Goodbye Greenpeace

I felt hands on mine and knew that Michael was spreading her apart with his hands on mine. I wasn't completely sure that I liked him touching me even this much. But, in that moment, I couldn't really see the difference between that touch and handshake.

Sandra's eyes rolled back until I could only see white as I felt a pressure slide along the length of my cock inside of her. Her mouth moved as if she were trying to speak, but no words came out.

"Damn, this is tight." Michael groaned. "You were right, honey. Cal's cock must be pretty thick up your tight little pussy."

At his words, Sandra gave out a little scream and started shuddering. The tremor wracking her body went on and on as her nails dug into my bicep.

"That's it, baby." Michael grunted. "Cum on your two favorite cocks. I'm just going to go ahead and fuck you. You just keep cumming for us."

Setting action to words, I felt the pressure slip back along the length of my shaft and then forward again as Michael grunted in tempo.

I could feel Sandra's nipples dragging through the hair on my chest as each of Michael's thrusts drove her forward and back along the length of my cock in her pussy. I could feel his hip bones smash into my fingers clutching her ass as Sandra made gibbering nonsensical sounds above me as her body continued to tremble as one long orgasm wracked her body.

During one hard thrust by Michael into Sandra's ass, I lost it and with a bellow shot a pulsing blast of cum deep inside her pussy.

"Oh fuck!" Sandra gasped. "I felt that."

"Felt what?" Michael grunted as he slammed into her ass again.

"Cal just shot his hot cum in cunt." Sandra moaned as another pulse flooded it's way through the tube of flesh I had buried in her. "Oh shit, another one."

"Oh fuck." Michael snarled and pumped harder and faster. "Do it, Cal. Coat her inside for her."

As if I had a choice. My hips drove up off the bed, lifting the two above me, pressing me down into it, as the third soul grinding wave crashed through me. My thrust hit just perfect with Michael's and Sandra screamed as two hard cocks drilled into each of her holes in synch and I felt a flood of wetness coat my slicked balls as she came yet again.

"Hell yeah!" Michael shouted, not letting up in his powerful thrusts. "You're living the dream, baby. How do you like it?"

My climax was done with me for the moment, but the sensation as Michael continued to pound his wife's ass atop me kept me from going soft as Sandra's pussy was forced back and forth on my shaft.

"Fucking loving it." Sandra gasped. "Especially his hot cum coating up inside my cunt while you roger my ass. Do it again, Cal. Do it again."

I couldn't help it and started laughing.

"Well, it's gonna be awhile." I said. "Hope you don't mind, but we may have to just keep on like this for a bit while I build up some more."

"Oh, God." Sandra whimpered. "How long?"

"I dunno." I laughed. "It's usually longer the second time. What do you think, Michael? Half hour or so?"

"Shit!" Sandra screamed and another tremor wracked her body as a fresh symbol of her cum gushed out to coat my balls while her husband laughed and continued to pound into her ass.

*****

That night was Earth Day twenty years ago. Michael, Sandra, and I didn't sleep at all during that long night. Not that any of us were complaining.

And Sandra was coated with our cum under her clothing as we hugged goodbye at the airport, inside and out.

However, in retrospect, all of mine was in one place. All of the rest in other places was Michael's. Which, I can't help but wonder, now, if was the plan all along.

I made good my promise to myself and did get on that plane anyway. I came back to civilization and went to college. I was done with the environmentalist movement.

But, it wasn't done with me. A degree in journalism is all well and good. But, whenever there was a story about the environment, the editor tagged me to cover it.

Sometimes I swore I could hear Michael and Sandra laughing as I turned in yet another piece about environmental consciousness. I wondered if they would have been laughing if they knew the pieces that had been killed.

In August of 2012, one of my favorite all time pieces of my career was filed unpublished covering the beaching and dismantling of an single hulled oil tanker called the "Oriental Nicety". Apparently, no one wanted to be reminded that ship twenty three years, six names, and three countries flags earlier had dumped it's cargo of crude oil along the Alaskan coastline.

That filing along with contemplating the necessity of chemotherapy looming on my medical horizon didn't exactly fill me with joy that August evening as I sat on my back patio sipping at a tumbler of whiskey.

Why did we do it? I couldn't help but wonder.

People didn't learn their lesson. They didn't want to learn their lesson. After dumping fifty three million gallons of oil, that fucking ship was patched up and put back out to sea. Other ships and pipelines wrecked and crashed and dumped how many tons of oil into the environment.

But, people didn't care that without their addiction to oil and the power that it brought, those tankers and pipelines wouldn't have been carting it around in the first place. Nope. They just shook their head when things went balls up and said "that's too bad" and then loaded the kids in their gas guzzling SUV and drove off.

Nor would they care to know that the chemicals that we used to clean up their mess was killing those of us that had used it.

At least it was killing me and had killed others. I wondered, not for the first time, whether it was killing Sandra and Michael as well. I'd written, but since I didn't know where they might be, it had gone to the main office. And God only knew when it would be forwarded to them from there.

Hybrid cars, I thought as I stared into the amber liquid I swirled in the glass tumbler. That's what they wanted me to write about. Hybrid cars.

Who gives a shit about Hybrid cars? Did anyone care back in the early seventies when the designs were published in popular science? Nope. They said, "oh, that's cool" and then fired up the old gas engine. Why would anyone give a crap about solar and wind power forty years after it first hit the open press?

They wouldn't. They would claim they did, but then, they would still use what they had always used without even thinking about it.

But, what did I fucking care? It wasn't like I was going to be around to worry about the way it destroyed the environment. Nor did I have any kids to worry about whether they would have clean air to breath and clean water to drink. Let the fucking soccer moms trade in their SUV's or do something about it other than have a fucking bake sale. After all, they had the kids who were going to be living in the shit they left behind.

I was going down tomorrow and buying the biggest, baddest, most gas guzzling piece of automotive engineering I could find and then I was going to drive it down to the local fast food shop and, after I finished my burger, I was going to throw the wrapper on the fucking ground. Fuck them. Fuck them all.

It was just then that a soft voice interrupted my slightly drunken mental tirade that I indulged in virtually every time that an environmental story I'd written was killed.

"Excuse me. Are you Calvin Thompson?"

I blinked blearily at the young lady with long brown hair peering at me over the gate at the side of the house.

"Depends on what day it is." I took another sip of whiskey. "And just why a pretty girl would want to know. And I can't think of a reason a pretty girl would come looking for me that would make me admit it."

"Um. Well, I'm looking for Calvin Thompson because my mother was Sandra Little. And she said he's my father."

The tumbler fell from my hands to shatter against the concrete, staining it with a spill of amber liquid that spread to coat all it could reach.

The past two years getting to know my daughter Molly have been a priceless treasure. It didn't take long for me to forgive Michael and Sandra for not telling me since it does no good to harbor a grudge against the dead.

The same illness that has had me in chemo for the past two years killed both of them, Sandra only two months before Molly came to find me and Michael two years earlier. Some days when the treatments are really rough, I wonder if they didn't get off lucky. But, Molly deserves one of her three parents to see her walk across the college stage.

I just wish the kid would have thought about something other than environmental recovery to study. But, whenever I try to talk to her about it, she goes on and on about battery disposal and how bad for the environment disposing of all of these modern electronics are.

I tried to explain to her that people, as a collective, are stupid about such things. They will hear about how bad those lithium batteries they are throwing away are for the environment and shake their head.

And then toss that old computer in the garbage for someone else to deal with when they get a new one.

But, she doesn't listen.

"If not me, then who?" Molly asks. "If we want our kids to have clean air and water, then we have to get off our collective asses and make a change!"

Kid's like her mother. Living Earth Day, three hundred and sixty five times a year.