree doing something I will loathe. I can go through Warrant Officer Candidate School then flight school in less than a year and come out a helicopter pilot."
Grandpa looked right at Zita and said. "You should have told him."
"Should have told me what?" He asked his mother.
She sighed and looked at his father. Bob shrugged his shoulders, then spoke for them. "Son, when you were young your Grandpa here established a trust fund in your name. We didn’t want you to grow up using it as a crutch. We wanted to make you an independent thinker. We were going to tell you after you graduated."
"Cool." He answered and beamed at everyone. "Thanks, Grandpa. When do I get it and how much is in it?"
"$1 million and 18."
That weekend Grandpa spent every waking moment with him, giving him a crash course in business management and investing. "Maximus, use your talents and do not hesitate to use the talents of your employees, but allow no one to mind your business but yourself. You have a good head on your shoulders. Begin buying other businesses and learn from them."
As it turns out, Grandpa was right. His naturally enigmatic and reserved personality, coupled with being a logical thinker, and a concise communicator were perfect for being a venture capitalist and he managed to turn that trust fund into Maximus Enterprises, a conglomeration of successful business ventures based out of Italy.
He listens for the model, but
hears only silence. She must be applying makeup. I should have told her to stay natural. Oh well. He lifts his face to the sun and lets his mind drift along.
Maintaining a dual lifestyle has been challenging to say the least, but he’s successfully been able to keep his Italian persona and his American life separate and secret. Back home in Alabama, his homeboys know he has money, but not the extent of it. And his military family doesn’t know anything at all. They simply know him as Warrant Officer Aurei Moore, an Alabama homeboy, currently stationed at Fort Rucker.
He rests his hands on top of his head. He’s got jar dropping news for Dirk too. His military obligation ends this spring and he’s resigning, so he can come out of the millionaire player closet. He chuckles as he watches a car pass on the street below.
"Signore?" The sweet little piece of ass calls to him from inside his studio interrupting his thoughts. He turns his head and hears her bare feet on the hardwood floor as she comes closer. "Why are you in the cold air?"
"Reminds me how alive I am."
"Are you crazy man? It’s freezing!"
The crazy man laughs. I guess I am standing out here freezing my balls blue. He shifts his stance to look into the room.
"I will wear the mink." She says and retreats back inside.
His sweet Granny Moore introduced him to the art of photography when he was a preteen. She was worried about his 'badass' attitude and gave him his first camera. "You seem to be finding yourself in the middle of schoolyard battles, Dear. You should report Ann's bullying to the teachers. Let the adults handle the children."
He didn’t answer. He knew the only way to protect his little sister was to kick their asses for them.
"You are breeding anger, and anger breeds unhappiness, and unhappiness isn’t a pretty sight for these old eyes." She told him as she handed him a box wrapped in Superman gift paper. "I want you to take this and look for positive things to fill you. Focus on the inherent beauty in this world. It is everywhere. Do that, Hun, for your Granny Moore and your life will be full of warmth and goodness."
He took that first camera and used it to do just that. When he came to Rome that summer, he looked for beauty and found girls willing to pose topless for him. He smirks at the memory. His life has def. been full of warmth and goodness ever since.
When this last model arrived, he said to her like he’s said to all the others before her. "I’m sure Adona informed you, but I want to be clear before we begin. I shoot nudes. You aren’t required to do anything you don’t want to do. Are we clear?"
She agreed. "Sì. Where do I change?"
He pointed to the spot where she was standing and to the mink coat hanging on the hook, then left the room for the balcony.
He’s been hiring Adona’s Modeling Agency to provide him a steady stream of beautiful women to photograph and fuck for years. Since modeling is such a cut throat industry the girls wouldn’t dream of talking amongst themselves for fear of being backstabbed nor would they brag about fucking the photographer for fear of being fired or blackballed. He fucks when he wants with no strings attached, and he has a new one every time. It’s perfect for someone in his position. His only requirements have been that he remain anonymous and that his models are single.
The model steps up to the doorway, then retreats back into the warm room.
"Are you ready?" He asks over his shoulder.
"Sì. I am ready." Her tone is enticing, but professional. "Please come here, Americano. Where it is warm."
He turns to look into the room and sees that the cold is keeping her away. Her outline hovers at the edge of the light. He steps to the door but doesn’t enter the room. The sweet little piece of ass throws open the fur coat and strikes a perfect nude pose. The sunlight illuminates her pale skin. Taking the camera hanging on the door latch, he puts it up to his eye, then turns it on her.
The photographer studies his subject, focusing his mind letting the logic of art settle over him. Her nakedness is white and pasty against the darkness of the mink. A perfect contrast. Her skin is pure and flawless. Untouched by the sun. Unharmed by the world. The brutality of reality unknown.
She smiles for him and winks.
He turns the lens to get a tight shot of that smile and those lips. Bright white teeth against ruby red lips. Serene. No, more like ignorant bliss.
He lowers the lens to capture the tips of her nipples shrunken tight by the exposure to the cold air in her open arms offering. He sees the tiny goosebumps raised around the areola. Too bad those breasts are implants. Granted they are the best implants money can buy, but still implants. Her skin is flawless though, but her shape is ... nonexistent. Stick figure with lumps. Lucky for her, her knowledge of poses fools the 2-dimensional camera and a horny man doesn’t really care.
He thinks of the first woman who gave him a hard on and smiles. Flawless skin, an hourglass shape and big tits. He was watching Lynda Carter as Wonder Woman running on the beach on an old TV rerun. Her natural D’s bouncing so hypnotically. Up and down. Umm. Now those tits moved and flowed. Beautiful and natural. He shoots a trail of pictures from her tits down to her pussy. She has a concave stomach. No muscle tone. Hollow. Vacant. Waxed with a 'runway’ of pubic hair. He tightens the focus and sees her pink flesh peeking through it. His dick thumps at the sight. What I really have a thing for though is pussy. He clicks off pictures. Then he loses focus as she bends over and smiles into the camera. He adjusts the lens to capture her face again. Her red lips are perfect. Too perfect. Not kissable. Too much lipstick. He lifts the lens to her eyes. Soft brown.
He pauses and ponders a thought.
"Is something wrong?" The model asks.
"No. You are doing fine. I just realized I actually prefer blondes."
She pouts her lips, tilts her head and with complete professionalism states. "I could borrow a blonde wig next time."
He chuckles at that. At least she is a team player. "Your black hair is beautiful against your white skin. I like the way it blends with the color of the mink, framing your face. Exquisite."
"Grazie." She smiles, pleased with his compliment, then offers a flirt. "I prefer blondes too."
He grins from behind the camera. "Good thing. I wouldn’t offer to borrow a wig."
They both laugh and when he starts to shoot again, she says. "You are Mister Big Man, no?"
A smirk crosses his face. Mister Big Man. That’s a new one. He lowers the camera and looks at her. She grins and nods at his bulge in his briefs. He looks down too, and his smile is playful when he lifts his eyes. "No. Not yet."
Her eyes widen. "Dio buono, che diventa più grande? Mister Very Big Man."
He laughs out loud. "Sì, my cock gets bigger. Come on. Let’s have a drink." He reaches for her hand then pulls her with him as he strolls over to the bar. His gait is smooth, strong, confident and she matches it stride for stride. He removes the camera from around his neck and places in on the bar.
"Hai capito italiana?"
"Sì, parlo correntemente l' italiano. Parli correntemente l'inglese?"
"Sì, ma non molto buona."
"English." He commands.
"I do not speak it often."
"You can practice." He takes a crystal canister and pops the top. "Would you like a drink?" He pours a stiff one.
"Sì, I will have a drink with you."
He can feel her eyes watching his movements as he leans away to open the cabinet door, bending to remove another glass. When he stands and pours the amber colored contents from the canister into it, he asks. "Do you like a man’s ass?"
"Pardon? I do not understand mansass."
He turns and hands her the glass, smirking at her. She smiles flirtatiously and takes it. He clinks their glasses. "Do you like a man’s ass?" He asks again, then throws the alcohol back. When he looks again at her face, she is frowning at him. He lifts her arm and the glass rises. She consumes the shot then meets his gaze again over the rim of the glass. She stares mesmerized by his eyes. Leaning in clos
er, he grins at her, slowly letting his lips part and her eyes fall to them. Taking the glass from her, she looks up at his eyes and he raises his eyebrows.
She realizes he is waiting for her answer. She gives him a confused look, then asks. "Ass is donkey, no?"
He laughs. "No. Ass is ass." He reaches back and grabs a handful of his butt cheek. "Do you like a man’s ass?"
"Oh. Hahaha. Sì. I do. I like a man’s ass." She puts her hand on his arm. "My English friend says arse."
He laughs with her, then reaches for the crystal canister. "Would you like another?"
"Sì." He turns to fill their glasses, knowing her eyes will be devouring his ass. He waits to see what kind of response she has. Then he hears her laugh and the sound is fun and flirty. "Mister Very Big Man has a very big ass too, no?"
He chuckles. "Yes." He turns back and hands her the drink. Taking a sip, he says. "I’m glad you like it."
"Umm hmm." She grins back. "It is very good, no?" Her eyes twinkle at him.
His smile is sexy as hell when he says honestly. "So I’ve been told." He tosses the contents back, picks up the camera and says. "Practice your English. Where are you from?"
She walks around the studio drink in hand wearing the fur admiring the photos on the walls and answering his questions. "How long have you lived in Rome? How many siblings do you have? How were you discovered? How long have you been modeling? Do you enjoy it? What’s your last project? What country do you like the most?" He helps her a few times find the correct translation and they laugh at her mispronunciations. When her glass is empty, she is tipsy and giggly, and her English is much better. He zooms in for a tight shot of her face. "Have you been in love?"
"Sì."
"Are you in love now?"
"Sì." She looks directly into the camera.
Umm. He lowers the camera and looks her in the eye.
She smiles seductively at him, then she walks over, slides her body up close and rests her hand on his ass as he takes the glass from her.
"I am in love now." She tells him.
He smirks. That’s not what I wanted to hear.
"Will we fuck, Mister Very Big Man with the very big ass?"
