It's Always Time Act 05 Ch. 03

CeeCee's poker face broke into desperation. She rolled up onto her feet, a fountain of creamy yellow sherbet. "You could really fill a bucket?"

Raspberry squeezed her head out from between the green girl's ass-cheeks. She wore an avocado facial mask of lime goo girl cum. "Shit on a stick, CeeCee," Raspberry burbled. "Wait till ya feel what that man's got to offer, we're gunna need a fucking bucket brigade."

"Shut up, you two," Eurydice demanded, rising, her eyes glowing, her head so wreathed in vapor she seemed aflame in jade. "Dee, if you think you can tease us like that." She advanced on Dee, fuming. "In fact, if you keep teasing us just one more second, you've got another thing cumming." The sheaves of her quivering hair tickled his chin. "Got that?"

The sultry vapor enveloped him, its citrus-and-sex aroma stronger than he ever remembered. "Um." Dee grew hard in seconds. "Uh-oh."

Eurydice bent her head, eyes rolling down. "Alright. That's it." She stepped aside. "Girls, it's time."

Dee backpedaled, arms raised. "But…"

Raspberry rocketed upright, her borrowed overshirt saturated with psychedelic purple and green hues. "Sweeeet." She swaggered over and grabbed Dee's left elbow.

Dee protested, "I didn't…"

"I'll try anything once," CeeCee said, surging forward and grabbing Dee's right wrist. "Twice if I like it." She glanced down at his thick prick. "Three times to make sure."

"But it wasn't on purpose," Dee insisted. "It wasn't my fault."

"No," Eurydice said, stepping behind him, planting her hands on his back. "It was Mine. Now march. God, Dee, even your back is rock hard. This is gunna be the best fuck you've ever had."

The three girls pushed and pulled him forward. Ursula dropped back, inky contacts spilling out into the whites of her eyes, then spreading over her face in a raccoon's mask. "guys - wait - Dee - looks - scared."

Eurydice relented, grinning in reverie. "It's bestest when he looks scared." The three meliae lead him off road. "And he's loving it. C'mon, Unyx. You don't want to miss this."

Unyx pussyfooted after them. "Eurydice - nanomek - need - so - much - but - how - um - what - are - you - doing?"

"What I do best," Eurydice said, pushing Dee past the copse of fallen trees and into the fallow field of wild grass beyond. "I'm going to fuck Dee." She stood on tiptoe to leer over Dee's shoulder at CeeCee and Raspberry. "We're going to fuck Dee." She glanced back, purring, "and then we're going to fuck the ever living shit out of you."

* * * *

SB led Yves round the bend. The road turned treacherous under Yves' unsure feet. "Easy," SB said, turning about to steady him, her hand finding its way behind his neck. "What's your last name, Yves?" Her tone was calm and casual. Her fingers soothed the aching tendons in his nape.

"Valiancourt." Yves found his balance.

SB kept rubbing. "Quebecois?"

"My father, yes." Yves' eyelids fluttered. "Mom's Minnesotan."

"Swedish." SB's other hand joined the first, thumbs massaging beneath Yves' ears. "Götalander."

"Yeah. That was my grandmother's name: Göta." Yves peeked. "How did you know?"

"Dunno." SB's eyes roved over Yves' spiky blond hair, ice-blue eyes, and tall, whipcord frame. "Lucky guess."

The pressure-point massage felt almost too delicious. He mumbled, "Strong."

SB rubbed Yves' neck for a while before asking, in the same conversational tone as her other questions, "Have you ever hit on Dee?"

"Yeah," Yves chuckled, eyes closed. "Once. He didn't notice." He snapped awake. "Oh-shit."

SB draped her arms down onto Yves' shoulders, lips pursed. "Was that supposed to be secret?"

"Not exactly. I mean, I even told Dee later." He glowered. "Just don't tell Ursula. Unyx. Whoever she is, I'd never hear the end of it."

"So you're attracted to him?"

"No. Well, then, yes, obviously. But that was when he first moved in and no one could figure him out." Yves shrugged. "After I knew he was straight, I wasn't interested. If it's not going to happen, it's not going to happen."

"Just like that, huh?" SB toyed with the tag on Yves' tee shirt. "You intellectualize that much?"

"It's not like that. I'm an existential monogamist."

SB cocked her head. "What the heck does that mean?"

Yves sighed, gearing up for a lecture. "Sex is just something that happens between two people." SB looked at him, puzzled. He opened his mouth to explain.

She kissed him. Her kiss was soft, lips plush but only slightly parted. The darting tip of her tongue touched his, salty sweet and tart, a sumptuous slice of strawberry gently placed in his mouth. She stepped back, hands on hips. "Well. Did something happen?"

Yves rolled the lingering mix of flavors around in his mouth with his tongue. "You mean you couldn't tell?" He glanced down, watching SB's dress inch up. "The hem of your dress gives you away. Nice knees."

SB smirked and held up the mason jar. "What is that stuff, anyway?" Yves asked. "And please don't tell me where you were keeping it."

"It's for you." The jelly sloshed in the jar.

"I don't need to change, and I don't have five dollars."

"True, true. But this won't change you one bit. And anyway, it's not for sale. It's mine to give. And I give it to you." She stood there, tapping the jar against her chin.

"All right, then." Magical thinking, Yves reminded himself. Fairy tale logic. "I trust you and accept your gift." SB only tapped the jar. Yves asked, "So what do we do now?"

"We get the fuck out of here." SB's smile broadened. "Can you drive stick?"

"Cute."

"Cute, huh?" SB squat on her haunches, palms flat against the road, and arched a brow at him. "Vroom, vroom." She slid her legs out and back. Her gel-flesh moiled, shone, and reshaped.

Yves stared. "That's, uh…" SB's engine growled to life. Yves felt road rumble through the rubber soles of his sneakers. "That's, uh, definitely not a Mini Cooper."

The rose red racer was low-slung and all hood, its bulging, round headlights and outthrust grill unmistakable. "The Coop's Tomoe's car," said the roofless Aston Martin supercar, its voice drifting up from the gearbox. "This is mine."

Yves circled the speedster, running his hand over the swells above the rear tires, expecting the give of camouflaged gel-flesh, but finding cold, polished, hard alloy. The engine noise dropped to a purr. "Late Fifties?" Yves guessed. "Mark III?"

"Please." The SB-gearbox voice managed to sound sardonic. "Mark III's are for James Bond wannabe pussies. I'm a D-B-fucking-3. Placed at les 24 Heures du Mans, thank you very fuckin' much." Yves completed his second circuit around the car, and the gearbox added, "So are you going to get in and drive me or am I going to have to start making Hasselhoff jokes?"

Yves slid into the driver's seat, not bothering to open the door of the roofless speedster. Everything inside the cabin was tinted in countless shades of red or diamond white. The gearbox's stick ended in a thick, red-leather bulb. "Jesus."

Yves checked she was in neutral and revved the engine. "J-e-e-z-u-s-s-s," he stuttered as the cabin throbbed with power. The leather seat was as soft as sin and the vibrations from the engine relaxed his muscles to puddles. He could not decide whether he had hopped onto a rocket or crawled into a womb.

SB's voice reverberated all around him. "No need to be gentle, boy."

Yves slammed his hand around the stick. The engine let loose a throaty groan. He threw her into first gear. They screamed down the road.

"Jesus!"

* * * *

Look.
I understand too little too late.
I realize there are things you say and do,
You can never take back.
But what would you be if you didn't even try.
You have to try.
So after a lot of thought,
I'd like to reconsider.
Please…
If it's not too late,
Make it a…cheeseburger

—Lyle Lovett, Here I Am

* * * *