by HJ Bellus
Luna’s final comment sends moments of silence through our group. Moira’s not gloating, Blanche isn’t brewing up her next string of mean words, Luna has finally gone silent, and it’s as if a dash of magic has been sprinkled over the four of us.
The stars of our worlds have finally lined up and we don’t have to have deep love for one another as best friends, but respect fills all of us.
“I just can’t lose Clancy or leave Beaver Falls,” Blanche finally mumbles through her streaming tears.
Moira crawls across the circle and wraps her up in a long hug. “Doug was your first and I was wrong. Completely wrong. I’m sorry.”
Luna scoots her way over to my side and we listen to the two finally reconnect.
“No, I should be sorry for the way I’ve treated you.” Blanche wraps her arms around Moira. “It was because of you and what happened, that helped me leave this town and ultimately you gave me my Sadie, Moira.”
“Truce?” Moira asks.
“Truce, you whore.”
We all erupt in laughter. I check, double, and then triple check that no hair pulling or fists fly with the two hugging and working it out. It seems that bit of magic that was sprinkled on us Beaver Falls Alumni was real.
“Salon time, bitches.” I leap up to my feet and clap my hands together.
“Who in the hell thinks of salmon in this time of need and forgiveness?” Luna looks up to me puzzled.
In unison, Moira and Blanche both slowly enunciate, “Salon.”
God bless Luna’s granola loving ways, but her true ditz shows every once in a while and I only get to chuckle about it when Brady isn’t around. I mean if he was here I’d be sporting wood or thinking about tapping some...The same moment Moira rises from the ground in her golden sequined hooker dress, revealing half of her ass cheeks. My dick shrivels on fucking demand seeing her lady ass.
“Salon.” Each sound vibrates low from my chest, none of these drunken hoes can even begin to second-guess between salmon or salon.
Chapter 9
Spray or Die
I plop Luna down in the chair first. “Bitch, your roots need touched up. I don’t even give a shit if you shed a Mariah Carey tear over being hurt by me saying it. Your man fucked you well and good in your new house, and your roots are shit!”
I begin combining all the colors in a bowl, mixing them well, and then hear Blanche’s drunken ass.
“Luna, Queenie had a wet dream about Brady’s ass.”
“I did not.” Each word comes out confident, as I mix the solution well.
“Really?” She counters trying to place her hand on her hip, but instead doing half-ass fucked up somersault to the tile.
Which is really fucked up, because Luna’s appearance is clear in the fact she believes Blanche over me who’s holding a bowl of hair dye over her head.
Luna only covers my hand and sends me a gentle wink. “His ass fucking rivals Tom Brady’s. Why in the hell do you think I keep popping out kid after kid for the man?”
The genuine kindness in her smile and the honesty radiating from her stare, I get she understands me from a deep level. Like super deep, but I’m not about to breech that subject tonight, or ever. I swear to the Gods of ass cheeks, I’ll swear on everything asslike to never envision Brady Morningwood’s ass again.
But my God that ass could fucking cure all sorts of shit worldwide.
My fingers tremble applying the color to her hair, only because her husband’s ass has been the vision of every single one of my wet dreams, but leave it up to Blanche to cut the awkward tension as she rolls between the hair drying chairs and the table piled with magazines, letting out a wild laugh.
That bitch has had enough to drink, period. In my peripheral, I notice Moira offering her a drink out of her metal cock and balls flask and only know this night has just begun. I keep my attention on Luna’s locks and the roots that need desperate attention. Each silver and brown root I cover, I feel a bit accomplished, but the background noise isn’t helping a bit.
Tits disgust me, and I’m pretty sure Moira and Blanche are doing body shots off of each other’s tits, so I keep my vision and full-attention on Luna’s roots and Brady’s ass. The last foil is set in place and Luna has twenty minutes under the dryer, and two very wet spots where her headlights should be. Her line of vision traces mine as we both land on the very damp material over both of her breasts.
“Everyone sucks a nipple at one point in time. A woman’s nipple or the bottle, same difference, asshole. You’re alive because of a vagina and nipples.” Luna does a triple action move, groping her lady locker and both dampened areas of her dress where her nipples are.
I lean down while ushering her to a dryer. “Brady, wants more kids, uh? It’s only because he loves you so deeply and madly.”
I let her pause mid-way absorbing it all in.
“I’ve known Brady Morningwood my whole life and the only thing certain about the man is that his ass is delicious, he can throw a football like no other, and he’s deeply mad in love with one woman.”
“How do you know?” Luna whispers, as I keep guiding both of her shoulders towards the circus wreck on the floor.
Both of us ignore the background noise of Blanche and Moira setting up the self-tanning station.
“Because he’d be mine if he didn’t love you.” I send her a not so innocent wink and watch as her cheeks flush a hot pink, and a satisfied smile spreads across her face. The only thing better than a joyful smile on her face are those god-awful roots being touched up. I mean my God; she is married to Brady Morningwood of Beaver Falls, so that Luna needs to begin strutting her shit around, instead of being a hot mess with a kid attached to each nipple.
Eeewww, bbbbooooobbbiiiees, gross! I’d rather be raised by a wild herd of goats. I mean a goat’s nipple is much more goat nipple-ish. Shit, estrogen is estrogen. Shit, Fuck, Bitch.
“Blanche, up now,” I bark, so confused about wanting to go find a goat nipple to test out. Maybe I shouldn’t be doing hair right now.
When my vision lands on Moira and Blanche wrestling with the self spray-tanning jug, my prior thoughts are completely justified.
I’d like to blame it on the booze, but it’s worn off. Blanche perches up on both elbows, aims the spray-tan gun like a modern day sniper, hollers, “Don’t move, Whoira, or your ass is mine.”
My concentration may abort mission at ass, but it’s only for a split-second before I’m leaping down on the boobie pile to recover the gun with the darkest tanning spray in it. I used it last on Kathy and lord knows that bitch likes to be tan. Blanche is clearly on a mission with her trigger finger more than ready to fire.
My vision darts to the cord, and yep it’s connected to the machine. It’s only a split second when Blanche’s finger pulls the trigger back. Dark orange, nearly brown, liquid exits the tip of the barrel of the spray tan gun. Seconds pass by before I rip Blanche’s hand from it.
Everything happens in slow motion, my hand pulls the gun away from Blanche, Luna goes on about Brady’s, ass sipping from a cock and balls flask, and then the dark liquid splatters all over Moira’s face. I mean Oscar of pornography couldn’t have filmed it better. The splatter covers her from forehead to chin, and even speckles her neckline.
“Blanche,” I hiss into her ear.
My best friend shrugs underneath of me. With the spray tan bottle firmly in my control. “My fingers and toes were crossed when I said truce, whore.”
“Blanche Morningwood.” I relax onto the wall with the spray tan bottle in my secured safety.
“Quincy. The best drag I’ve ever seen…Queenie who attempted to snag my virginity even knowing you were gay as gay.”
“Yes, Blanche.” I relax a bit back into the sheet rocked wall knowing no one else will be getting a jet spray to the face beside Moira.
“I lub you. I mean like really love you.” One of her hands grips onto the spray bottle I’m holding. “The day I lost the baby and lost all sense of reality, I w
anted you to show up, and you did. I lub you, Queenie, forever.”
“Are you drunk?” I ask her, watching Moira racing off to the bathroom. I don’t have the heart to tell her that the damn coloring in the bottle was the darkest of the dark. Blanche hit pointblank, and it will no doubt leave a mark no matter how fast Moira gets the fast acting bronzer off.
“I’m fucking wasted.” She finally responds.
“I know.”
“Did I sing into Moira’s nipple or did she sing into mine?”
I only chuckle at the question, watching Luna take another indulgence off the cock flask. It may be the only other time I’ve seen her relaxed, besides when Brady pounded the fuck out of her.
Oh, God that taught ass. His perfect hair and manly ways.
I whack my pecker down, knowing this is a soccer mom moment and no wood is allowed.
“Baby girl,” I brush over the hair matted to her forehead. “The only thing I heard, or saw, was you and Moira making up.”
“Yeah, we’re friends now.”
“You just made her face about twenty shades darker than normal, Blanche.”
“Queenie, I tolds you my fingers and toes were crossed like in firstest grade. It was the final stand, but I’m friends with Whoira now.”
“Oh God, you are drunk.”
“I’m fucking wasted, Q.”
“It’s okay, baby girl.” I continue to work her hair through my fingers and firmly hold the spray tan gun.
“But I don’t wants to lose Clancy or Beaver Falls.”
“We know.” A new voice joins us and it takes everything inside me to not raise an eyebrow.
Moira who’s already riper than a peach and darker than a fucking Idaho spud smiles back at us. I’ve never noticed how white her teeth were or is it the…
Check out the other titles ALL AVAILABLE TODAY!
BLANCHE
LUNA
MOIRA
Grab them today!
CHECK OUT MORE FROM AUTHOR MAGAN VERNON!
SIGN UP FOR MAGAN’S NEWSLETTER.
MORE BY HJ BELLUS!
GET FREE BOOKS FROM HJ BELLUS— CLICK HERE
