Lovergirl is quite skilled. At this angle, she’s able to bury me deep into her throat. I run through baseball statistics to avoid the inevitable. I draw the alphabet and flip on the We-Vibe. Fuck! I must hurry ... I’m so close!
Once I have the vibrator in place, she gasps and squeezes my head tightly between her thighs. Ouch! She’s the best chiropractor I ever met. I hear her muffled ecstasy.
“Oh ... my ... effing ... GOD!” she arches toward climax.
“Booyah, motherfucker,” I beam with pride.
She lets loose a thunderous orgasm and finishes me off seconds later. Being the mature type, I do my touchdown dance around the bedroom with my glazed love éclair and purple weapon.
“What is that, and where did you get it?”
“This, Lovergirl, is yet another weapon in my arsenal. Make that Italy one, Canada nil,” I bow. “Raise the flag, fuckers! Pippino must be so proud of his poppa.”
“You’ve won the battle, Uncle M, not the war. Now, go finish my dinner.”
“Yes, dear.”
We laugh through dinner as Bea inspects the bag of badness. I’ve impressed my love, but I suspect she’ll step up her game.
Chapter Six
Opportunity dances with those who are already on the dance floor. – H. Jackson Brown, Jr.
After dinner, we dunk warm Toll House cookies in milk and catch up on Nurse Jackie episodes. Zoey rules! Bea’s appetite—both for food and for sex—is growing, and I’m keeping up, so far.
“One more cookie, Lovergirl. I bet my boy is smiling,” I tease as I pat her belly.
“Uncle M, you constantly impress me. You bake?”
“I slaved all night making sure the batter was just right.”
“Swoon!”
“Oh, and please ignore the Nestlé bag in the garbage.”
“Cheater.”
“I need to take it easy, with all those heavy medals soon to be hanging around my neck. My poor back.”
“Speaking of, I believe it’s time for another event.”
“I’ll do some deep knee bends and change into my track suit.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“What’s the event?”
“The Grip Test. I noticed two plugs in the bag of fun.”
“But ...”
“Exactly.”
“Let me chug this wine first.” *Gulp* “OK, what are the rules?” I ask as Bea removes the intimidating butt plugs and tube of mint lube from the Hustler bag.
“We each insert one of these and then get it on, missionary-style. Whoever knocks the plug out of the other person’s butt, without using hands, wins.”
“So embarrassing.”
“You can forfeit if you like.”
“You may take my pride, but you’ll never take my butt plug!”
Lovergirl hands me the plugs and lube, and goes into the kitchen.
“What are you doing?”
“We need this, too,” she replies while showing me the pepper shaker.
“Pepper?”
“You’ll see, Uncle M.”
We disrobe, pull down the comforter, and place two towels on the bed. Shit. How intimidating!
“My virgin butt is going to need lots of foreplay, kind words, and a thick layer of lube.”
“You can still back out.”
“No way. I’m tight, y’all.”
Lovergirl lathers the lube onto the plugs and hands me one.
“I don’t think I’ve had anything up there since a thermometer in the sixties.”
“Kinky.”
“How do we do this? I can’t put it in myself,” I protest while noticing hers is already in place.
“Gimme.”
Yikes!
“Be gentle,” I mewl.
She manages to get it in and then mounts me. I concentrate on squeezing my cheeks without pushing as she slams away on top of me.
“Do you like it, Uncle M?”
“It’s ... different. Stop trying to distract me,” I insist.
I bite my bottom lip as she slams harder and harder. All this concentration is delaying my orgasm, so there’s one benefit. She orgasms twice, but her plug is cemented; mine is slipping.
Bea covers my eyes and reaches toward the bedside table. What’s she up to? I hear shaking and, suddenly, I smell pepper.
“Aaaaaah CHOO!” I sneeze, which sends my butt plug flying. Rats!
“Bless you.”
Canada has her first gold.
Chapter Seven
Don’t let what you cannot do interfere with what you can do. – John Wooden
It’s Bea’s big night with her friends. Eric and his partner have been helping plan my surprise. I get the call saying she has left the office, so I drive there. As I pull up, I notice a pickup truck with a large present on wheels in the bed. Eric and Daniel are strapping it down.
“I thought I was jumping out of a cake?” I ask out my Jeep’s window.
“The cake was booked, Mormon. This will do just fine,” Eric assures me.
“If you say so.”
I reach under my passenger seat and extract the second Hustler bag, kept secret from my Lovergirl.
“What have you there?” Daniel asks.
I whip out the Cockasaurus Rex as their eyes light up. I’m not sure if it’s envy, arousal, or fear.
“In the words of Otter Stratton, ‘She’ll take this seriously,’” I exclaim while dangling the largest strap-on known to man (or horse, for that matter).
“Oh, my,” the boys gasp in stereo.
“Sorry, fellas. Rex is unavailable this evening. He is to ride securely next to my leg, making all the ladies dewy with desire.”
“Come inside and try on your outfit, Officer Clydesdale,” Daniel suggests.
Why haven’t I learned to trust my instincts? Naturally, the police uniform is specifically designed for parades at which I would not dare leave the curb. The pants are faux leather with both ass cheeks cut out. There’s matching navy, T-back underwear. The belt contains handcuffs and a whip, not a gun. The shirt pockets have flaps with nipple clamps. A somewhat normal cap and mirrored Ray-Bans are all I have left to hide beneath.
When I emerge from the bathroom to model the costume, Eric and Daniel nearly convulse in laughter.
“Turn around, Mormon.”
“No.”
“Oh, come on,” Daniel encourages.
“I have hair on my ass, Daniel. This won’t do.”
“We could shave you,” suggests Eric.
“Stop, Lover. It’s sexy, Mormon,” Daniel insists. “Men are supposed to have hair. I see the salami fit perfectly.”
“Yum, yum,” Eric teases. “Pass the Poupon.”
“All right, knock it off before I change my mind. What’s the plan?”
Eric informs me that a limo bus is taking the women barhopping downtown, and it will be best to do my thing at the restaurant they’re meeting in for Happy Hour. He insists it won’t be crowded. Daniel has a Bose wireless speaker linked to an iPod to provide music for my routine.
“Climb into the box and we’ll be on our way.”
“What? Why can’t I ride with you?”
“You’ll be seen. Get in. It’s only ten miles or so.”
“Fine. Fetch thee my tequila for the ride. It’s in the bag.”
I sit Indian-style in the box. I barely fit. Luckily, the ride isn’t too bumpy. When we come to a stop, I lift the top to look around. I see the limo bus. Eric pushes the lid back down.
“Hey! No peeking. You’ll be seen.”
“Fuck. Fine. Hurry up.”
Eric lifts the top a sliver again.
“What?”
“How much of that did you drink?”
“Three fingers, if you must know.” I take another pull. “Make that four.”
“Stay down until you hear the music begin. Shh.”
“Got it.”
Eric and Daniel drop the door on the truck bed and lift out the large gift box.
They roll me across the parking lot while I take one more swig. Their whispering and giggling is making me nervous. Once inside, I hear various muffled voices.
“Ladies, can I have your attention,” Eric begins. “Miss, will you please have a seat right here. Thank you. And now ...”
Joe Cocker’s “You Can Leave Your Hat On” begins blaring—my cue to begin. I stand and throw the lid off the box. I hear gasps. Oh, fuck! It’s a bingo hall filled with senior citizens and seated in the chair in front of me, instead of my Lovergirl, is Grandma Aspinwald.
Chapter Eight
Love is like dew that falls on both nettles and lilies. – Swedish Proverb
Normally, I’d be all heels and elbows as I run from the embarrassing situation. However, the tequila has persuaded me to hoard my shits. Fuck it. I’ll dance for the old woman.
Grandma does a double take, then she recognizes me. The other ladies in the bingo hall begin cheering. I glare at Eric, hop out of the box, and begin gyrating in front of Grandma.
“How did you know it was my birthday, Blobber?” Grandma asks.
“I’m a powerful man with many connections. You shall henceforth address me as Officer Blobber, or I’ll be forced to restrain the suspect.”
“Eat me,” Grandma defies as she gives me the finger and smirks.
“Fine, you asked for it.”
I remove the handcuffs from my belt and grab her wrist. She’s enjoying this. Ugh. Maybe it’s genetic.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say won’t matter, as I’m going to grind my man banana into the birthday girl anyway,” I tease. Grandma giggles as the others in attendance roar. Eric is encouraging me as I notice his partner open the door to the hall. The parade of bachelorette party people stream in, led by my Lovergirl.
Once Grandma is cuffed, I hop in front of her, flip around, squat my hairy butt down onto her lap, and grind.
“Oh, my,” Grandma responds. “I hope you registered at Petco so I can buy you shears for your wedding gift.”
“Silence, woman, or I shall gag you!”
“You wouldn’t dare. And, what the hell is that thing in your pants? You must be dreaming.”
I stand in front or her, then turn and rip my shirt open, sending the buttons flying. I forgot I had my nipples clamped. Good thing I’m numb because I may have just dislocated a gland or two. The women cheer as I do my best impression of a pelvic thrust. By this point, Grandma is in tears laughing. Lovergirl inserts herself between us and begins undoing my belt.
“Oh, Jesus. I wouldn’t do that.”
“We have to set the beast free, Uncle M,” she insists.
She unbuttons, unzips, and yanks down my pants. Out flops the Cockasaurus Rex, which dangles and bops her on the noggin. The women (and gay men) all gasp at the sight of my girthy appendage. I chase the girls in Bea’s party around like a kid with a garden hose. Luckily, the song runs out before I get too crazy. I’m dizzy and drunk from all the tequila. Still, I’m confident I’ve won Grandma over in the process.
“Put that thing away and uncuff me, you maniac,” Grandma insists.
“Fuck, I don’t have any keys. Sorry, you’re stuck. Can you hold a bingo blotter in your mouth?”
“I have the keys, Mormon,” Eric offers.
I take a bow and dress myself. I attempt to give Grandma a hug.
“Happy birthday, my dear.”
“Thank you and, no, we don’t hug. You may fist-tap me.”
I oblige. As I turn to leave, Grandma smacks my ass and hugs Bea.
“Was this your doing?” Grandma asks Bea.
“No, it was a surprise to me as well. Eric is responsible.”
“Well, let’s hope I win a few million dollars tonight. You go have fun at your party.”
“I love you, Grandma.”
“Love you, too. Keep an eye on this one. He’s seems to be a toy short of a Happy Meal.”
“Ha! Will do.”
Bea leads me out to the limo.
“You’re coming with us.”
“Oh, hell no. Not like this,” I refuse.
“Please.”
“I need a fucking nap.”
“Just come with us to the bar and you can wait in the limo. I’ll sneak out and we’ll have a little fun.”
“Now that sounds tempting.”
“I have an idea for the next Olympic event.”
“What is it?”
“You’ll see.”
We pile into the limo. Once downtown, they go into the club as I lie across the seats, hoping to sleep off the tequila buzz. Bea is last to leave. She bends down and kisses me.
“I’ll be back in one hour, Uncle M. Make sure that strap-on is ready.”
Oh, my.
Chapter Nine
Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things. – Robert Brault
I enjoy a much-needed nap, while the limo driver sits in Starbucks reading the newspaper. I’m startled awake by knocking on the limo door. Probably a homeless dude looking for spare change. I peek and see that it is Bea, so I push the lever and open the doors. Bea enters with two of her friends.
“What’s this? Is the party over already?”
“No, it’s just beginning,” Bea insists. “These are my friends. I believe you already met Emily.”
“Yes, the bartender.”
“Indeed. She also happens to be from my home town in Canada.”
“Nice.”
“And, this is Luca.”
“Aw, what a nice name,” I compliment as I shake her hand. All three women are tipsy. Something strange is about to happen. I sense it.
“Luca is from Naples.”
“Ah, bella!” I respond as I turn her hand over and kiss her knuckles. “Wait a minute. Canadian, Italian: Does this have something to do with our Olympics?”
“Yes, it does. These fine ladies are occasional lovers ...”
“Yes! Oops. I mean, oh, how interesting.”
“... and they have agreed to participate in our next event. Uncle M, you will be coaching Luca and I will coach Emily.”
“All right. Is this the javelin toss?”
“Close. I’m going to need that strap on,” Bea informs as she begins undoing my pants again. “Here’s how this works: Each participant will take turns strapping on Rex here. The other will be on the receiving end. The one who takes in the most length wins.”
“Ha! Impossible!”
Bea removes Cockasaurus Rex from my waist and holds it out. It’s huge. No human could ever...
Luca takes Rex from Bea and sneers, “You’re going to need a bigger dildo.”
“That’s my girl.”
We turn on Timberlake, dim the lights, and ring the bell. First up is Emily. Luca straps the beast on while Emily lifts her skirt and removes her thong. She conveniently has a tube of Astroglide in her purse, which she applies liberally. Lovergirl sits next to me as we watch the first attempt. The women kneel. Luca holds steady while Emily backs into her.
“There’s just no way,” I insist.
“Come on, Emily. You can do it.”
Luca slides the tip up and down Emily’s hungry slit. If she can take the head alone, I’ll be impressed. Emily arches, lowers her shoulders, and pushes back into Luca. The entire head enters. Emily’s face shows pleasure, not pain, as does Luca’s. Luca pulls out a bit and pushes in farther. Emily cringes and gets another inch in, and another, and another. What a trooper, eh?
“That’s it, Emily. Oh, Can-nuh-daaaah ...,” Bea sings.
Emily is able to stuff in another inch before she’s “full.” Luca smirks while Emily dismounts and unstraps. Bea takes Rex and surveys the damage.
“Fucking impressive,” I admit.
Bea marks the progress with her lip gloss. The thing is as big as my fist and she got a good six-plus inches in. Italy is doomed.
Emily straps on the beast and glazes some fresh lube on as Luca removes her jeans and panties.
She has a quiet, confident look. Luca kneels in front of Emily, doggie-style as well. Emily presses the head against Luca’s glistening pussy. Her lips part and she takes the head.
“Yes! Do it,” I encourage.
Luca grimaces as she takes inch after inch, but she’s an inch shy of the mark, and Rex is bending.
“Hold Rex still, Emily. Come on, Luca.”
“No, I can’t. It’s ... just ... too ... big.”
“Are you giving up?” Bea asks, but I interrupt.
“Don’t you dare! You can do this, Luca,” I encourage as Luca gives me an exasperated glance. “Use the force, Luca.”
Luca lowers her chest to the floor, breathes quickly like a woman in labor, and pushes back, taking that final inch plus another for good measure.
Italy 2, Canada 1.
Chapter Ten
The human heart feels things the eyes cannot see, and knows what the mind cannot understand. – Robert Valett
I want to spend the night before the wedding with Bea, but she resists due to that crazy custom about seeing the bride on the day of the ceremony. I text to convince her otherwise.
Mormon Silver: I’m going to cook the love of my life dinner and cater to her needs, no matter what day or time it is.
Bea Plastique: You’re not seeing me after midnight until I walk the beach into your arms forever.
Mormon Silver: Wow!
Bea Plastique: Not a minute past midnight, Mister.
Mormon Silver: Seriously?
Bea Plastique: It’s bad luck.
Mormon Silver: It is not. Come on. I have a wonderful night planned.
Bea Plastique: You have me until 11:59.
Mormon Silver: OK, we’ll see. Come over at 7 for dinner. How does Chicken Saltimbocca sound?
Bea Plastique: Delish.
When she arrives, I have the table set, candles lit, dinner simmering, honey-butter rolls browning, and Sinatra singing. I also have one more handy ditty I picked up at Hustler: a blindfold. Bea greets me with a kiss and a bottle of my favorite wine: Silver Oak.
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