Monday, June 25, 2012
"How are you, Mormon?"
"Insanity in progress, and today should prove it. Make sure you watch the news tonight. Did you get in contact with Matt from Fox?"
"You bet. Here's his mobile. He said to text him when ready."
"You are the man, Eric."
"... but, I'll play the woman, occasionally."
"Something looks different on you. Have you lost weight?"
Bea greets me and we go into her office. Ah, this is where the lovin' started.
"OK, babyface, what are you up to?" she asks.
"I'd rather not say. This way, if my plot blows up, you won't be implicated. But, if this goes as planned, Chris will get his comeuppance."
"Ooh, you said 'come.'"
"Behave. I need you to put this clown makeup on my face."
"Hm, never had sex with a clown."
"All right. Do this and my red nose and I will fuck you silly."
Bea does a great job making my face match my maniacal thoughts. Naturally, she mounts me the second I finish putting on the costume.
"Leave that zipper down, Uncle M. You promised."
"All aboard, Lovergirl," I demand.
The clown outfit is ridiculous: over-sized, white shoes, silver argyle socks, a black and white jumpsuit rolled up to my knees, a silver wig, and a black top hat. I hope I don't cause any accidents on the way downtown.
When I arrive at the Park & Ride, most of the kids are already there, playing catch in the parking lot. I'm wisely armed with candy, which I hand out while greeting the kids. My friend, Jeff, doesn't recognize me.
"Hi, did Mormon hire ... oh, Jesus."
"What do you think?"
"You have completely lost your mind."
"Oh, you haven't seen anything yet," I tease while I honk my toy horn.
The limo bus arrives and we climb aboard with fourteen kids all hyped up on sugar. We sing, dance, and tell fart jokes on the way to The Grey Towers. I send a text to Matt from Fox as we pull up.
Mormon: Hey, Matt. Please meet us on the second parking level underground. Look for the black limo bus.
Matt: On our way.
Mormon: Will you be able to use a live feed from there?
Matt: Won't be a problem.
When we arrive, I ask the kids to wait in the bus while I open the fun house. I pull the banner from my bag and stick it to the wall. It reads, "Grey's Funhouse," and has a big arrow, which points to the doorway. I pull out my iPhone and cross my fingers as I click the link. I hear the buzzing and unlatching. Yes! I open the door to the Blue Room.
"Come on in, kids!"
Sunday, June 24, 2012
"What's this contraption?" Grandma asks as she and Bea survey my space.
"A foosball table. Wanna play?"
"I think it would look better in the garage," Bea suggests.
"Oh, definitely," Grandma agrees. "This space needs an antique chaise lounge with a side table and decorative lamp."
"Fine. Can I at least keep the poker table?"
"Well," Bea considers, "perhaps we could make use of that."
The three of us catch Fox 5 News while sipping our morning stimulant. The special guest they have on this morning is none other than his dickiness, Chris.
Host: How are your renovations coming along?
Chris: We're nearly finished with the first phase. As you know, I was the chief architect on the guestroom redesign back in January, and now that I own the building, I plan to return the site to the splendor it once was. The Grey Towers will once again be the crown jewel of San Diego.
Host: That's exciting.
Chris: Indeed. We're making the resort more family friendly as well. If I may, I'd like to invite your viewers to an open house and ribbon cutting event we're hosting on Friday. Bring the kids, as we'll have a bounce house and other fun activities for them. There will be tours of the redesigned suites and pool deck, and complimentary beverages.
A light bulb, while slightly dim in my advanced years, sparks to life in my mind.
"Ugh, he's disgusting," Bea reacts.
"Say, do either of you have any contacts at Fox?" I ask.
"I think Eric is good friends with one of their reporters, Matt," Bea suggests.
"Perfect. See if Eric can put me in touch with him. I have an idea."
"Let's hear it," Grandma insists.
"Let me hash it out a bit more, then I'll run it by you both. Oh, I'll also need a clown costume."
"You're scaring me," Bea laughs.
Bea leaves for the office, and Grandma visits the farmer's market while I write a few more blog entries and work on my plan of vengeance. I call my buddy, Jeff.
"Dude, do you still coach that Little League team?" I ask.
"Eleven and twelve."
"Perfect. I'm going to rent a bus and take the team to the open house of the former Hyatt. I'll try to get my new pal, Trevor Hoffman, to speak."
"Sounds fun. When is it?"
"Friday at six. Let's all meet at the La Costa Park and Ride at five."
"I'll start contacting the parents."
"They're all welcome too. The more, the merrier."
That arrogant prick is going down.
Saturday, June 23, 2012
"Get out of bed, husband. We're going to the Ice Arena. I need to blow off some steam."
"Did you just poke me with a stick?"
She jabs me again.
"Let's go. Move it!"
"Jesus. Really? And, why do you have a hockey stick with you here in our honeymoon suite?"
"I don't leave home without it."
I drag my groggy butt out from under the soft sheets, and slide into board shorts, flip flops, and a T-shirt.
"You're going to skate in that?"
"It's all I have. I wasn't planning on a morning on ice."
We jump into the Jeep and head to the skating arena. I hate ice skating because I suck at it. In fact, I can't think of anything I suck at that I enjoy. That's why I hate golf too: I suck at it, I don't want to invest the time to suck less, so I don't golf. Well, this is marriage. A man has to learn to compromise or he's going to ride a lonely sofa into the sunset.
At the arena, we strap on skates. Yes, I look ridiculous and I'm half asleep so I don't fucking care.
"Why do we need hockey sticks?" I ask, fearing the worst.
"It's time for Olympic event number four. Canada needs a boost, and I'm pretty confident we can even the medal count with this event."
"All right, hoser, bring it! I predict Italy clinches the series this morning."
We carry our sticks out to the ice. Bea reaches behind the boards, grabs two pucks, and flips them out onto the ice.
"Now what?" I ask while stretching my hamstrings, which ache in anticipation.
"We race around the arena. The first one to skate with the puck around each net three times wins."
"Can't we just have sex in the penalty box or something?"
"Yes! I forfeit."
"Not so fast. If you beat me, we'll do it in the penalty box."
"You hear that, Pippino? Daddy's getting lucky on ice again."
"Ready? Set? Go!"
She takes off. I manage to fall on my face in two strides. I struggle back to my feet, as I see Bea's lovely butt wiggle, while she kicks up ice shavings. I'm hosed. Before I make it around the first net, she has already cleared the second and is threatening to lap me. She catches me in no time and knocks my stick from my hands as she passes me. Players make it look so easy: You drop your stick, you bend over, you pick it up, you keep skating. I bend over and fall. I get up on one knee, grab the stick, get up, and fall backward, as she approaches to pass me again.
This time I hold my stick tightly. I make it halfway to the second net as she scoots by, throwing a hip into me, which sends the stick and me flying. She steals my puck and fires it into the net behind me as she whips around the final time. I helplessly sit on my clumsy ass as she finishes the third lap and slides to a halt, spraying me with an ice shower from her skates.
"Canada two, Italy two."
"Feel better?" I ask, as I crawl to the boards, and pull myself up.
"I do actually."
"OK. Now let's get out of here and figure out what we're going to do about this Chris situation."
"Not so fast. Get in that penalty box, mister. I'm not done blowing off steam."
Sometimes the silver isn't so bad.
Friday, June 22, 2012
Chris smirks at me, then he and his bodyguard leave. Grandma and Eric are first to console Bea.
"Honey, I'm so sorry," Grandma explains. "I tried everything to block him, but we're too far behind and the bank insisted."
"At least we'll have the proceeds from the sale, right?" Bea asks.
"Actually, there are no proceeds. It was a short sale," Grandma laments. "I'm being tossed out as well. We'll both be homeless for a bit."
"Nobody's going to be homeless. I have plenty of room at my place. I'd be honored to have two guests to try my recipes on."
"He does make a mean french toast," Grandma kids.
"I'll prepare a chore list of each of you, and we'll discuss your allowance."
Bea smiles, finally.
"Hey, let's deal with this tomorrow," I suggest. "It will work out."
"I know, Husband. Eric and I have been working on a project that should solve this predicament," Bea recovers.
"Husband. I like the sound of that, Wife," I assure Bea. I hold her face between my hands, wipe the tears with my thumbs, and kiss her. "Let's save what's left of the day and have fun with our guests."
The sunset reception is wonderful, but Chris floats around the back of my mind. When I visit the bar to freshen my bourbon, Eric joins me.
"So, Eric, tell me about this project you're working on."
"Not yet, Mormon. We need a few more commitments. You'll be blown away, if we can pull this off."
"Well, let me know if there's anything I can do to help."
I don't want my expectant wife to stress over this."
"Agreed. She's a strong woman. She'll be fine."
"Cool. What are you drinking?"
When we sit for dinner, I tease Bea about her dress.
"That was a great fucking idea, right there. You have no idea the butterflies you gave me when you came through that door."
"Aw. I'm so glad you like it."
"We do need to find an air vent, though, so we can have the true Marilyn effect."
"Hm, can't do that."
"I'm not wearing underwear."
"Not even a thong?"
"Commando," she insists as she slides my hand from her knee to her sexiness.
"Here comes the bride ... again," I tease.
We agree to postpone our honeymoon until after we deal with the move. There must be a way to extract Chris from our lives. Our wedding night in the suite is memorable and exhausting. Although the bed is cushy, Lovergirl insists we do it on a wooden chair because "we haven't done that yet." I'll never say no to love, regardless of the playing surface. Still, my sore ass wishes I would be more discerning.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
I'm wearing a black tux with the pants tied off at my knees. I have my signature silver argyle socks beneath them. Who knows what Bea will wear? She's eccentric to say the least, and Eric won't share, although I pry.
"Will you at least tell me the color?"
"Not telling you. Mormon, take my word for it. She'll look fabulous."
"Hey, do we have time for a quick mojito to calm the nerves?"
"Now we're talking."
Eric detours off the highway and we stop at Poseidon in Del Mar--the masters of the mojito. In a few sips, my nerves are calm.
Once we arrive at the Hotel Del, I check in at the front desk. They have our honeymoon suite ready. Bea is there having the final touches applied. Guests are gathering by the pool in the afternoon sun, sipping prosecco. I see my mother chatting with Grandma. I approach them.
"Hello, Ms. A, I see you've met my mother." I greet my mother with a kiss on the cheek. She looks elegant in her powder blue dress. "How was your flight?"
"It was quick, thanks to my Kindle. I finished two books."
"How's your writing coming along?" Mother asks.
"You know," Grandma interrupts, "you should be proud of your son. He's quite a talented blogger."
"Why, thank you, Ms. A. I wasn't aware that you read my blog."
"I enjoy it immensely." Grandma grabs my mother's arm. "He's also an amazing dancer."
Right. Maybe when I'm blotto on tequila and have a third leg strapped to me.
"Really?" my mother reacts.
"You're too kind."
The wedding coordinator directs us all out to the platform on the beach. It's time. Other hotel guests come to the edge of the resort to watch.
I take my position next to the justice. A guitar soloist begins the "Bridal March" song. The guests rise and turn to see the bride. iPhone pictures are snapping away. I see the doors open and catch my first glimpse of Lovergirl being escorted by Eric. Her hair is shorter and she's wearing the famous Marilyn Monroe dress worn over the air vent in The Seven Year Itch.
My eyes water with delight. She's stunning. Eric hands her off to me, and we begin the quick ceremony. We exchange vows we've written for each other, slide rings over fingers, and share our first kiss as wife and husband. Our guests applaud as we turn and wave.
Suddenly, there's a commotion on the beach. Two military Jeeps approach and stop at the base of the platform. A helicopter appears and begins circling above us.
"What's this?" I ask Bea.
"I'm not sure, but I have an idea who it might be."
As the helicopter approaches, blowing sand, I notice a name written on the side: Crispy Salsa, or something. Who names his fucking bird? Only the most pretentious of asses. The copter lands, and Chris emerges with a bodyguard. They approach us. The bodyguard hands an envelope to Bea as I glare at Chris.
"Ma'am, this is a wedding gift from my boss."
She opens it and reads the notice within as she turns pale.
"What is it?"
"An eviction notice. Chris bought the Hyatt. I have ten days to move."
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
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.
"Honey, you didn't have to bring anything. Let's save this until we can have it together."
"Doctor says Gordie and I can have a glass of wine with dinner, no problem," she insists while she pats her little belly.
"OK, one glass with Pippino. After dinner, I have a special dessert planned. It's going to require that you wear this," I instruct as I show her the argyle blindfold.
"Ooh, sexy! I can't wait."
While dining, we chat about tomorrow's ceremony and timing. We agreed to have something intimate with immediate family and close friends only.
"Are you ready, Lovergirl?"
"Give me ten minutes to get things ready upstairs. Be right back."
In my master bath I fill the tub and light vanilla candles around it. I float rose petals and add scented bath salts. I have Bea's favorite shampoo, body wash, and two loofah gloves ready. I undress, put on a robe, and return downstairs to Bea.
"OK, first you need to put this on," I inform as I place the blindfold over her eyes with the strap under her hair. "Come with me." I lead her upstairs. Once in my bedroom, I continue, "Now, let's get you out of these clothes." I kiss her, neck to toes, while undressing her. "I don't want you to have any stress about tomorrow. Everything will be perfect, my love."
Once naked, I lead her to my master bath. The water is trickling, and the scent is exotic. I guide her into the tub slowly. I have a tray of chocolate covered cake pops for snacking.
"Now, I'm going to wash your hair and give you a scalp massage."
"Seems I picked the right man after all."
"Yes, you have."
I wash and rinse her hair, while feeding her bites of cake pops--red velvet, lemon, vanilla, and fudge.
"Ahh. I could take a nap now."
"Not yet, Lovergirl. Scootch up and make room for Uncle M."
I slide into the tub behind her, rub her neck and shoulders, and bathe her slowly with the loofah gloves. We top the session off with a water-sloshing lovemaking session. After soaking in our orgasmic bliss, I get out of the tub while asking her to stay. I retrieve two warm towels from my laundry room and use them to dry my love.
I honor her desires, and walk my wife-to-be out to her car with thirty minutes to spare. Taped to her driver's side door is a gray tie, a calling card from Chris. Too late, buddy. She's all mine.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
"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."
"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."
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-a-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 undies. She has a quiet, confident look. Luca kneels in front of Emily, doggie-style as well. Emily presses the head again 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.
Monday, June 18, 2012
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.
"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?"
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."
Saturday, June 16, 2012
"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?" Neil 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," Neil 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 under.
When I emerge from the bathroom to model the costume, Eric and Neil nearly convulse in laughter.
"Turn around, Mormon."
"Oh, come on," Neil encourages.
"I have hair on my ass, Neil. This won't do."
"We could shave you," suggests Eric.
"Stop, Lover. It's sexy, Mormon," Neil 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. Neil 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.
"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."
Eric and Neil 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.
Friday, June 15, 2012
"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."
"Oh, and please ignore the Nestle bag in the garbage."
"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."
"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."
"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.
"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."
"How do we do this? I can't put it in myself," I protest while noticing hers is already in place.
"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!
Canada has her first gold.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
"What's in the bag?"
"Dessert, my love. No peeking!"
"You're no fun."
"Oh, just you wait."
"I'll go upstairs and freshen up. Be right back."
I continue cooking with wine, my unconventional way. Sure, I'm a little heavy on the garlic salt, but it makes everything better, as long as both lovers partake.
"Can you come up here a minute?"
"Sure." Uh, oh. What did she find?
When I step into my master bath, she's wearing one of my button-downs and her lace undies, standing sideways in front of the full-length mirror.
"Look!" she glows, showing the first signs of a baby bump.
"Hm. I've got two words for you: salad bar."
"Can you feel that lunch burrito kicking?"
"Ha, ha. Not yet. I'm just over four months, so this is about right. No more top buttons for me," she pouts.
"So cute. Can I take a picture and post it as little Pippino's first update on Facebook?"
"No, Gordon will not have a Facebook account until he is sixteen."
"You can call him Gordie."
"You can call him Pip."
"I have a suggestion: Let's settle this child-naming thing with a contest."
"A Sexual Olympics of sort," she offers.
"Ooh, I love a challenge. You're going down, woman."
"And so are you. The first event is the sideways sixty-nine sprint to orgasm."
"The first one to bring the other to orgasm wins."
"Go turn off the stove and grill, and get your butt back up here."
"Italy shall have its first gold medal of this Olympiad," I tease, as I sprint downstairs and turn down the heat. "Dun, DUN-duh, dun dun DUN dun ..."
"That sounds more like 'Rocky' to me."
I sneak into the Hustler bag and arm myself with the We-Vibe vibrator--dual sensation with penetration. I can't be defeated. Bea's already on the bed. I dive next to her and tickle her toes, then remove her undies as she frees Little Mormon from my jeans.
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 let's 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 eclair 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."
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.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
It’s a vast store with stripper wear on the first floor and stairs leading up to the loft of kinkery.
“My name is Nelly. Do you have anything special in mind?”
“I don’t even know where to begin, Nelly.”
“Well,” she asks, “is it for a man or a woman?”
“For this man’s woman.”
“Excellent. What does she enjoy?”
“Overtime goals and zucchini.”
“Right. You can see my predicament.”
She leads me along a wall of dildos and vibrators. I’m not one to blush, but this place has me crimson.
“What does this do?” I ask while attempting to read the price without touching the U-shaped device.
“Ah, this one is very popular. You have a good eye, Sir.” She sounds like she’s selling me a BMW. “This vibrator stimulates the woman, both inside and out.”
I stand perplexed.
“Her clitoris and her G-spot.”
“Of course. I’d like one in purple. Oh, and someone stole my Fukuoku Glove, so I’ll need one of those too—in black, please. Anything else you can recommend?”
“Do you have bacon-flavored?”
“Kidding. Something minty will do.”
“Excellent. Anything else? Perhaps more advanced devices for the adventuresome?”
She leads me over to the corner with triangular dildo-ish toys and strings with different sized beads and a ring that reminds me of the merry-go-round ride of my childhood.
“Do you know what these are?”
“No, silly, these are for anal play.” Ouch. “These are butt plugs and these are anal beads. They’ll both go well with your minty lube. Have you used either before?”
“Of course, I have. I’m a skilled plugologist.”
“Great. Then, you’ll require his and hers.”
“Whoa, Nelly—only hers.”
“Ever tried it?”
“How about a pinky?” she gestures.
“You know, during a blowjob. It heightens the sensation.”
“Don’t be like that. It doesn’t mean you’re gay. The anus is quite sensitive and pleasurable.”
“Yes, it is,” adds a boy-stander I’m unaware is standing by me. “You must try the beads too. They all go in except the ring, and just when you’re ready to pop, have your lover yank them out with the ring. Heavenly!”
My virgin butt hole puckers as I try to digest their suggestions.
“Fine. Double bag them. Here’s my card.”
Lovergirl has me outmatched, but I plan to prove I can hang. I’ll whip out my new arsenal and wear her ass (tee, hee) out before she leaves for her girls’ night. Shit! I almost forgot.
“I also need a big black strap-on.”
“Will The Cockasaurus Rex do?” she asks while dangling something resembling a toasted Genao Salami in front of me.
“I believe it will.”
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
I get a few more blog entries done and meet Eric at the San Diego County Fair. Hmm, beer battered chocolate covered bacon for lunch? Sure, why not? You only die once. I hope he's not a fan of rides, as my stomach has never appreciated them.
"Big E, what's happening?"
"Good to see you, Mormon," he greets while giving me the handshake, shoulder-bump man-hug. "Let's hit the food court. I'm starving."
"So, I wasn't sure if Bea told you, but she has asked me to walk her down the aisle Saturday, and I wanted to make sure you're cool with that."
"Dude, of course I am. You know, she rarely speaks about her parents."
"She was twelve when they had the accident. Her grandmother and various nannies raised her."
"Well, she turned out perfectly crazy and I'm absolutely crazy about her. I just wish there were some way to win over Grandma and make Chris disappear."
"I'm sure it will work out. Love conquers all, Mormon. Ooh, and speaking of love," Eric beams as a handsome fellow approaches, "here comes my man, Neil."
We greet and stroll around the Fair, sampling the artery cloggery that abounds.
"So, gentlemen, I'd like to enlist your help in a stunt I'm planning. Bea is having a girls' night with her friends on Thursday. I want to surprise them with something. Should I hire a male stripper?"
"Wait. Wasn't she on stage for your party?"
"Indeed she was."
"Then you must return the favor," Neil adds.
Ha! No fucking way.
"Yes, dress up in a police uniform and jump out of a cake," Eric teases.
"I'm serious. It would be hysterical."
"It would be traumatizing. I'm fifty. I eat cake."
"Oh my god, I still have that uniform from the Pride Parade. It comes with handcuffs too," Neil offers.
"Perfect," Eric cheers, "and you two are similar size. You must, Mormon. Come on. We'll both be there to provide oral, I mean moral support."
"Please," they chime, in stereo.
"Fine. Fuck it. I'll chug half a bottle of tequila and do it."
"I'll arrange for the cake and bring Neil's costume to work with me tomorrow," Eric insists.
"Can't believe I'm going to do this. Will Grandma be there?"
"No, Thursday is bingo night at the The Rock Church. She'd never miss that."
"Phew. Now I need a favor from you, Eric."
"Got any more of those pain-thrillers Bea borrowed from you?"
"Indeed I do," Eric agrees.
"Might I have a handful for the honeymoon? I'm probably going to need all the help I can get."
The three of us enjoy the sights, then go our separate ways. I brainstorm ideas to make my emergence from pastry more amusing. This calls for restraints, a whip, and the biggest, blackest strap-on I can find. Hustler Store, here I come.
Monday, June 11, 2012
"Top o' the morning to you, Ms. Aspinwald," I greet and bow.
"I'd like French Toast with cinnamon butter."
"Wouldn't you prefer blueberry muffins with a side of rabbit?" I sneer. I can hardly look at her since she defiled my glove.
"You do realize, Blobber, that this wedding isn't going to happen."
"It most certainly is going to happen. Didn't you get the invitation? This Saturday, Coronado Beach, noon-ish. Guests are encouraged to bring covered plates. I could sign you up for deviled eggs."
"Chris is a powerful man. I don't know if you're more brave or stupid ... I'm betting on stupid."
"You know dill-weed has a girlfriend, right? Annie, I believe, was her name. Innocent thing with horrible taste in men."
"She's insignificant," Grandma sniffs as she pushes her reading glasses up her nose and stares at printed pages. "Do you know what this is, Blobber?"
"An excerpt from my blob?"
"Five forty five."
"Ah, it's your weight analysis," I respond while dipping bread in egg batter.
"It's your credit score."
Nosy little nit.
"You're behind on mortgage payments and you have four maxed-out credit cards."
"I also have an hairy mole on my ass," I respond while glaring at her.
"My granddaughter will soon realize you're marrying her to get your hands on my money. She'll dispose of you like dryer lint."
"I'm marrying her because I love her, and I'll gladly sign a pre-nup."
"Why don't you accept the offer from Chris, pay off your debts, and find a more appropriate mate--perhaps one with four legs."
"You two will never buy me off. Stop wasting your time."
"Warm up my coffee, and flip those before they burn."
I endure breakfast with the beast as I hear the shower turn off and wait for my love to rescue me.
"I must admit, you're a decent cook. I could put in a word for you at Denny's," Grandma remarks.
"How kind of you."
As Bea emerges from the bedroom in her silk robe, Grandma rises to leave. Naturally, she places my credit report in front of Bea on her way out.
"Have a wonderful morning. Bea, your future ex isn't a bad cook at all. He'll make someone a nice housewife someday," Grandma remarks as she exits.
"You made her breakfast? You're such a sweetie," Bea compliments as she crumbles the credit report, tosses it in the garbage, and checks the pan. "Ooh, French Toast. Are these for me?"
"And, I see you found the syrup," she teases as she dangles the Mrs. Butterworth from her index finger. "I love syrup."
"Do you know what I'm going to do with that syrup later?"
I take the bottle from her, squeeze a dot on my left index finger, and place it in her mouth. She sucks the tip, teasingly. I slide my finger down her chin, over her neck, and down her chest, parting her robe as I do. Bea tips her head back. I squeeze a bit more between her breasts and let it run a bit before catching the sugary stream with my tongue and planting a sweet kiss on her soft lips.
"I'm going to coat you and lick you to nirvana."
Friday, June 8, 2012
"No curve balls," I warn.
"I know. So, Pop," he asks as he hurls a four-seamer.
"I've been kind of seeing this girl at school."
"Seeing her or seeing her?" I pry as I toss the ball back a little harder.
Not bad for sixty-seven. The old man still has it.
"You know, seeing her. Anyway, I was at her house last night, helping with Calculus."
"Her parents called her downstairs, so I did some exploration."
"And, what did you find?"
"Well, since you're always warning me to avoid bedside tables, that was the first place I looked."
"What's a butt plug?"
*BZZZT, DINK, BONK* -- Curve ball, square in the nuts.
I double over and feel as though my balls have shot out my ears.
"Honey. Wake up."
Who's shaking me?
Oh, it's Bea.
"You had a bad dream, sweetie."
I check my package. All good. "Phew, that was a strange one."
"I was playing catch with our son."
"Really? We haven't determined that it's going to be a boy, have we?"
"OK, I'll play along. What did he look like?"
"A cross between a young Wayne Gretzky and the most beautiful woman in the world," I tease as I boop her nose and give her a kiss.
"Aw. And, his name?"
"Pippino. If we have a boy, that has to be his name," I state, matter-of-factly.
"Ha, ha. You're silly."
"I'm not kidding. It's Italian tradition. My first son must be named after my father, Pippino Silveri."
"No freaking way."
Is she serious?
"Yes, freaking way. I'll wrestle you for it," I say as I attack her. She giggles. "How do you manage to smell so good in the morning?"
"Don't change the subject, mister. Our son will not be named Pippino."
"Resistance is futile," I warn as I tug down on the waistband of her pajamas. "Do you hear that, Pippino?" I speak into her pelvis with my fake Italian accept. "You mamma, she's ashamed of-a you name."
"I think it's going to be a girl, anyway."
We laugh and wrestle, which naturally turns into morning sex. Ah, no better way to start the day. I'm thankful her morning sickness subsided, but I never realized women get hornier when pregnant. I'm definitely going to need assistance.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
I'm your SPS (Sexual Positioning System), and here is your suggested route, which will lead you away from drinking too much and having regretful sex with a neighbor or coworker:
Bathroom--more specifically bent over the sink, in the tub, in the shower, or on the toilet:
- Good: Nothing is cushy, so nobody should fall asleep during it. You have various lotions available at arm's length. Ooh, a razor. Look, a towel--what a handy baby-batter-picker-upper.
- Bad: Toilet seats break. Tiles can leave odd marks on posteriors. You'll notice those spots you missed. Mirrors are not always our friends. Try to avoid seeing your O-face.
- Good: It reminds one of giddy teenage years. Music is conveniently close by. The woman has to do most of the work, as usual.
- Bad: Leather seats make farting noises. Windows fog. The steering wheel and rear view mirror tend to get in the way.
- Good: The additional sensations of the elements, such as wind and dew. Fluids are disposed of in the most bio-friendly ways possible.
- Bad: Sand, grass, or pebbles in ass crack. In a word: YouTube.
Pool or Hot Tub:
- Good: Additional lubrication provided free of charge. Chlorine sterilizes, to a certain extent.
- Bad: Floating sex goo and the possibility of encountering some that isn't yours. Air bubbles are often assumed to be rising farts.
- Good: Access to sex aids, including food and frozen goodies. Counters are conveniently set at penis height, depending on your nationality.
- Bad: I was looking forward to having cucumber slices on my salad, and now ... ew, just ew.
Monday, June 4, 2012
I haven't cringed so much since I saw Joe Theismann's leg snapped.
Still, life is best lived with an open mind and an open heart. Perhaps one day I would enjoy taking the virginity of a hyper-orgasmic punching bag. Doubtful.
My greatest concern lies around the first post-Fifty sexual encounter I have. (Been on a bit of a slump, lately. Sorry, Coach.) Chances are Ms. Next will have read the trilogy, and is unlikely to be familiar with my parodies. Here's a list of things that could happen:
- She'll fantasize about Christian Grey and yell out his name, which will cause instantaneous deflation.
- She'll murmur any-fucking-thing.
- She'll moan into my mouth. (I just burped-up a little.)
- She'll begin using safe words before I get her jeans off.
- She'll want to be face-down on or about Chapter Ten before permitting penetration.
- She'll expect me to own a helicopter with a silly name like Barney Slapnuts.
- She'll request me to kick her boss in the kerbangers or buy out his company, if she has a bad day at the office.
- She'll scare the piss out of my cats by making guttural sounds.
Thanks to that evil James woman, I'm going to have to rewrite my sexual playbook. The plays that worked pre-Fifty, simply won't do. I've had to tear this page out and shred it:
- Drink bottle of wine.
- Watch The Notebook, or something similar.
- Go to bedroom.
- Light candle.
- Go down on her.
- Hint for her to return the favor.
- Mount, poke taint, concede to guided insertion.
- Flop over.
- Be mounted and play with boobs.
- Think of clever things to say.
- Fetch towel.
- Find clothes in dark.
- Walk out to car.
- Speak words of appreciation.
The post-Fifty playbook needs some Bill Belichick shit. What's a man to do? How does one fit anything that won't cause yawning? I'm at the drawing board, making room for:
- Butt plugs.
- Fungo ass paddles.
- Vodka enemas.
- Hiney beads coated in mint jelly.
- Super Soakers.
- Brass balls that are inserted ... Fuck, I have no clue how this is possible or pleasurable.
- Remote controlled vibrators.
- Fake stock portfolio statements showing seven digits.
- Nipple clamps.
This could drive me toward early retirement.