Must Love Hogs

by Xavier Neal

  Ford’s fingers begin to slide up the sides of my thighs. “Why don’t you create something untraditional?” When they cup my ass, I helplessly moan. “I have no doubt many would enjoy the change.”

  I smirk, trying not to get caught up in the divine feeling of his fingers sliding under my sleep shorts. “It’s about insuring they see a hefty profit from their product. The best way to do that is to pay attention to what people love that’s on the market and are constantly praising…Which isn’t women who look like me.”

  He grunts and leans forward to graze his lips along my collarbone. “Their. Loss.”

  Agreed. But in all honesty, before Ford helped open my eyes to see that, not sure I would’ve been so inclined to.

  The feeling of his teeth nipping at my skin grabs another heavy moan. I rock eagerly against his cock at the same time I suggest, “Quickie?”

  His tongue slowly drags itself towards my hardened nipple. Ford gives it a tug between his teeth before replying, “Is that my only choice?”

  After he repeats the action on the other side, I whimper, “Yes…”

  With a hempy smile he lets his eyes meet mine. “Yes that’s my only choice, or yes do that again?”

  I offer him the same expression. “Yes…”

  Almost immediately his chuckle transforms into a deep groan when I grind myself on top of his cock again. Ford leans over to the end table, ruffles around in the drawer, and pulls out a condom, reminding me once more why I’m grateful he insisted on leaving some in various locations around the apartment. He swiftly unbuckles his jeans and unzips them. The moment his cock is free through the small opening of his boxers, my hand curls around it, captivated by the stiffness as much as the pre-cum covering the tip.

  He grumbles in ecstasy and lets his head hit the back of the couch.

  My face lights up in delight.

  I love I can do this to him. I love how one touch from me and he melts to a million pieces…

  It takes a moment for Ford to gather his senses again, but once he has, he tears the wrapper open. The moment it hits the tip of his dick, I promptly take over the process of rolling it on. Another heavy groan reverberates around the room, and I take pleasure in his enjoyment of the action.

  I like to assist because it gives me a sense of power. Just as much control over his cock as he has. I love the way he tries not to shudder through it. I love watching his face build in anticipation of what we’re so close to.

  After it’s securely on, Ford yanks my shorts to the side and slips himself in.

  My head tips backwards while I roll my hips forward, anxious to have him deeper. A possessive groan greets me seconds before his hand wraps around the nape of my neck to pull my lips to his. Our teeth gnash together in the desperation of our tongues’ hasty reunion. Despite the insatiable hunger to taste one another other, our mouths drift apart to catch our breath as my body begins to vigorously bounce. Ford instinctively cups my ass to assist in the process and my pussy clamps on tighter in gratitude. I allow my hands to latch themselves onto his shoulders while I succumb to the enraptured feeling pounding through my system. Each time he thrusts, grazing the orgasm he knows belongs only to him, my pussy quivers, ready to hand it over with little argument. My body repeatedly tenses exerting all efforts to stop from crumbling too soon. To hold onto the euphoria for just a minute more. Ford battles against the request with even more feverish pumps. The combination of his dick diving mercilessly deeper and the edge of my shorts frantically brushing against my sensitive clit send me hurling over the edge long before I’m prepared. I drop my head onto his shoulder and ride the wave of the orgasm rolling through me.

  “Damn Ollie,” Ford’s strained voice praises, hands mimicking the fight for staying in control. The continuous whimpers of my satisfaction quickly become his undoing. “I’m coming…”

  His protected cock swells and my pussy copies the action, begging to be joined in the heavenly whirlwind. The two of us spiral together until we are nothing more than a sated mess of tangled limbs and gracious groans.

  How the hell did I get this lucky? How on earth did I, of all people, become the valued prize of the heroic cowboy? I know life isn’t a video game, but his earlier comparison has my mind now wondering. What will be the big boss battle that tries to tear us apart? And just how hard is he willing to fight? How much is he willing to risk? The real question is…how much am I?

  “You’re over cookin’ the corn,” Mama fusses at me. “The grill can handle it without your assistance.”

  I pull my attention away from where Oliver and Ollie are engaged in an in-depth conversation I know I have no interest in, but feel I should be over there at least attempting.

  When my eyes meet Mama’s she snickers, “Will you quit your huffin’ already? She’s not over there plottin’ the best way to trade you in for him.”

  The idea furrows my eyebrows. “Why would you even say that?”

  She laughs again at my expense, rotates the corn, and states, “Because it’s too much fun not to.”

  “Mama.”

  “Runt,” Pop joins in at the same time he offers me a cold beer. “That woman over there loves you. Nothin’, and I mean nothin’, is going to change that.”

  With a heavy sigh, I take the beer, and give the situation one more glare.

  I know he’s right, but something feels off about this weekend. It shouldn’t yet it does. We’ve had an amazing time so far. A little too amazing. The kind of amazing that only happens right before God throws you a curveball you don’t appreciate. Yesterday she came in earlier than anticipated. We had just finished the press photos and needless to say we celebrated privately in my office. Twice. Afterwards we toured the facility, let Princess Pinky enjoy some fun in the mud, and then engaged in a bubble bath all our own. Family time started first this morning with a walk around my parent’s personal property and hasn’t let up since. Ollie’s constant wheezing from being overexerted has kept us all laughing in good spirits. She snickers, pokes fun at herself, and just keeps going. My whole family has been nothing but welcoming to her. Approval at its finest by the comments on marrying her they keep making. This is what deepens the anxiety in my gut. Things with Ollie have always been easy. Easier than either of us could’ve ever imagined. Maybe that’s why I’m on edge. Every couple has to fight through something…at some point. It’s how you know you want to be in the relationship together.

  “Runt.” Pop flicks me in the ear.

  “Ou!” I wince and give him a roiled look.

  “That’s what you get for not listenin’,” he chuckles. “Now open your beer and stop worrying about that woman.”

  “She’s fine,” Mama repeats, now removing the corn. “She wouldn’t keep shooting you naughty smirks over here if she wasn’t.”

  I groan and guiltily grip the back of my neck.

  “That’s right Ford Bradley, I know a dirty look when I see one.” She turns around and offers me the container. “I’ve been giving them longer than you’ve been alive.”

  “Mama.”

  “And damn good at ‘em too,” Pop says, his free hand grabbing her ass.

  “Pop!” Blake snaps as he approaches the situation. “Tell me I didn’t just see that!”

  “You did,” our father states proudly. “Complain about it and you’ll see it again.”

  “You take that,” I instruct to my brother, “and I’m going to rescue my girlfriend.”

  “You mean run interference?”

  Blake’s comment catches a glare from me.

  “Oliver is laying it on pretty thick over there. Think I heard him mention something about having her come over and touch his joy stick?”

  Pop gives him a hard hit to the stomach with the back of his hand. “Behave.”

  Nope. Not funny. Not even remotely funny. Doesn’t matter if I’ve had her, what matters is I keep her. And nothing and no one is going to get in my way of that.

  I arrive at the picnic table my parents bough
t specifically for outdoor gatherings like this. The two of them toss their head back in unison over something hilarious, and I have to stifle down my desire to growl in jealousy.

  “What’s uh…what’s so funny?” I casually ask and use the edge of the table to take the top off my beer.

  Ollie tries to calm her laughter as she peers up at me, big brown eyes filled with mirth.

  As much I am grateful to see it, a tiny portion of me hates how I wasn’t the one to put it there. It’s wild. I was never this jealous over Carol Ann. Not once. She had men lined up around the corner, in her back pocket all the time, not to mention ‘go to’ guys she would drop by to see the minute we broke up, and I never gave a damn. I used to think it was because I knew eventually she would wander back home to me like she always did, but now? Now I know it’s because I never loved her the way I do Ollie. If at all.

  “We were just talking about looting in Hyrda,” she begins. “Your brother’s one of those people I hate in the game.” Her giggling begins again deepening my concern. “He’s a total loot stalker. Always waiting for someone’s deed to collapse, so he can steal their shit.”

  “They’ve got good shit,” Oliver argues.

  I drop down on the seat beside her and drape my free arm around her shoulder.

  “It’s fucked up to take someone’s horses.”

  “That’s…community services.”

  The two of them partake in another round of laughs.

  I have a sip of beer to wash away the building bitterness. “Why’s stealing funny?”

  “It’s not stealing,” Oliver corrects. “The shit’s abandoned. Like I said, I’m just doing a service cleaning it up.”

  Ollie snickers again. “You’re so full of shit. You just want the best horses you get the most money for.”

  “And the fastest,” Oliver adds with a sly smirk. “If I’m going to travel, might as well make it quickly.”

  Their shared laughter has me adjusting myself closer to her again.

  Stupid. Ridiculous. Childish. And I can’t stop myself. Lord help me.

  “You hate horses,” I try to join the conversation I’m obviously lost in.

  “Real horses,” my brother agrees. “They’re big, smell like shit, and have an uppity attitude.”

  “Then why would you want them in a game?”

  “They serve me well there, not to mention they’re not real, Runt.” He turns his attention back to my girlfriend. “He doesn’t get it.”

  “He doesn’t.”

  My glower returns, but only momentarily.

  Ollie gives my thigh a gentle rub and lovingly looks up at me. “But that’s okay. I teach him cool shit like how to snipe zoom with the mouse while he teaches me things like how to put a worm on a hook.”

  “Which is completely different than how you assumed it would be after a Google search.”

  “Not completely different. But I did actually learn how to do it from lessons with you.”

  “And you still hate to do it.”

  “They’re slimy,” she gags and shudders.

  “I don’t like ‘em either,” Oliver admits.

  Hearing how they have something else in common continues the building dread.

  Okay, so Ollie was right. Maybe I didn’t want them to meet because I was afraid of this exact scenario. Being the third wheel. Being the one PBS children would easily point out not being like the other. But I try! For her, I try to get into some of the games she not only helps design for but that she likes to fiddle with while I watch football or am cooking dinner. I try to play them when she’s cooking as a fun way to keep us connected. I will always make the effort for Ollie. She should know that. Hell, she’s gotta by this point or I really am a shitty boyfriend.

  “I do like making out on the dock.”

  Ollie’s confession curves my smile upward victoriously. “I like that too.”

  Oliver shakes his head at the sight yet keeps his mouth shut, which is definitely for the better.

  All of a sudden my seven nephews come flying to the table informing us in a jumble of mutters dinner is ready. The three of us relocate to the other two tables where the adults are settling and immediately grab seats to partake in the passing of the plates. During dinner the conversation is littered with laughs, adolescent tales, and more sexual innuendoes than predicted. Between my parents and my brothers, the conversation never stays away from the gutter for too long. The ten of us shovel back ribs, corn on the cob, mashed potatoes, and asparagus, though Ollie avoids the vegetable swords as she jokingly calls them. For dessert, we gobble down cherry pie, vanilla ice cream, and Sienna’s famous cheesecake. After everyone has finished and the boys have returned to terrorizing each other, Pop insists we handle the dishes since the women handled so much of the cooking. When Mama promptly agrees, I notice the suspicious gleam in her eyes. Without warning, she along with my sisters-in-law, kidnap Ollie and claim they’re just slipping away to change before we all go dancing.

  About an hour and a half later, Pop has the boys and Princess Pinky wrangled in front of the television watching as well as reenacting a western movie while my brothers and I are sitting around the front porch of my house waiting to get going. Wally’s Wild West doesn’t typically get crowded for another hour, but it’s nice to get there and have a round of beers before the wait gets insane.

  “This is exactly why we never go out,” Eddie complains, putting out his cigarette. “It takes her half the fucking night to get ready, and I’m stuck talking to the airhead babysitter about some Shadowhunter’s thing she’s fired up over. I don’t even know what the fuck that is!”

  “It’s a T.V. show dumbass,” Blake informs from where he’s sitting on the step across from me.

  “Why the hell should I know that?” Eddie argues.

  “Yeah. He’s not bangin’ his babysitter. He’s not required to know the most relevant television shows or Taylor Swift songs,” Big Foot pokes the situation. “Both of which I am sure as shit you know.”

  “That’s what happens when you stick your dick in between a pair of legs that just graduated from high school,” Oliver adds with a wide grin. “At least you waited until she was officially a college freshman this time.”

  “At least I’ve had sex since I was in college.”

  “I’ve had sex!”

  “With someone other than yourself.”

  Big Foot chuckles as he rests his arm against the pillar. “And here we go…”

  I shake my head and look up at him, their squabbling continuing. “You’re just gonna let ‘em go at it?”

  He shrugs. “They’re fucking grown ass men, Runt. It’s not my place to step in anymore.”

  Growing up? Always right in the middle. Like a mini Pop. Usually it only took a couple words in a loud volume to cease their fighting, even when we got older. In a way we all look up to Big Foot for the same advice and support Pop gives us. He may not be his junior in size, but he is in mind. Even the way he’s raising his boys is similar to how we were brought up. The rest of us might screw up future Shaw generations, but Big Foot gives my parents hope that their legacy and business will live on.

  His eyes cut the two of them a side glance. “At least not until fists are thrown.”

  Casually, I state, “I give it four minutes before that happens.”

  “You are such a pain in the ass!” Oliver shouts, causing Blake to rise to his feet.

  “You get on my last goddamn nerve,” Blake bites back now too close to Oliver’s face for my own comfort.

  “Knock it off,” I command.

  Before the situation can intensifier further, the front door to my two-story gray brick house, swings open, releasing Mama.

  “If the two of you don’t quit hollerin’ like you were raised in the back barn instead of the house, I will make sure that’s exactly where you sleep when you come home tonight.”

  Both of my brothers shut their mouths tight.

  Doesn’t matter how old you are. When your m
other basically tells you to shut the hell up, that’s exactly what you do.

  “Now everyone have fun tonight,” she says on her way past me. “Stay out late. But drive safe. And if anyone needs a ride after midnight you better call Uber and pray they wanna drive out this far because my ass ain’t comin’.”

  We all laugh loudly.

  “You ready?” Sienna’s voice asks, drawing our attention back to the front door.

  “Waitin’ on you,” Eddie tries his best not to snip.

  She plops a hand onto her jean shorts covered hip. “Edward Shaw please do not ruin this night before it even gets started.”