by Jen Ashton
Joe’s shoulder’s sunk lower than they did when his piercer told him there wasn’t enough room left on his shaft for a fourth barbell. Suddenly, every ounce of hope and confidence he had placed in his big wiener drained from his little body. He was following his hard on again and this time it led him to a dead end on a cul-de-sac in North Las Vegas. There was no doubt that his hope and confidence punched his ego a little bit upon their departure. He was bruising already.
“When you put it that way, I guess it does sound weird, doesn’t it?”
“A little,” I comforted him. “You’re just lucky the neighbors didn’t report you as suspicious. Please don’t go over there tonight. I don’t want to have to bail you out of jail for lewd behavior.”
I left Joe with a lot to think about, but not without doing some thinking of my own. I decided to take to the computer and exercise my super sleuthing skills again. This wasn’t my first rodeo when it came to researching Joe’s debacles. There was a fungus among us and I was on the hunt for it. I had diverted Joe by making him feel as though he may be the suspicious one, lurking around a dark street with his hand in his pants, but the truth was, I was more suspicious of Christine. Something wasn’t right with this story and I was going to unravel the truth.
I dug deep on Myspace for any clues to Christine’s life. Unfortunately, there weren’t any. She had a lot of pictures taken from all kinds of angles, mostly in the bathroom in front of the mirror, but she had no personal information posted. I was going to have to quiz Joe, and I could only pry when he was vulnerable, so I took him to dinner at Sierra Gold.
“So tell me everything you know, Joe. The truth, and nothing but the truth.” I was feeling confident as a detective.
Joe told me the name that popped up on his caller ID every day, the name of the still born baby who was memorialized, the names of Christine’s nieces and nephews, and the street where he choked his chicken each night. He told me some other names she had mentioned in passing conversations and occupations she claimed to have had in the past. Surprisingly, he had way more information than I expected which led me to conclude that love is definitely blind. There were plenty of weapons in his arsenal to start a war. He had just simply chosen to ignore the approaching enemy and keep his guard down while they marched in and caught him with his pants down.
The next day while Joe was at work, I went on my wild goose chase. It didn’t take me long to find a memorial site online for a child whose name matched Christine’s story. The page verified the child’s death, the sisters and brothers of that baby, whose names matched those of the nieces and nephews, and the father, whose name matched the husband of her sister. I was beginning to think maybe she was telling the truth. As I scrolled down the page, I noticed the name of the mother. It matched the name on the caller ID. Another confirmation. I was ready to throw in my towel, admit my false accusations and call Christine a saint myself when one line stood above the rest. It was a link to their family tree.
I clicked the link to be welcomed by a photograph of a rather large woman, I would surmise in the four hundred pound range, her husband and five children. It was Christine’s sister and her family. I was looking right at them. The only problem was that her sister was an only child and her middle name happened to be Christine. Her family tree was all trunk and no branches. The pieces of Joe’s puzzle started to put themselves together without my assistance. Suddenly, the picture became clearer and clearer. I couldn’t believe my eyes. The sister was Christine. Joe had been duped by an impersonator. I had to tell him! I printed the memorial page, the photos and the family tree, ran downstairs as fast as I could, opened the door and ran right into Joe.
“Oh my God, Joe! You won’t believe this! Guess what I found?” I was so enthusiastic about my discovery that I was yelling at the top of my lungs while I flailed the paperwork in front of his face.
“I know,” he said, quietly.
His tone caught me off guard and I ceased my excitement to look at him. Somehow, I had missed the fact that he had a black eye and a bloody lip. “Oh fuck! What happened to you?”
“Well, I was at work and I got to thinking. Christine had mentioned her sister’s husband worked at the Luxor. So I left work early and headed over to see if I could find him. I did.” He wiped the gunk out of his swollen eye. “Well, he found me first. Apparently I’ve been talking to his wife for the last few months.”
“Aw, man, and I was just on my way to show you these.” I held the photocopies up for him to view but he swatted them aside.
“I already saw photos of her. She’s fucking huge.” Apparently love had Lasik surgery. “Leave it to me to fall in love with a voice on the phone that turns out to be Fatty Fatterson from 1-900-EATS-A-LOT!” He was clearly disappointed and broken-hearted, not to mention her size was making him feel smaller than he was so he was overcompensating with name-calling. Overcompensation has always been one of Joe’s strong points. “Her name’s not even Christine. And she doesn’t even have a sister!”
“I know, Joe. I’m sorry.”
“And she’s married!”
“I know.”
“And he’s fat, too!”
I chuckled a little, “How did you find all this out?”
“After her husband got done punching me, we sat down and had a drink. He was pretty cool about the whole thing after he got his anger out. He told me his wife was depressed and delusional. He had suspected she was having an affair so he hired a private investigator. He found out about me a few weeks ago, but didn’t have enough time off work to find me and confront me. When he saw me in the casino stalking him, he recognized me and tackled me. I guess I got lucky. He said if he would’ve seen me outside of his work, he would’ve killed me.”
“Wow,” is all I could say. I knew I would have some serious stepping up to do after this moment in order to restore his confidence in women again. His little underdeveloped heart was pretty battered and his ego was certainly bruised. He really thought he had found something special, and not short-bus special either. And for a minute, I hoped he had finally found true love. He was going to need a big hug from his Monkey. I reeled him and wrapped my arms around him like a mother bear.
I stood there in the doorway, rocking him within my embrace as he nestled into my chest like a suckling cub, and I nursed his wounds. Then he whimpered the last few sentences we would ever speak of the entire calamity. “That’s not even the worst part, Monkey. They saw me in my car. He has pictures of my wiener.”
A LITTLE RELIEF
When there’s nothing else to do in Vegas, there’s always a strip club. Though I like to suggest other forms of entertainment as an alternative, Joe and Hoodie Ass tend to lean toward strip clubs as their first and only choice for a night out on the town. This means on any given night we are bound to create a good story to tell our friends the next morning over breakfast. That is, if those friends weren’t there to experience it with us. Typically, they are not, and they love to simply live vicariously through our ridiculous adventures because they would never be caught dead doing half the things we get ourselves into. And then there are the rare occasions when our friends do accompany us for a wild evening out among the other sinners in Sin City. Those are the nights to remember, and this was one of them
Our group consisted of Joseph, myself, Hoodie Ass, T-Rex Popsicle and his friend, Fat Chad. At the time, I hadn’t yet discovered T-Rex’s short arms, but I was still using him quite often to practice my blowjob techniques, so he was known just as Popsicle. Fat Chad was his side-kick. If you can imagine what Robin would look like if Batman gave him all of his leftovers, this was Chad. He wasn’t an exceptionally bright young man, but he had a since of humor and he was from BYU. This meant we had a Mormon in our group, which always made me feel safe when entering a strip club. I hoped he would know when to say when, when our group got out of hand.
Popsicle and I weren’t officially a couple on this particular evening. In fact, if I recall the day we broke up, he informe
d me that we were never 'officially' dating. This came as a shock to me since I had been sucking on his popsicle five times a day for about six months. I think he was just embarrassed to introduce me to his family because my lips were stretched out and my mouth was always sore. Regardless, this first excursion to the strip club together was toward the beginning of our cum-and-go relationship.
We walked into Treasures close to 10pm. We were seated on the balcony overlooking the main stage and quickly acclimated to our environment. Joe and Hoodie Ass immediately scoped the perimeter for hotties while Fat Chad excused himself to the restroom. For a large guy, he had a bladder the size of a kidney bean. I shared a seat with Popsicle so I could sit on his lap for the full experience. We got cozy and ogled over the dancers downstairs.
It didn’t take long for Popsicle to get excited. Gauging the amount of time it took to convince him to come with us, I had a feeling he had never been inside a gentlemen’s club before. He was in for a treat. I was no novice. I’m also not the jealous type so I wasted no time grinding on his crotch to prep him for his next dance.
“Which girl do you like, Honey?” I whispered in his ear.
“W-w-what?” he stuttered.
I could see the fear in his eyes. Either he truly had never been to a strip club before or he had once been smacked by a girlfriend for getting a lap dance. “Pick a girl,” I assured him. “I’ll buy you a dance.”
He lost his chubby momentarily so I wound him back up and bought him a dance from a cute brunette. She was Asian. I liked where this was going because I, too, had an affinity for Asian women. I have been known to crush on a few in my day. She was dainty and feminine with long black hair and tiny lips. I wanted to kiss them, but I didn’t want to scare Popsicle away before the night began. He semi-enjoyed his dance while she rubbed all over him. He sat on his hands. He must’ve learned that at one of Chad’s frat parties in Utah or something because we grope our strippers in Vegas. I was disappointed in his demeanor, but not in his hard on. I paid my little China doll to leave and I sat down on his boner. Just as I was pulling my panties aside under my skirt for a little fun, the rest of the crew returned with a couple of girls in tow.
“Monkey, this is Rachel. Rachel, this is Monkey,” Joe was going for formal introductions, but all I heard was stripper as I checked out her tits. She was cute. I knew Joe would be preoccupied with her for awhile.
Hoodie Ass didn’t even bother introducing her new toy. I wasn’t sure if she was a he or just a woman on roids, but Michele seemed to like her enough not to waste any time talking. She started her dance half-way through the current song and made no bones about shoving her hands up the dancer’s skirt for a little touchy-feely. Michele and her Hoodie Ass were in heaven.
Fat Chad disappeared to the restroom again, so with everyone occupied, I resumed my secret public sex session with Popsicle. He was frightened to death that we would be caught; by security, the waitress or our friends, and put up quite the fight. I kept whispering in his ear like a freakin’ rapist, “Just go with it. Don’t fight it.” I was about to give up when our little China doll sauntered past again. The way her hips swayed had him standing at half-mast, but it was enough for me to slide down and trap him. I was so proud of myself.
I must’ve gotten a little too into it, because I was rocking back and forth pretty obviously when Michele decided to call us out. “We see you, Jen! Get a fuckin’ room!” Like she had room to speak.
“You go get a room!” I yelled back, not having any other good come back because my mind and body were busy focusing on other things.
“That’s a fantastic idea!” Joe blurted from behind Rachel’s tits. “Can you get us a VIP room?” he asked her from between her cleavage.
“Sure, how many?” she answered in her sweet little voice.
“Monkey, you coming?” Joe called over.
“Not yet,” I whimpered, trying to finish what I started.
“Sick! Will you fucking stop for a minute so we can figure this out? You can finish later. Should we all get a VIP room?”
I nodded my head yes and just kept grinding Popsicle’s popsicle under my skirt. While I continued his special lap dance, the rest of our group anteed up two thousand dollars for a private room for the rest of the night. Somewhere between the loud music and our subtle groans, Michele had told us how much of that we were expected to pay once we finished up. We took a short break to follow the others to our new location.
The VIP room was darker than the terrace overlooking the stage. It had a few velvet sofas, heavy drapes and a potted plant in the corner. There was a painting on the wall of a Victorian nude and a table in the center of the room with bottle service. It was plush, and it would definitely do. Before hopping back on my meat stick, I took an inventory of our group. Michele had lost her he/she. Joe still had Rachel. I was with Pospsicle and Fat Chad was being escorted back in from the restroom by a manager.
“Hey, watch this guy, will ya? I think he’s had plenty to drink already.”
“No problem,” Popsicle assured him.
“He’s fine, as long as you keep him in here,” the manager said sternly.
“Thanks,” we all chimed in.
We sat Chad down on the sofa in the corner and mixed him a drink. That would surely keep his attention long enough to get back to our sexcapade. Michele cozied up to Joe and Rachel and we all got back to our business.
* * * * *
An hour later, things seemed to be really heating up in that VIP room. Popsicle and I were still going at it. We could never really get into a full rhythm because we still had our clothes on and were trying to hide our enthusiasm. To be honest, that was the whole thrill of the moment as far as I was concerned. Our friends knew what we were doing, but they didn’t really know what we were doing. By the time we took a breather to see what everyone else was up to, we were the ones caught off guard by what we saw.
Joe and Michele had Rachel sprawled out on the floor. They had moved the booze table over by Chad. (Speaking of Chad, he was up walking around aimlessly, bumping into walls.) Rachel was laying on the floor wearing only her high heels and a smile while Joe and Michele explored her. I was pleasantly relieved that Rachel was the only nude in the room. I didn’t really want to see Joe’s oak branch and Michele’s Hoodie Ass would’ve surely sent my appetite for love packing. Instead, I found myself watching some sort of dry-humping orgy between the three of them on the floor. If I was amused, I knew that Popsicle was most likely mortified.
“Where’s the restroom?” Chad asked from a dark corner.
Leave it to fat Chad to ruin a moment. Like the night I met T-Rex Popsicle. Fat Chad was with him at the bar that evening. I invited T-Rex to play make-out bowling with me, but there was no room for his chubby friend in our game. Chad just sat at our booth all night and made disgusting slurping noises every time I bowled a strike and took Popsicle’s face in my mouth. He even cock-blocked Popsicle at the end of our game when I wanted to take him to a swinger’s club to hump like rabbits. Fat Chad knew how to squeeze his big personality in during the most opportune moments and make it all about him.
No one answered him. Joe, Michele and Rachel were too engulfed in their ménage à trois to hear him, and Popsicle and I were balancing between being turned on with each other and being turned off by watching a forty-year old woman with a saggy ass try to seduce a young stripper. It was comical at best.
“Do you think you’ll be able to finish here, Babe, or do you have stage fright?” I asked Popsicle. Our sessions had never lasted this long, and though I was enjoying every minute of our thrilling escapade, I wondered if we should wait until later for the Big O.
“I can do it here,” he whispered. “I just need to concentrate. Maybe we could go off to one of the corners where it’s darker.” He pointed with his eyes to one of the corners of the room; the one furthest away from where Fat Chad and his booze were stationed.
We made haste to the corner and got frisky real quick. Between m
y moans were the moans of Rachel as Joe and Michele took turns pleasing her with their fingers. She was writhing all over the floor, her long legs glowing in the faint light. Michele got so turned on, she started undressing. Michele not only has the world’s only recorded Hoodie Ass, but she is also the color of cottage cheese. As she stripped her clothes off, her skin almost blinded me. Perhaps it also blinded Joe and Michele herself, because by the time she was ready to pounce on the naked dancer in the center of the room, the two of them found Fat Chad’s face planted deep between Rachel’s legs.
“What the fuck, Chad?” Michele screamed in horror. “That’s mine!” Although Michele was sharing with Joe, because technically Joe was sharing with her, she was incredibly possessive of her girls.
“I paid too,” Chad slurred as he lifted his face up.
“That’s fucked up, Chad,” Joe said. “Wait your turn.”
“You guys are crazy,” Rachel giggled. “You’re like a pack of hyenas arguing over my body.” Though this was a morbid metaphor, the way she said it was so cute I couldn’t disagree.
Chad rose to his knees and looked around in the dark. “Where’s the bathroom, guys?”
Everyone ignored him again. Popsicle and I kept it up in the corner while Joe watched Michele mount Rachel. She was sliding her cottage cheese up and down Rachel’s body to the beat of the music. From my vantage point, I couldn’t even see Rachel. All I could see was Michele’s glowing body undulating in the darkness. Joe seemed to have trouble making anything out of what he saw too. He danced around looking for an in. He finally sat on the floor next to Rachel’s head and started making out with her while Michele smothered her with the hoodie.
