The Poi Predicament

by Lyle Christie

  “You are way too drunk to drive,” I said.

  “I am.”

  “So, I think you should stay here tonight.”

  “Nice try.”

  “It’s not a ploy. It’s for your own good.”

  She looked at me a moment with her thoughts obviously clouded by an abundance of dark and stormies.

  “OK, but I’m sleeping with my gun under the pillow. Anything that pokes me in the night gets shot.”

  “Understood.”

  We entered the elevator then exited on my floor and headed to my room, where Violet immediately went to the bathroom, as she obviously needed to pee after having consumed so many cocktails. Two minutes later, I heard the water running and figured she was taking a shower to wash off the smoke smell from the bonfire. She emerged a minute later and smelled fresh as a daisy as she walked into the bedroom and stripped down directly in front of me.

  “You didn’t forget that I was here, did you?”

  “Nope.”

  “So, you’re doing it on purpose.”

  “Yep.”

  “Wonderful,” I said, as I walked into the bathroom, peed, then stepped into the shower feeling happy to wash away the smell of smoke on my hair and skin.

  A moment later, Violet walked in and proceeded to brush her teeth, during which she gazed at me for a brief second before turning her attention back to the sink.

  “Can I help you with something?” I asked.

  “No, I was just checking to see if you were jacking off.”

  “I’m just fine, thank you—in spite of your little show.”

  I finished up my shower, brushed my teeth, and came out to find Violet in my bed with the covers pulled up to her chin. I stripped down to my boxer briefs and a T-shirt then climbed into bed to find her completely naked.

  “Seriously?” I asked.

  “What? Do you have a problem with me sleeping in the nude?”

  “No, as long as you don’t mind waking up in a blizzard of jism.”

  She lifted her pillow and showed me that she had indeed brought her gun to bed.

  “As you see, I’ve brought real protection, not the latex kind.”

  “All I’m saying is that anything that happens on this side of the bed, regardless of the lewdness of the act, is perfectly legal in this scenario.”

  “Fine, this is our personal Maginot Line,” she said, running her hand down the center of the bed.

  “You obviously know that it didn’t stop the Germans in World War II.”

  “Yeah, so keep your Panzer in your pants, Rommel.”

  I turned off the light and lay there listening to the nearby waves rolling up onto the shoreline. I was definitely tired, but sleep wouldn’t come easily thanks to fucking Violet. Of course, the reality of the situation was that I had no one to blame but myself. I had acted like a man-whore, and now I could only wonder why in the hell I let myself end up in bed with Melissa Williams? Suddenly, Violet stirred and moved her legs over to my side of the bed and placed her feet against my calf.

  “Nein!” I said.

  “Pardonnez-moi?”

  “Unterlassungserklärung!”

  “Quoi?”

  “I said cease and desist.”

  “My feet are cold.”

  “It’s eighty degrees in here, and besides, isn’t it a breach of our treaty?”

  “Well, we didn’t stipulate that I couldn’t cross the Maginot Line.”

  “This treaty is unfair.”

  “All is fair in love and war.”

  “For women, apparently.”

  “We have to protect ourselves from man-whores.”

  “Fine, you can keep your feet over here.”

  She lay there with her cold feet against my calf, and she continued to gently wiggle her toes, so she apparently couldn’t sleep either. She fussed a little and rolled onto her back and pulled the blanket down to reveal her lovely breasts, which were now glowing in the ambient light spilling in through the window.

  “I thought you were cold.”

  “Only my feet.”

  I continued to stare in rapt attention as her breasts slowly rose and fell with each breath, and her nipples were starting to grow hard in spite of the fact that she was supposedly too warm to stay under the covers. Fuck. I needed to think about something else, so I rolled over and closed my eyes and tried to empty my mind of thoughts of Violet. After about two painful minutes, I couldn’t take it any longer and rolled back over to see that Violet was now gently caressing her substantial nipples, and they were hard as all hell and fully elongated as they pointed skyward.

  “Sweet Jesus, devil woman!” I said.

  “What?”

  “Do you really have to do that right now?”

  “Sometimes it helps me sleep.”

  “Well it’s certainly not helping me sleep.”

  “Are your nipples very sensitive?”

  “Yeah, I suppose. Why?”

  “Well, I can sometimes climax from nipple stimulation.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yep.”

  “So, how exactly is caressing your nipples helping you sleep?”

  “I’m going to give myself a massive orgasm, then I’ll sleep like a baby.”

  “I should have called you a cab.”

  “You don’t want to see me have an orgasm?”

  “Yeah, I do, but the problem is that I wish I could be a part of that orgasm.”

  “Too bad you blew it.”

  “Yeah, too bad.”

  “Maybe you should take off your underwear and that silly T-shirt.”

  My heart was starting to pound.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re about to start jacking off, and you wouldn’t want to get them covered in filthy man-whore juice.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Violet pulled off the covers to reveal her lovely lady parts and immediately set to work by making slow circles as she flexed her pelvis. She started moaning and arched her back, and her breasts were now pressing skyward like two beautiful mountains of man-joy. After a moment, she sat up and moved onto her knees and continued her devious act of self pleasure—all the while watching me intently.

  “I don’t think you’re going to want to miss this,” she said.

  Shit monkeys! I literally jumped up, slid off my underwear, and all but tore my shirt off my back before slipping back into bed. Violet was gazing lustfully at my manhood, and it was pushing my arousal level up to defcon one.

  “Start whacking,” she said.

  This was officially now my third time engaging in what I called a mutual masturbation session. The first had been with a beautiful woman name Fiona, and the second had been with a beautiful pilot named Tatyana. Violet, however, would hold the distinction of being the first FBI Agent to engage in this act with me—something I hoped wasn’t illegal. I took hold of Tag Junior and moved my hand fore and aft, and every second made me want Violet all the more. Of course, this was all part of her devious plan to continue making me pay for a night of poor judgement, and, with that painful thought firmly locked in my mind, I put my full attention on Violet. We were now face to face, with each of us perched on our respective side of the Maginot Line, and the show before me was a visual temptation of epic proportions. Her one hand was moving over her lady region while the other was caressing her nipples, whose obvious state of excitement was mirroring my own. Soft moans escaped her lips, and, soon, great thunderous cries were coming on in faster waves as she thrust her hips back and forth. Needless to say, I too was feeling release only seconds away.

  “Do you want to be inside me?”

  “Yes.”

  “How badly?”

  “Really badly.”

  She leaned forward until her lips were only inches from my own.

  “Kiss me,” she said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Kiss me!” she yelled.

  I did as instructed, and the moment our lips touched, w
e both came with a mighty scream, whose volume was somewhat diminished by our entwined mouths. We continued on with our tongues completing the act that our bodies could not until finally coming to rest, whereupon we both relaxed and smiled.

  “I feel better. I think I can sleep now. Good night, Finn,” she said, slinking back under the covers as though nothing had happened.

  I was feeling mildly dumbfounded as I sat there holding my manhood. It was still hard, as I suspect it too felt oddly unsatisfied in spite of having spilled its precious seed. I gazed down at the battlefield and was happy to see that at least my aim had sent my tiny soldiers over the Maginot Line and into what was technically now occupied France. I went to the bathroom, grabbed a towel, then came back and cleaned up my mess before dropping onto bed beside Violet, who now slept like an angel—or perhaps demon if I wanted to be more accurate. I closed my eyes, cleared my mind of the day’s events, and let the soothing sounds of the Pacific take me off to the glorious abyss of sleep.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Tip of the Spear

  THE SOUND OF running water brought me awake, and I rolled over and looked at the clock to see that it was a little after nine. The curtains were open, and warm Hawaiian sunshine was filling the room. Suddenly, the bathroom door opened, and there stood Violet looking lovely and ready for the day. She had already showered, and, even better, was holding a cup of coffee in each hand—bless her heart. Perhaps there was still a chance at love after all. I sat up as she handed me the cup, then took a moment to hold it under my nose to let the aroma reach deep into my olfactory awareness. After a moment I brought the cup to my lips, took my first glorious sip, and felt the world around me transform into a place of sunshine, rainbows, sweet melodious bird song, and a cornucopia of unicorns humping each other in wild abandon in a fountain overflowing with my greatest hopes and dreams.

  “You looked dreamy there for a moment. What were you thinking about?” Violet asked.

  “Sunshine, rainbows, sweet melodious bird song, and a cornucopia of unicorns humping each other in wild abandon in a fountain overflowing with my greatest hopes and dreams.”

  “Wow, someone apparently enjoys his morning coffee.”

  “I do, and to me this is heaven in a cup,” I muttered.

  “So, how’d you sleep?” she asked.

  “Like a baby. And you?”

  “Same, now what’s on the agenda today?”

  “Three things. First, I want to call Steven’s office in San Francisco and see if he had any kind of actual client meeting or reason to be here—other than blackmailing Jessica, of course. If he did, there’s a chance that person or persons was part of the conspiracy, and his office might have a name or telephone number. Second, I want Doug to see if he can find our gunsmith, and, thirdly, I’d like to talk to the spear fisherman.”

  “You think Doug can find the gun smith’s address? I already ran him through our system, but so far they haven’t found anything.”

  “What? The FBI can’t find someone?”

  “Not our fault. He’s a ghost.”

  “Well, hopefully the CIA will be more successful,” I said, as I set my cup down and ventured into the bathroom to brush my teeth and take a massive morning horse piss.

  I had just returned when there was a sudden knock at the door.

  “Did you order room service?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Maybe the nerds are awake.”

  I quickly slid on my T-shirt and underwear as Violet walked to the door and looked through the little peephole.

  “Oh for fuck’s sake,” she said, with a groan.

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  “Special Agent Dave Moore, and he looks especially grumpy.”

  “What the fuck is he doing here?”

  “Probably checking up on me.”

  Violet opened the door, and there stood a very grumpy looking Dave, and he looked past her to cast his discerning gaze on me.

  “Morning, special agent. Coffee?” I asked.

  He walked in and looked around before speaking to Violet.

  “I’ve been trying to reach you since last night. I even went by your place.”

  “Any special reason?” she asked.

  “After I heard about what happened yesterday, I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  “As you can see I’m just fine, Dave.”

  “So, where did you stay last night?” he asked, already knowing the answer to his question.

  “None of your business.”

  “I think it is my business.”

  “No, it’s not anymore. Move on.”

  “You sure you don’t want any coffee?” I asked again as I refilled my cup.

  “No, and why don’t you stay out of this.”

  “I would, but you’re in my room.”

  Dave abruptly turned and walked over to me.

  “You might think you’re hot shit because you work for the vice president, but I don’t give a flying fuck. You’re on my turf now, and you’re going to play by my rules.”

  “What does that have to do with coffee?”

  “Nothing, so listen up, glamour boy.”

  “Wait—Glamour boy? Should I take that as a compliment?”

  “No, you shouldn’t.”

  “Well, listen up, Dave. I’m sorry to say it, but Violet and I are working together—mind you, at the direct request of both the vice president of the United States and the director of the FBI, and that means you’re going to have to man up, swallow your pride, and stay the fuck out of our way.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “No, fuck you. You came into my room acting like a complete asshole, and all I’ve done to offend you was offer you some coffee.”

  “After you slept with my girlfriend, asshole.”

  “Ex-girlfriend, and listen up, bigger asshole—we might have slept in the same bed, but we didn’t sleep together in the biblical sense, so chill the fuck out,” I said, leaving out the fact that two nights ago we had indeed slept together in the biblical sense.

  “Don’t tell me to chill the fuck out, you fucking asshole.”

  “Well, Special Agent Fuckface, I am going to tell you to chill out when you fucking need to chill out.”

  Dave had apparently reached his breaking point and shot out a pretty solid right punch straight for my jaw. It was hard to believe that I’d only been awake for ten minutes and was already involved in a fistfight with a special agent of the FBI. I had some pretty quick decisions to make—namely how I was going to handle the situation. First, I needed to diminish the power of the punch, and, to that end, I slipped back and sideways in order to get my face out of the way so that the punch would be nothing more than a glancing blow at best. It barely grazed the side of my chin, and, while it wasn’t a complete miss, it was a lot better than getting knocked out. Now, I needed to respond in kind, but my options were fairly limited, as I was standing there with a cup of coffee in one of my hands. To that end, I followed my instincts and used the easiest weapon I had at my disposal—namely my beloved cup of coffee. I threw the remaining contents of the cup into his face, and while it wasn’t exactly blazing hot, he still screamed.

  “You fucking asshole! That was a bitch move,” he said, as he took a step backward and used his hands to wipe his eyes.

  “No, the bitch move was swinging on a guy who was still drinking his morning coffee,” I said, as I set down the now empty mug.

  Dave grew even angrier, and he stepped forward and threw a solid right cross, so I moved left and parried the punch with my left hand then grabbed his wrist with my right and delivered a sharp left chop to his ribs that made him grunt and keel over. From there, I transitioned to an ulna press and rolled his shoulder down and drove him onto his knees. Dave was a pretty skilled fighter, however, and went with the move by going into a forward roll in order to take the pressure off his shoulder. He was now lying on his back on the ground in front of me, and he kicked his legs across and knocked me
onto my back then climbed on top of me and threw a punch. I knocked it aside and trapped it then did a move I jokingly called the floor bump, which entailed thrusting up with my hips. It sent him rolling off to the side, and I went with the motion and ended up between his legs, where I delivered a solid knee to his groin. He winced in pain, and I used the moment to grab his right arm, rotate ninety degrees and trap him in place by barring his elbow across my groin. He squirmed and yelled a barrage of profanities, but I just kept applying more pressure until he finally relaxed and acquiesced. Suddenly, the door to my room opened, and in walked Doug, Beeber, and Rachel. Violet asked them to get help, and a minute or so later, a number of John’s Secret Service contingent, which included Sandra, came running into my room and took hold of a very angry Dave.

  “I’m an FBI special agent! Get your fucking hands off of me!” he yelled.

  “You OK, Finn?” Sandra asked.

  “Yeah, just starting the day with a little kitten play to get the blood flowing.”

  Sandra, with the help of her fellow agents, took Dave aside and managed to finally calm him down, at which point he walked back over and got in my face for some final words.

  “This isn’t over, asshole,” he said, as he poked me in the chest with his right index finger.

  “I wouldn’t want it to be. This has been the most effective wake up call I’ve had in a long time. Can you be here tomorrow morning about the same time?”

  He turned and strode out of the room, and the Secret Service followed close behind, probably to make sure he didn’t get any more wild ideas. Sandra was last to leave, and she paused at the door and looked back at me.

  “Never a dull moment, Finn.”

  “Afraid not. Thanks, Sandra.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said, closing the door.

  Peace returned to my room, and the nerds just stood there frowning at me.

  “Dude, what’s with the macho gladiator shit?” Beeber asked.

  “Yeah, isn’t it a little early to be wrestling around in your underwear?” Doug added.