The XXX Files Season Two (Episodes 5-8)

by Maxxwell, Lexi

  And sometimes — more than he wanted to admit — when he was fucking Courtney.

  XXX

  CHAPTER 3 — Courtney Grayson

  Brad had been napping for a while, with his head rolled to a stop against the window, but had managed to not snore, which was slightly unusual when he was as deeply under as he seemed to be. Courtney watched him, trying to untangle her thoughts and figure out how she should feel.

  He had nearly missed his flight, which pissed Courtney off, though no more than the other hundred things that he’d done to piss her off in the last week alone. She had packed their bags and gone into Division to deal with Cooper, leaving him with only one thing to do. And he’d barely done it. Yet, she let it go with only a single, semi-sarcastic barb. It was like she was barely herself, constantly making excuses for him, regardless of the circumstance.

  She called him three times and got his voicemail each time. When he finally showed up at the airport, running toward the gate, his cheeks were flushed and Courtney could only describe his look as freshly emptied. She’d seen the look in bed more times than she could count. There were plenty of times in the last few months when she’d seen the look several times in one day. Beyond his freshly emptied look, Brad had also showered. Maybe he wanted to scrub himself clean after slipping out of the house early that morning — without a note — but maybe he wanted to clean the guilt and evidence from his body.

  Courtney sat beside Brad on the plane, wondering what he had done in between the time she hung up with him, and when she saw him running toward the gate — wondering if she was right in her suspicions.

  She hated that Brad might be lying to her, but more than that she hoped he was OK. If he was cheating on her, as much she loathed to believe that he was, it wasn’t exactly his fault, and she didn’t really blame him. What bothered her most was that he felt like he couldn’t be honest with her, probably because he was afraid of what she would do. Truth was, the only thing she would do was stay by his side until the two of them figured things out.

  Courtney wanted to trust him, but gun to head she was sure he was back to cheating. She’d felt it for a few days, almost like a switch had been flicked from OFF to ON. At first his sudden distance seemed more emotional than physical, like he wasn’t all there while the two of them were making love — or dancing in the sheets, doing the deed, dipping the wick, plugging the hole, poking the whiskers, probing the membrane, or any of the other idiot things Brad called it. She could tell when he was truly with her and when he wasn’t. The last couple of days, it seemed like he wasn’t, and if she were being honest with herself, which wasn’t always easy to do, Courtney would bet every cent in her 401K that he’d found a coed to fuck at Saint Ursula.

  He just seemed guilty, making his little jokes and acting coy, not answering any question outright — she assumed because he didn’t want to lie — and using humor to navigate through them. Courtney didn’t want to accuse him of anything, not until she knew for certain, and even then it would only be so they could figure out what to do next. Maybe she could finally get him to reach out to Division.

  Despite her certainty, Courtney had to be careful, because there was a chance she was wrong, and if she was, then accused him anyway, she could be doing tremendous damage to a relationship they’d been working so hard to build together.

  She continued to watch him as he slept. He seemed so peaceful, as if all the things that bothered him when his eyes were open faded to vapor when they weren’t. He looked almost like a different man. The face of the man almost snoring in the seat beside her would probably tell her everything. That was the Brad she loved most. The other Brad was OK, bending the truth like a bitch over the back of the sofa. If she knew the other Brad, and years as partners and one as a couple said that she did, then he swung by a strip club — probably Pole Position — before coming to the airport.

  That she could get over, the lies were much harder.

  Courtney’s emotional brain was injured, damaged even, but her logical brain had a voice, too, and it loudly declared that Brad had little if any choice. Men were prisoners to impulse already, add in the Red Breath that physically altered the molecules in her man’s blood, and she couldn’t very well hold him accountable for his behavior, at least not any more than she could blame him for going bald if he were in the middle of chemo.

  Courtney’s face twitched into a smile as she looked over at Brad and noticed his cock twitching in his pants. She almost laughed. She had no idea what he was like before the Red Breath since the two of them only got together after Willow Monroe, but Brad admitted that his dick was definitely much bigger than it had been before. When he got excited, or hadn’t fucked her in more than a day, he was practically hung like a two liter bottle.

  Before Brad, Courtney didn’t believe there was such a thing as too big, as long as she could open her mouth wide enough to slide it inside and wrap it with her lips. But Brad, or at least the Red Breath inside him, challenged her assumptions. Most days she felt like the luckiest girl in the world, but after a too-long day — either from work or Brad going for thirds or fourths — it felt like he was trying to wedge her body in half with the fatter side of a bat.

  “Excuse me?” Courtney said, holding her hand up to a passing flight attendant. “Would you mind grabbing me a pillow and blanket?”

  “Of course,” the flight attendant said, her glance falling to Brad’s still — and now more obviously throbbing cock —before quickly flitting away. An old lady one row across the aisle smiled at Courtney, looking as if she wanted to say something, but Courtney turned her eyes toward Brad before the old woman said a word.

  The flight attendant returned a minute later with Courtney’s blanket and pillow. She said thank you, waited for the attendant to leave, then set the pillow behind Brad’s head and draped the blanket over them both. Her hand slithered beneath Brad’s side of the blanket, then unbuttoned his pants, reached into boxers, slipped his cock through the hole, and started to wake her best friend and lover with a handjob.

  She didn’t start stroking immediately, just a bit of gentle squeezing along his shaft, brushing her thumb against the top of his head. He was impossibly hard, at least she would have thought it was impossible had Courtney not felt his hammer inside her for the last year — the biggest and hardest she ever had, and was certain she ever would, even if they were to break up tomorrow.

  She adjusted her weight, turning toward Brad and away from the aisle. He moaned, slowly waking as her hand held his looser skin at the bottom, then pinched it lightly before raising her slackened palm back to the top where she twisted his dick in slow, rhythmic circles. He was now awake, but quiet, his body churning beneath her and cock growing even thicker in her hand as she wrapped her palm more tightly around it, moving it up slowly, around, then quickly back to the base.

  “Faster,” he whispered.

  “Like this?” Courtney blew into his ear, stroking him faster.

  “Yes,” Brad said through heavy breath.

  “I want you to spill under the blanket,” Courtney purred, still in his ear. “Will you shoot your cum all over my hands?”

  Courtney was oven-hot, suddenly wondering what she was doing giving him an old fashioned when she could have woken Brad and dragged him into the bathroom. She was in her 30s, and had yet to join the Mile High Club. Then again, with the force of his usual fucking and inevitable blast, Courtney could see him alerting the entire plane to their coitus at best, and sending it into a tailspin at worst.

  She was a minute from milking cum from his tip, but knew it would be several endless hours until she got hers.

  Courtney stroked faster, hoping she could finish him off in enough time to chance seconds in the bathroom, when the old lady from one row across inexplicably engaged her in conversation.

  “Have you ever been to Florida before?” the old woman asked.

  Courtney ignored her, shifting in her seat so she was facing Brad even more than she already was, but the ol
d woman reached across the aisle and tugged at her shirt to get her attention.

  “Excuse me, Miss?” Courtney looked over and the woman repeated, “Have you ever been to Florida before?”

  “Um ... yes, several times,” she said, then turned back to Brad.

  “I’ve never been. Is it nice?”

  “Don’t even think about fucking answering her,” hissed Brad from his seat.

  “I’ve never been,” the old woman repeated. “Is it nice?”

  “It’s OK,” Courtney said, not turning.

  The old woman must have thought she asked her if she could please start her life story because she started spewing shit Courtney didn’t care about, right from her pie hole, starting with how one of her oldest friends, Michael Diamond, had been living at the Rosewood down in Florida for seven years now, and was loving it more all the time. Both of her children, Rebecca and Adam, thought she should move down there, too. They were paying for her to fly to Florida so she could check it out. Adam was driving east from Georgia to meet her.

  Courtney slowed her jack, suddenly frightened the woman might realize what she was doing.

  Brad ordered her to ignore the old woman and go faster. He didn’t like being at the edge and unable to blast, and was lifting his ass from the seat, fucking his dick deeper into her loosened fist.

  The old woman was just clueless enough to pull a wallet from her purse, stuffed to bulging with pictures from new to peeling, displaying generations of her bloodline. Courtney switched from her right to her left, then started stroking as fast as she could with her weaker wrist while leaning forward toward the old woman, feigning interest.

  Brad moaned in a whisper as Courtney continued milking his length, apparently finding the perfect rhythm as her hands slid up and down with enough speed that other passengers could probably hear the fapping under the blanket, though the old lady still seemed clueless.

  Courtney knew she should slow, but couldn’t, possibly as turned on as Brad was, even if she was miles further from orgasm.

  As if he were reading her mind, Brad suddenly slipped a finger under her waistband, past her panties, and right inside her, sending Courtney into an accidental moan — almost a squeal — which startled the old woman. Either finally realizing what was happening under the blanket, or thinking Courtney was having impure thoughts about her third grandson, Gibraltar — named after the Rock — the old woman yanked her photos away from Courtney, as if she had been treasuring them, huffed, then twisted her body back toward her window, looking as if she would parachute from the plane if given the chance.

  Courtney thought good riddance, then turned her full attention to Brad and blew in his ear.

  “I’m going to fucking cum!” he whispered through gritted teeth.

  She said, “I can’t wait,” and that was all it took.

  Brad erupted in a fountain of cum, spraying everywhere under the blanket and making Courtney feel like a fool for forgetting how Brad was always a pint when compared to a normal man’s tablespoon.

  Courtney kept her hand under the blanket, wondering how she would clean it. She turned to see the old woman now staring at them in disgust.

  Courtney was red-faced.

  Brad laughed, then said, “Well, would ya get a load of that?”

  XXX

  CHAPTER 4 — Brad Hammer

  Brad and Courtney had been circling residents of the Shady Palms Retirement Village for two hours and had uncovered approximately dick. Whatever tingle of excitement he felt while watching the video — horrifying as that was — had gone mercifully MIA. Brad couldn’t believe that he’d been turned on — even mildly — by the piles of withered flesh he’d seen on his phone.

  Brad felt like a giant, ageist asshole, but couldn’t ignore his feelings: Old people looked disgusting, at least all the pasty, white ones. Apparently, Florida had a severe Melanin shortage. Everywhere he turned Brad saw sun damage, wrinkles, freckles, and liver spots. He thought his dick might actually be shrinking, crawling back up into his belly.

  “This is bullshit,” he said to Courtney. “This isn’t Division crap. This belongs to the local ding-dong cops. There’s nothing paranormal about a bunch of horny old broads and dirty old men. This is Viagra’s fault, not aliens or anything paranormal. And it’s dirty. I don’t want to know about old people fucking.”

  “You’re an asshole, Hammer,” Courtney said. “Old people have the same rights to fucking as you do. It’s crap like that that helps ageism flourish. Everyone is so obsessed with looking young that we can’t stand to imagine that seniors are sexually attractive, too. We think of sex as having to do with youth, reproduction, and power, but that doesn’t mean old people should be asexual. You’re going to be old one day too, you know.”

  “I didn’t say that old people should be asexual, or didn’t have a right to fuck. I just don’t want to see it or know about it, and sure as hell shouldn’t be flying down to Florida to see it up close. Again, this is a cop issue.”

  “Like I already told you, and Cooper told me while screaming for a half hour while you were off doing whatever it is you were doing, one of the people at the Goldblatt party is his father. That makes this Division crap, whether you like it or not. He wants this looked into right. The cops will screw things up like they always do, and he knows it as well as you do. You’d want the same thing if this involved your father.”

  “If this was my father, I’d be hoping for an assignment in Antarctica, and while I don’t dispute that the cops will likely fuck shit up, that doesn’t mean this isn’t a total bullshit use of Division Resources. What if there were shape shifting hermaphrodites infiltrating congress again?”

  “Well, there aren’t, Hammer, and Cooper calls the shots. Get used to it since apparently you’re not already. We’re not being diverted from a priority case to take this, we’re taking this while waiting for a priority case to surface.”

  “We should be following up on the ghost jacker,” Brad said. “If he can do it, others can, too. And the last thing we want is a nation full of invisible perverts. Do you have any idea how dangerous that could be?”

  “Of course,” Courtney said. “And I don’t disagree, but right now it looks like Gellar was working alone, and we’re here because we have orders to follow.”

  “Bullshit,” Brad said. “Perverts like Gellar are always jacking each other off in chat rooms. I’m sure he’s been bragging about what he’s done. That means others are right behind him.”

  “Stop obsessing about what we’re not doing, and get your mind on what we have to do now, OK?”

  “Fine,” Brad mumbled, “but it’s not like anyone’s giving us answers, or has any. Old people are horny, too; mystery solved.”

  It was true. In the last two hours no one had seemed able to remember a single thing, at least nothing of use. None of the Shady Palms residents or outside friends in attendance at the Goldblatt anniversary party remembered a thing. All seemed surprised, most shocked, and some heart attack adjacent.

  “So far,” Courtney agreed, “which is why I think it’s time we move from guests to staff. Whether this is a police issue or not, it’s our issue now. So let’s find some answers and start by sharpening our attitudes.”

  “My attitude is fine,” Brad grumbled, even though it wasn’t. He wanted to trade the Shady Palms for any one of South Florida’s 23,945 strip clubs, preferably with Courtney, though if she wasn’t willing he was game without her.

  They started interviewing wait staff. Fifty-four minutes later Brad was interviewing the final one, asking if the kid — who barely looked older than 16 — had noticed anyone at the party taking any drugs, other than Viagra, of course, which Brad assumed everyone must have been chewing like sunflower seeds.

  “No, I didn’t see anything like that,” the tall and gangly, pimple-faced kid said as his Adam’s apple bounced up and down. “It was a quiet group, up until the end, of course. That’s when Ricky Johnson ran into the back and grabbed his camera. Sh ...
I mean, stuff was getting out of control.”

  “And you have no idea what precipitated the shift?”

  “What what?” he said.

  “What led to the change,” Brad clarified.

  “No,” gangly face shook his head again, his Adam’s apple still bouncing. “I do remember that the anniversary couple Frank and Stella seemed to be getting extra nervous as the evening wore on. I thought that before all the crazy started.”

  Gangly face shivered.

  “What do you mean?” Brad asked. This was the first time anyone had said anything of the sort.

  “Well,” the kid pinched the bridge of his nose, seeming to think. “Stella seemed to be drinking a lot, and she was coming on to her husband. When I came in to refill her water she asked if she could have a glass that was just ice since ‘things were getting hot.’ It was about 15 minutes after that when things got out of control.”

  Brad thanked gangly face, then went to find Courtney. It wasn’t much of a lead, but it was the best they’d found all day, and maybe something that might inch them the fuck out of Florida.

  “That doesn’t sound like much,” Courtney confirmed what he already knew. “But it’s better than nothing.”

  She had uncovered a dick hair less than he had, so together they went to the Goldblatts for a follow-up interview.

  As with the first interview, the Goldblatts were deeply embarrassed, though Courtney and Brad agreed that they didn’t seem to be hiding anything. They couldn’t make eye contact with either agent, and all the other signs of bald-faced lying were there: Physical expressions were limited and stiff, with few arm and hand movements; their hands were constantly touching their face, throat and mouth; they both scratched their nose and behind their ears; emotions seemed off, almost delayed. Yet, Brad trusted his instinct, and it said the Goldblatts weren’t lying, so much as deeply humiliated that they’d found themselves at the bottom of a hoary orgy, and by the looks of the YouTube video, had been eating their way out from the bottom.