MC Chronicles: The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 5

by Bink Cummings

  Jo raises her glass in cheers. “I’ll drink to that.” The rest of the sisters follow suit and sip, happy smiles all around.

  “Lazy fuckin’ bikers,” Dixie adds, snickering behind the rim of her cup.

  “I’ll drunk to that, too.” Jez thrusts her margarita into the air with flourish. Slush flies toward the ceiling and down it falls, onto her hands with icy bits raining onto the floor. Party foul. She’d better clean that up.

  I point to the mess, arching an eyebrow at the brown-haired former harlot.

  “I got it,” she mouths apologetically with surprised cartoon eyes and scurries to the kitchen for paper towels.

  Jo keeps the conversation rolling full steam ahead, messy floor be damned. “Don’t hate. We love them… most of the time.”

  “With their pants down or their mouths between our thighs!” Jez hollers from the kitchen. She is a damn hoot.

  An innocent “eep” emits from a cherry-cheeked Beth who covers her face, eyes downcast, to hide the singe of awkwardness. It’s cute how virginal the woman is. We need to pump more tequila into Beth, and she’ll whistle a less finicky, lily-white tune.

  Shifting my gaze to the side, I bark a laugh as Deb hoists her near empty glass over her head. “Cheers to that!” she cries then drains the rest of her margarita in a single swallow.

  Sauntering back into the living room, there’s a roll of paper towels tucked underneath Jez’s arm. She swivels her hips to Jingle Bell Rock and straddles the mess she made, a sock-clad foot planted on either side. “How much you wanna bet they aren’t following Debbie’s instructions tonight?” she states, bending her thick curviness at the waist to sop up the bits of liquid between her feet. It’s not such a good idea when said feet rock onto the balls and back to her heels, way back, trying hard to keep balance and doing a piss-poor job at it in her state of inebriation. Not at all worried about falling on her face, Jez bends at the knees, unable to reach everything without doing so; even with those short legs vacuum sealed in red and green stretch fabric.

  “There’s no way they did,” Dixie remarks.

  I second that sentiment with a double nod.

  “I baked sugar cookies for them to frost and everything,” Debbie explains.

  Dixie digs into the oversized reusable tote she brought to extract another bare present and sets it on the ground between her thighs. “Bet they locked the kids in a bedroom with some Christmas movie on so they could drink and eat all those cookies.”

  “Maybe we should ask White Boy to check it out for us,” Jade suggests, picking up her cell phone from the floor and resting it on her legs.

  “Did he come tonight?” I ask. He’s a full-fledged member now, as he should be. But it’s papa biker night, not mandatory for those who don’t have children. He’s still a baby in my eyes, skating just above legal drinking age. Hanging with kids when you’re that age isn’t considered cool.

  Jade plucks the stomach of her red shirt, to keep it from clinging to the paunchy parts, which most of us have. Apart from Debbie, Pix, and Candy Cane—the skinny sisters of the group. “My son’s there, so yeah, he’ll be there too. Pixie said that was cool. He was over at the shop all day with the guys.” Jade scratches the top of her thigh like she’s nervous and won’t make eye contact.

  “No. No.” I wave off her obvious concern that she’s not welcome. They both are. Full stop. To ease her wariness, I keep going with a sugary tone. “That’s great. Send him a text. See what he says.”

  Candy Cane speaks up. “He’ll be in a world of shit if any of the guys find out he’s rattin’ ’em out to the old ladies.”

  “They should know we’ve got spies everywhere,” Jo defends, and she’s not wrong.

  “Gunz would tell me,” I throw out. He would, too. Grandpa Gunz is the best grandpa any kid could hope for. Not that my dad isn’t okay. He’s here, sometimes. Harley’s seen him and his old lady, Mandy, enough to know their faces. Aside from that, they’re not the gushy grandparent type. He wasn’t that way as a father either. I’ll take what I can get. And don’t even get me started on Jizz and Viper. Their uncle competition knows no bounds. Viper doesn’t even care that Harley isn’t biologically his niece. He loves her all the same, as do most of the brothers. Spoiled is the apt word when referring to Harley, or Leech, when you hear the men talk. Big has corrupted them all.

  Jade types away on her phone as she talks. “White Boy’ll do it. His mama’s my best friend and Blimp’s sidepiece. If he doesn’t tell us, I’ll sic her on him.”

  “Who’s his mama?” I ask, slicing through Harley’s designated wrapping paper.

  “Loretta.”

  Holy shit. I’ve never paid enough attention to notice that.

  I look straight at Jade, eyes rounding to saucers. “Bartender, raspy-voiced Loretta? The one who’s always blowing Blimp at parties in front of everyone?”

  A crooked albeit amused grin. “That’s her.”

  “She’s your best friend?” I can’t believe this. Loretta’s been hanging around for years. Many, many, many years. Like since I was a child. Blimp has always been her chosen fuck buddy. Never understood why, because she doesn’t smoke dope like he does. Though, I have seen her light a blunt now and again for him. She looks nothing like White Boy, apart from… hmm… maybe their bodies—they’re both thin. This’s insane.

  Jade snickers. “By default, yes. She’s my neighbor.”

  Makes sense, since Jade is nowhere close to Loretta’s age.

  “Oh, you must live on Cherry Street?” Evidently, I’m a nosy bitch tonight.

  “Yup. Been there for goin’ on seven years.”

  As Jade and I talk, Jo and Jez whip up another batch of margaritas while Pixie and Deb relocate their presents to their designated spot in the house to avoid mix-ups.

  “Loretta’s been a club whore for years. Why haven’t I seen you around much?” I probe, genuinely curious.

  An unapologetic shrug. “Bikers aren’t my thing.”

  “Bikers aren’t your thing?” Good for her. If I didn’t grow up on the compound, they wouldn’t be my thing either. Most of them are a bunch of alpha a-holes. Yet, I wouldn’t change my past for a do-over. Big, despite all his pain-in-the-assness, I love the fucker.

  “Nope. Too much trouble. I like my quiet life. No men. No hassles. Just me and my boy.” Sounds like the story of a broken heart or damaged something or other. Can’t say I’ve been there. I’ve only been in true love, whatever that means, once. Regardless of the baggage she carries, I hope she’ll hang with us more. She fits in well, even without a Property of patch hanging on her back.

  Before I get a chance to respond, Jade’s face lights up with the biggest, most honest smile I’ve seen tonight while reading messages on her phone. She is practically giddy. A heartbeat later the smile vanishes and her features are schooled as if she’s locking unwanted emotions down in their proverbial dungeon. “Josh… er… White Boy said Big set up a sleeping station in his bedroom. Most of the little ones are sleeping already. Viper volunteered to keep watch. The older kids and teens are playing pool and being kids… is what he said. I asked if they did the cookies and he said they did. That Gunz made everyone follow Debbie’s protocol. Down to the lime punch with sherbet.”

  Debbie pads back into the living room and retakes her spot. “Remind me to kiss Gunz tomorrow for being a team player.”

  I bump my shoulder to hers. “Will do. I’m gonna give him one myself. It sounds like they’re behaving.”

  Suddenly, Jade’s hardened shell breaks into full-bore laughter. I press my lips together to prevent myself from joining in. But Candy Cane and Jo are goners. They follow right along with Jade for no reason at all. This goes on for some time until Jade blows out a breath to calm herself long enough to spit out whatever it is she needs to say. “Bink… umm… Big told Josh to,” she pauses a beat to assuage another bout of laughter that threatens to reappear, “tell you to get your phone. He needs to know if you’re drunk enough to come home
yet.”

  Of course, he wants to know that.

  Drunk sex.

  Big left a lipstick note on our bathroom mirror expressing his elation for the inevitable sex. He’ll be cleaning that red mess from the glass later. Bet he’s been running around with a chub all night. If I text him now, he’s gonna encourage me to kick the sisters out before we’re done. It’ll also turn me on because we all know his dirty mouth will be locked and loaded, much like his cock is ready to perform. The old man is insatiable.

  “I’ll get it later,” I explain. “But don’t tell him that.”

  Jade’s full lips curve, lines forming around her eyes. “Think Big already knew you were gonna say that, because Josh just told me that Big expects to put the P in the V tonight.”

  My eyes roll so far I might get a headache. “He’s quite the charmer.”

  Jade chuckles as does Pixie who leans in to confirm the silly texts.

  If I don’t respond in some form, he’ll blow up everybody’s phone tonight. Including mine, which I left in the bedroom. “Just say I’ll let him play with his favorite toys later if he’s a good boy.” That should keep him happy for an hour or two.

  “Bink!” Jez shouts from the kitchen, which is unnecessary, she’s not that far away.

  “Yeah?” I turn and watch her and Jo complete the finishing touches on our beverages.

  Jez is reading from her iPhone. “Big just said to tell Sugar Tits that he’ll tickle the kitty with his tongue tonight if she’s a good wittle girl.”

  I grunt, nostrils flaring along with my irritation. “He did not text you that.”

  Jez hands Jo the fresh pitcher to refill our cups with and walks over. She tips her phone’s face down enough that I can see her recent text from Big.

  He did send that.

  Jerk.

  Another eye roll is warranted for this kind of outrageous behavior. I steal her phone, not needing her to fight my battles for me. Jez lets it go with a pleased smile. It should be embarrassing that everyone gets to hear how he talks to me, but it’s not. Because it’s not like they don’t already know. He vocalizes crap like this in front of them with no remorse or consideration for decorum.

  My thumbs get to work.

  Me: You’ll lick this kitty all night long because you like it when I’m a very bad girl. Now leave us alone. The longer you bother us, the longer it’s gonna take to finish.

  Big: I want your pussy now. I don’t care if you’re good or bad. I’ve been hard for hours. Viper is watching our kid. Let’s have a quickie in the basement. They don’t gotta leave.

  Me: Patience is a virtue, or haven’t you heard?

  Big: That sass does nothing to deter me wanting to bend you over the bed and go to pound town.

  Me: Didn’t think it would. Now go away, I’m busy with my sisters.

  Big: They owe me.

  Me: They don’t owe you shit.

  Big: I’m sharing you tonight. I don’t share my woman.

  Sheesh. Sometimes he can be sweet in his own Neanderthal way.

  Jo tops off my wine glass and sets it next to Debbie to keep it from spilling while I’m preoccupied.

  Me: Two hours. I’ll be done by then.

  Big: Fine. I’m walking in that door in exactly one hundred and twenty minutes. Expect two rounds. You’ll be lucky if you can walk straight tomorrow.

  Promises. Promises.

  Even though I don’t want to, I grin, and just as I suspected would happen, my core clenches at his vow. There’s something about that filthy mouth I enjoy way too much.

  Me: You’ll survive. Love you. Peace.

  Big: I love you way more, babe. Way fucking more. See you in two hours.

  Me: Two hours.

  Finished, I slide Jez’s phone back to her, retrieve my glass from Debbie, and gulp the first half of slush down. Time to wrap until my fingers wanna fall off and back is ready to shatter.

  “Let’s get this shit done. I’ve got orgasms waiting on me.”

  “Yeah, ya do!” Jez cheers from her spot on the floor, where she gets her drank and porn on simultaneously.

  Another “eep” sound arises from a too sober Beth. Give that girl a pitcher all to herself.

  Now, where’s that Grinch paper, Big’s socks aren’t gonna wrap themselves.

  Christmas Eve

  Wednesday, December 24, 2014

  “Sugar Tits, it’s time. Hand our daughter over to Deb.” Staring off with the asshole who’s got me cornered next to the jukebox, I glare way, way, way up at the mountain I call mine. His height is a pain at times like these, as is his sex appeal. I really should’ve picked an uglier partner.

  I hug Harley closer to my breast, fingers combing through her fine, baby hair. She’s asleep and has been for almost an hour. If I let her go, she might wake up. You don’t want to wake a sleeping baby. It’s not like there’s any harm in me padding around the clubhouse in striped Christmas socks, holey skinny jeans, a low-cut red shirt, and Property of cut with my child curled against my chest like I’m the most important person in the galaxy. These times are far and few between when I’m competing with a cuddly Jez, Grandpa Gunz, and Big Dick Daddy-O, who, let’s face it, has way more real estate to cuddle on than I do. Even though I got nice squishy boobs to use as pillows.

  “No.” I assert my position. Out of the corner of my eye stands a patient Debbie, waiting for me to screw my head on straight and hand over my first and only born. This isn’t going to go over without a fight.

  If my heart didn’t physically ache every time I’ve tried to turn my kid over to anyone, I’d be fine. I’m not that irrational. And, no, I’m not drunk. I’m stone sober. It’s just that it’s my first Christmas Eve with her and we’re bonding. Unless you’re a mother, you could never understand that connection. The physical ache you feel inside your chest when you love someone so much that you can’t bear to spend a moment away from them. And if you do, you feel like you might die. A tad dramatic? Yes. But it doesn’t make it any less true. I just need a little longer. Another hour maybe. Two at most. Then I’ll be ready to let her go. Today was too magical to break the spell quite yet.

  Big bends to my height, steps too close and snags eye contact. “We. Agreed.”

  I take everything I said to him back. All of it.

  If looks could kill, Big would have holes lasered through the center of his weirdly attractive pupils all the way through the back of his skull. “We didn’t agree on shit,” I lie.

  Treating me like Pretzel when he doesn’t obey, Big bops me on the tip of my nose. In turn, I try to bite that finger off with a vicious snarl. I’m slow, but he knows the intent, and that message is powerful enough. “Surrender our daughter to Debbie. Now. Babe. Please. She has already taken all the other kids back to Jez’s for the night. It’s past nine. No more children are allowed in the clubhouse. It’s adult time.”

  “It’s Christmas Eve.” Best. Excuse. Ever. It’s not like you can tell your man your heart hurts to let your baby go when she loves you today, giving you most of her smiles, smelling of candy canes and Grandpa Gunz—two of the greatest scents in the world.

  The clubhouse party started at five. All the Sacred Sisters pitched in and brought dishes for a potluck of sorts. Mickey and Gypsy were also kind enough to contribute a meat and cheese platter. We didn’t do fancy foods, we kept it simple: shredded chicken sandwiches, Ballreich chips, shrimp cocktail, a variety of salads, and more types of dessert than there are days in the month. We ate until our stomachs revolted, hung out, and did Santa with Gunz. Whose handy helper, Bonez, our designated elf, pulled the gifts from Santa’s authentic sack to give to the “nice” kids.

  “You planned this,” Big reminds, giving me a you- are- crazy- as- fuck- but- I-love -you- so -it’s- okay look.

  Playing on Big’s need to care for us, I reveal a portion of the truth. “I didn’t know it’d be so hard to let her go. She likes me today. I want to document this forever.”

  I kiss the top of her soft, baby
scalp. Harley nuzzles into the base of my throat, her tiny fists balled on either side of her head, one holding onto my shirt. A patch of drool has gathered on the bare skin where her mouth rests. She’s the most adorable being ever created. The Mrs. Claus-inspired outfit emphasizes that adorableness to the millionth power. I can’t wait to print copies of the pictures I took of her sitting with Gunz on the black Santa throne the brothers built. Next to the chair, kneeling to fit into the photo is the gray-haired Bonez. If you haven’t met this man before, let’s just say, you want to meet him. He’s charismatic, sweet, considerate… and hotter than Billy Hell. If you’re into mature gentlemen in their forties or older, as I am, then you’ll love Bonez. He’s thick, muscled, inked all over, and… did I mention the elf green, spandex leggings he’s wearing today? They do nothing to hide the extra-long summer sausage he has stuffed down the inside of his well-defined thigh. Gunz bought the silly costume as a joke. Didn’t think his brother would wear it. Much to the biker’s dismay and the Sacred Sisters’ luck, he’s rocking that second skin like it was made for him. Including an elf hat with pointy ears and matching slippers where the toes curl. Those pecs should have sonnets written about them. They’re that drool-worthy. Trust me, I’m not the only person who’s noticed his yum factor. Jez has been shamelessly flirting with him all night. Bulk, the saint, is beyond amused with his old lady’s pervy antics.

  Big cups my cheek, trying a different tactic to ease our daughter from my hold without force. “We already documented it, babe, with the videos and millions of photos you and I both took with our phones today,” he reasons.

  “There wasn’t a million,” I argue to stall the inevitable. I hate when he makes sense. To be fair, it’s not possible to have a million pictures of today. I’m not one of those “people.” You know the ones I’m talking about, who post nothing but pictures and stories about their kids on social media as if they’re the second coming. And don’t even get me started on the people who do that with their dogs. I know that sounds harsh, but we all think it. I’m just ballsy enough to say it. I may go crazy with pictures, but I don’t force feed them to anyone. They’re for me to ingest. Not the world.