Los Cinco Hermanos Ch. 10

I found out later that Miyazaki had announced his retirement back in the Fall of 2013, but that he still kept a surreptitious hand in at Studio Ghibli, and Jerry had worked with him occasionally in terms of financing certain projects. Hence, the friendship. I will admit, I have been curious ever since, what might have come out of the meeting of those minds.

We finally wrapped up our crawl around 2am and headed back to Jerry's. I was getting very used to having Dave around, both as a playmate and a bed-warmer, and I liked it. He was very comfortable to sleep with.

So I was a bit surprised when Sandy knocked at the door and when being told to come in, came over to the bed, stripped off her clothes and told the two of us to move in. I suppose I was surprised enough that I didn't object, but just did it. Dave scooted in with me and Sandy climbed in on the outside.

"Even if it's just sleeping," she informed us, "I'd like some cuddle time with the two of you. If things get frisky, that's fine, too. I have no idea what you two do when you batten down the hatches, but I'd like to find out."

"Rather direct, don't you think?" I asked, starting to get my reality back.

"That's the way I work, Beth," she told me. "Hope you can deal with it."

"I'm talking to Sandy, right?" I asked, just to make sure.

"You bet!" she smiled. "Oh, shit! I forgot to kill the lights!" and she scrambled out of bed, turned off the lights and came back to snuggle in.

"Goodnight, ladies," Dave intoned, indicating a desire to sleep.

"Goodnight, Dave," I told him. "Goodnight, Sandy."

"Goodnight, Beth," she smiled. "Goodnight, John-boy."

It really didn't take long before the blessed velvet darkness descended and I went off to la-la land.

* * * * *

Sandy started it. I swear. The fact that I was humping Dave's leg when I woke up was completely unrelated.

Sandy was bobbling up and down on an obviously erect Dave, with one hand planted on my boob to steady herself – and play with my nipple while she was at it.

"Sweetheart, you're crushing my tit and I have to pee," I told her.

"Mmm..." she slurped, coming up off him. "That's what he said, too."

"Not the tit part," she added.

I scrambled down to the foot of the bed and eased out, heading for the bathroom.

"I'll be done by the time that hard-on goes down and you can pee," I called back to Dave.

"You mean I gotta let it go down?" Sandy called to me.

"Yes!!!" both Dave and I informed her – rather energetically.

"Spoilsports..." she faux grumbled and move off Dave, letting him up.

When I finished up, she was still kneeling on the bed, pouting. I couldn't let that one go... I walked over and pushed her down on her back and virtually dived between her thighs, pushing them apart as I knelt between them and fastened my mouth to her pussy, starting to do everything I could think of to get her cranked.

Apparently, I was getting pretty good at it because it didn't take long before she was squirming and moaning under my rather wet, sloppy ministrations. I seemed to get the best results from sucking her swollen clit into my mouth and rapidly flicking it with my tongue. The way she was reacting, it was getting me wet. Which was a good thing, because Dave came out of the bathroom, crawled in behind me and stuck his impressive cock right up my pussy. I damn near came.

"I thought you had to go down to pee," I questioned.

"Mm-hmm," he agreed. "Quick recovery time. Shut up and eat."

"Yeah, shut up and..." Sandy started, then switched to "OH MY GOD!!!" as I did as instructed.

"OH-GOD-OH-GOD-OH-GOD!!! CUMMING!!!"

Well, at least Ginger and Molly had taught me well. Once Sandy tripped over, Dave went to work on me. We'd only known each other less than two weeks, but that man learned fast. Plus, with all our opportunities to screw, he was well practiced. It didn't take him long to hit all my right buttons and have my legs quivering like Jell-o.

"Oh, God, Dave... oh, yeah! Yeah, fuck me right like that! Fuck m..." Sandy pulled me into a kiss. The feel of our breasts pressing into each other and her tongue probing my mouth and mine, hers... I sure as hell wasn't going to last long! And then Dave slid his hand down to Sandy's pussy and stuck a couple of fingers in.

I think we all came together.

I know damned well Sandy and I did, pressed into each other and screaming our orgasms down each other's throats. From Dave's loud moan and the hot feeling of being flushed with cum, I think Dave went over with us. He certainly had by the time I'd gotten any sense of reality back and I felt myself pulsing on him, hard. And felt his cum leaking out and dripping onto Sandy.

Who looked blissful.

"Just remember..." I told her. "You started it. I hope you're not too wiped out to walk the Getty Villa today."

"I'll be fine," she mumbled. "Some coffee, some Aleve..." Dave started to pull out of me.

"Whoa, stud!" I quickly told him. "Stay right there for another couple of minutes, okay? I'm still pulsing from that Cosmic Orgasm!"

"As you wish," he smiled. "Let me know when I can get up and make coffee."

"How about, when I stop leaking my brains all over your cock, we all get up and go get breakfast?" I asked. "I'm sure there's already coffee in the kitchen."

"And," Dave added, glancing at the clock, "probably everybody else... we're running a bit late. Who's going tourist today?"

"I think it's only you, me and Sandy," I told him. "If I remember right, everybody else had plans."

"Then let me know when I can make a strategic withdrawal," he smiled, and pushing his slowly deflating cock deeper into me.

I sighed. "Okay, we may as well get going," I pouted, leaning forward over Sandy on my hands and knees, pulling off of Dave. I distinctly heard theplop!, and felt the gush... and looked down to see Dave's jizz all over Sandy's pussy.

"My God, didyoudo all that?" I wondered aloud.

"I don't see any other males in the vicinity," Dave quipped.

"Then I think you should have your genetics checked," I told him, easing sideways off Sandy and almost falling when I tried to stand next to the bed. "See if somebody grafted part-horse on to you."

Dave just chuckled and stood up, extending a helping hand to Sandy, who had the same problem standing that I did.

"Dibs on the shower!" I called as I wobbled towards the bathroom.

"Bullshit!" Sandy retorted. "We're all good at sharing," she added as she tottered after me.

The three of us ended up in the shower and although a little cramped, we got each other clean without too many distractions. Dressing in light summer wear, we headed to the kitchen for breakfast.

It turned out I was right. Everyone other than Molly was already busy with their days and she was just hanging around to make sure we were fed before starting her chores. With profuse apologies, we chowed down and got out of her way as quickly as reasonable.

"We've got 11:00am tickets for the Getty," I reminded Dave. "Two things: is it safe to take the Rapide there? And how soon do we need to leave to be there on time?"

"Yes, it'll be safe to take the Rapide," he smiled, "and you've got about 15 minutes. Then we should head on out. We want to be parked and waiting before 11am."

"Okay, you drive," I told him. I didn't want to be sweating bullets over driving $200,000 worth of car on a schedule.

* * * * *

The Getty Villa was fabulous!

Styled like an ancient Roman villa, with the most amazing collection of ancient art, ever. Anywhere.

Okay, maybe not as good as the British Museum, but damned close. If you don't know what I'm talking about, Google it. It's worth it.

We spent the day there, grabbing a light Mediterranean lunch at the on-premises Café, being blown away by life in 79 AD. The gardens were magnificent, even with most of the water displays turned off because of the California drought. When it got to be evening, the three of us decided to grab dinner at the Santa Monica Pier and then head back to Jerry's.

All in all, it was a great – and tiring – day for the three of ustouristas. When we got back, we found out Paul, Ron and Essie were coming out Friday afternoon. Ginger didn't have to play Friday or Saturday, so she was already at the house and she'd be with us all weekend. Then Jerry surprised me by asking to see my driver's license.

"You're from Illinois, right?" he asked as I fished it out and handed it to him. I nodded as he took it, glanced at the front and smiled, saying, "Perfect!" and handing it back.

"What was that about?" I asked, putting it away.

"Come on with me," he suggested and I figured okay... why not? I followed him up to the garage.

"You've got a motorcycle endorsement on your license," he pointed out.

It was true, I had. My ex- and I had spent a lot of time riding, including a couple of runs to Sturgis. He'd insisted I be more than a decoration on the pillon of his Hog. So I'd learned to ride, gotten my class M endorsement and bought a used '66 Harley Sportster in the classic blue and white paint with the solo seat. I found the 900cc engine and lighter weight easier to handle that Bruce's 1200cc Electra Glide. I'd ended up selling the Sporty after the divorce and hadn't really done any serious riding since.

He pointed to the row of bikesnotunder the tarps. "Interested in any of those?" he asked.

He had everything from Goldwing touring bikes to a BSA Goldstar café racer, and pretty much everything in between. Including an older Sportster.

"They all look good, Jerry," I told him. "Why?"

"Which would you like to take down the Pacific Coast Highway?" he asked.

"Excuse me?" I wasn't sure I was hearing him right. "What are you talking about?"

"Some of us were thinking of cruising Highway 1 down to San Clemente tomorrow. Molly doesn't drive but would love to be ridin' Bitch. Ginger's already got dibs on the Honda Magna – small enough for her to handle and still look smokin'. I haven't asked Sandy, yet, what she'd prefer. I thought I'd ask you first."

I looked down the row of motorcycles. I skipped over the little guys, but slowed up a bit when I hit the Triumph and BSA vintage bikes. And the Norton. And the Vincent... but then I saw my baby – my 1966 XLCH 900, except this one was pure black. Wicked. Wonderfully wicked.

"The Sporty," I told him. He just grinned like a kid in a candy store.

"When was the last time you rode?"

"Seriously rode? Maybe four or five years ago, at my uncle's place in Virginia. But that was a Moto Guzzi they'd rebuilt," I told him, starting to get wet justthinkingabout riding that Sportster.

"Same diff," he smiled. "Want to take her for a spin? See how she feels?"

"He and I will be fine," I told him. "That Bad Boy and I understand each other."

"At what point, exactly," he asked, going over to a rack with a bunch of keys on it, "did you take a serious bend into Conservative? Because somebody who talks likethat, loves toride."

"About 18 months after the divorce," I told him. He hit a button to open the garage door and was wheeling the Sportster out onto the driveway when a bunch of the other guys showed up, curious as to where we'd gotten off to. They stood around, looking on in mild amusement as Jerry leaned the bike on its kickstand and handed me the key. I felt electric going up to it and slinging my leg over. And I could feel the surprise from the others. I put in the key, turned it, checked the gas shutoff, blipped the throttle a little, flipped out the kick-starter (I hate electric-starts – I'll use them if I have to, but still...), pushed it through a couple of time to get it to compression and jumped on it.

God bless that Bad Boy, he fired right up on the first kick. It almost always took me two.

"Alright!" Dave pretty much cheered. I grinned.

"You want to open the gate, Jerry?" I asked over that very distinctive Harley-Davidson purr.

"You're going to want a brain bucket," he told me.

"Required?" I asked. When he nodded, I held out my hand. "Medium."

He walked inside and came back with a nice, sleek, black, full-face Bell. While I was putting it on, he was opening the driveway gate. I pulled my skirt most of the way up, tucking it under me. I was doing everything wrong here, but I didn't intend to go far. Just down the road to the intersection, turn around and come back. I was finishing getting set when Dave called over to Jerry, loud enough to clear the engine noise.

"That... looks... HOT!" he said.

"Something about chicks and bikes," Jerry answered. "Just like naked chicks with guns... there aren't any ugly ones..."

I laughed, blipped the throttle, kicked it into first, eased out on the clutch and dialed in the torque that made riding a Harley a religious experience. Smooth as silk, I was off into the night and heading down the twisting canyon road. I was in Heaven! I hadn't had a hard, throbbing Harley between my legs for far too long. There is no vibrator in the world that can match it for pure pleasure. And on the classics, you could feel every vibration there was, from engine to road, and it all rubbed in nice places.

If I was riding the "PCH" onthistomorrow, I was doing it with a shit-eating grin and leaving a trail of mini-cums behind...

I cruised down to the intersection with Hercules, then hung a right and followed it down to Oceanus. I decided that was probably far enough for the way I was dressed, so I turned onto Oceanus and went over to Mt. Olympus, then right again to go back up to Vulcan, and back to Jerry's. The gate was still open and the group was still there as I cruised to a stop on the drive, shut it off, leaned it on the kickstand and dismounted. I feltgreat!

And Jerry was beaming.

"You are going to look sobitchin'tomorrow!" he told me. "Are you leather or jeans?"

"Whatever," I told him, handing him back the helmet. "What've you got?"

"Okay..." Sandy drawled. "That'sanotherthing I didn't know about you..." I just smiled.

"Pretty much anything you want," he told me. "Think Sturgis."

Oh, wow...I thought as he turned to Sandy.This is going to be a gas!

"What about you, Sandy?" he asked. "What kind of bike do you prefer?"

"The back of one?" she told him. "I don't drive motorcycles."

"Not a problem!" he smiled again. "Molly's the same. We'll get you set up. C'mon, Beth, let's turn you on to the Wardrobe Department."

"What's Ginger wearing?" I asked as he led me into a room off the back wall of the garage.

"Leather micro shorts, chaps and a fishnet crop-top," she told me, suddenly appearing at my side. "Black. And a black full-face. Sometimes I go with a half-face and mirrored Aviators."

"That sounds perfect," I told her. "Mind if I copy you? I know I'm a little old to get away with it..."

"Old, my ass!" Ginger told me – and she actually sort of punched me. "You aren't even in the ballpark. Let's see what we can find..." and she headed into the racks of clothes, quickly sorting through the pile and coming back with a matching set to hers.

"I'm guessing at your size, but try these on," she told me. "See how they fit."

She was spot on and I was set for one fantastic Friday.

* * * * *

I may be on the other side of thirty-five, but I think I looked just as good in the chaps and fishnet as Ginger did. Well, okay... almost as good. But having that thrumming big bad boy between my legs gave me a whole lot of DILLIGAF attitude, and I wore it all the way down to San Clemente and back.

It was a perfect day, sunny, low 80's, mild wind... we started out early, so we'd hit the coast on the tail end of rush hour. Jerry had a big blue Electra Glide, with him in jeans, a T-shirt, leather vest and full-face, and Molly, riding behind him, in what amounted to boots, a leather thong bikini and a full-face. Dave had a grey metallic Honda Interstate with Sandy riding bitch. Like Jerry, he had jeans, a T-shirt and a leather vest, while Sandy was a little more conservative than Molly, with denim short shorts and a cropped tank top. Sandy and Dave had matching open-face helmets with snap-on visors and a built in intercom/stereo.

Ginger had the '96 Magna Deluxe in purple, I had the black '66 Sportster and Jackson, who managed to get the day free to come along with us, had a '64 Harley Duo Glide in "Police Silver" – rare and beautiful. The five bikes pulling out of Jerry's definitely made a statement as we started down the canyon on our way to Santa Monica, and then on down the PCH, on what Jerry called a "Beach Run."

He intended to hit Venice Beach, go under the LAX runways, then hit Manhattan and Redondo before cutting over to Long Beach. Then we'd hit Seal, Sunset and Huntington Beach, then Newport, Laguna and Capistrano before doing a turn-around at San Onofre. It's about 3-and-a-half hours drive time, not including stops. And we wanted time to dawdle along the way.

I swear, if a woman ever needs an ego boost, just put on a bikini and go for a drive on a Hog. I got... weallgot... appreciative stares frombothsexes all the way down.

What we ended up doing was hitting every other beach on the way down, stopping to do a little exploring at each, then hitting the others on the way back, again alternating. So down it was Venice, Redondo, Seal, Huntington, Laguna and lunch at San Onofre, then Capistrano, Newport, Sunset, Long Beach and Manhattan before dinner in Santa Monica and a cruise through Hollywood on Sunset Boulevard, showing off, before finally making it back to Jerry's just before midnight.

As we parked the bikes and tried to get some feeling back into our lower bodies, Jerry's cell phone chimed. He picked it up, smiled and said something I couldn't catch to the person on the other end, then walked over to me and handed me the phone. Confused, I answered it. I was greeted by the voice of Vicki.

"Did I just see you cruise The Strip riding a big black Harley, in chaps and fishnet?" she demanded.

"Yeah?" I answered a little meekly, wondering if I'd done something to insult her. "I was with..."

"Jerry, Molly, Dave, Sandy, Ginger and Jackson, from what I could tell," she interrupted. "And you didn't even stop to say Hi! And now I have a bunch of my friends standing around wanting to know all about you... plural. So..." and I could hear the smile in her voice, "what am I supposed to tell them?"

"That I'm a schizophrenic and one of my personalities is a Biker Bitch?" I answered.

"Want to get laid?" she asked bluntly. When I hesitated with an "umm...", she hurried to add, "let me rephrase that. I would love to come up there and fuck your brains out. Want to get laid?"

I started laughing. I couldn't help it. I motioned to Jerry.

"Vicki wants to know if she can come up here and fuck my brains out. Is that okay?" I asked.

"Fine with me," he told me. "You might check with the others, in case anyone is feeling particularly territorial tonight."

I was thinking about that when I heard Vicki trying to get my attention on the cell.

"Ask him if I can bring Aaron, too," she told me when I turned my attention to her.

"And Aaron, too?" I asked Jerry. "Whoever that is?"

"Another actor I work with and a decent guy. He and Vicki date occasionally. Sure, Aaron's fine, too. And this is all presuming you don't want to just crawl in bed and crash after our rather long run today."

"Vicki, you and Aaron are welcome to come up, even if you end up giving my unconscious body a massage and engaging in some somnophilia," I told her.

"Fifteen minutes," she told me. "See ya'..." and she hung up. I turned back to the garage.

"I need a drink and the hot tub," I told Jerry on the way to the elevator. "Vicki and Aaron will be here in fifteen."

* * * * *