Stanley Steamer Ch. 06: Mari & Frieda

Disclaimers: This vacuous stroker is fiction. Everyone is over 18 and shuns condoms. Tags: clusterfuck, bisexual. If you object, stop reading. Details may be incorrect. Opinions may not be the author's. Read the first five chapters first. Enjoy!

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Stanley Steamer 06: Mari & Frieda

Stanley steams them by twos, threes, and fours

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MARI

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"Funny farm; quack quack." That was Stan saying 'hello' on his landline.

"Oink-oink to you, Stanislaus. Any reason I shouldn't come around to rape you?"

"Depends on who you are. If you're a Scientologist, stay away. If you're musical, bring a harmonium. Mariana Lopez is welcome if you have a Columbian Rosy Boa slithering around your naked torso. Anyone else, it's come-as-you-are, but expect trouble. Big trouble."

"How about licorice vines instead of a damn snake?"

"Okay, but make it red licorice, Mari. The black stuff stains bed sheets."

"You know where to look for the candy. You've gotta climb my legs to get to it."

"Only your dirty duck awaits you. Don't forget the snake oil."

"I forget nothing. Hide your access codes."

"No, I'll hide your clothes."

"What clothes?"

Click.

A casino croupier is always busier on weekends and they keep moving my shifts and tables then so it gets crazy. But I'm usually off midweek. Otherwise I'm standing, working the bets, smiling at the suckers, inhaling their second-hand smoke, hoping they don't foul their seats, and otherwise torturing myself for money. Good money. The Morongo band of Cahuilla Indians pays well. Happy suckers tip well, too. Everyone is happy with me. My savings account is growing.

After work I ditch my uniform for street clothes so suckers do not recognize me, and I stagger out. That is when I ventilate my lungs - screaming helps - and look for relief.

Many times, if Lorna is awake in our condo on the rez, she kneads my poor underpinnings. I do hers just for fun. Midweek, I spell relief S-T-A-N-L-E-Y. He nicely massages my excellent but tired legs, fills me with good food, intoxicants, and his thick cock - and maybe his sister Pam is there to help me orgasm-away my pain. Or maybe Pam staggers in later from her paramedic enduro-runs and needs us to rehabilitate her. We take care of each other.

My shift today ended at fucking seven o'clock in the fucking morning. An hour's drive took me past roadside dinosaurs, over an eons-deep mountain pass, up a steep grade, through desert exurbs, up to Rancho Relaxo and its palisade of giant boulders. No cars, motorbikes, or police cruisers were parked outside, so I probably had Stan to myself for now.

I staggered through Stan's ironwood front door. He helped me out of my clothes, into the shower, and out of my mind by working lemon shampoo into my nicotine-poisoned scalp. A sly door led from the royal bathroom directly outside to a hidden nook, a great place to air-dry, to listen to morning birds, and drink a warm mug of WPLJ, white port and lemon juice.

I will call what he fed me 'brinzert', breakfast-dinner-dessert, because fuck the clock. Apple and cheddar chunks and berries in spicy thin cocoa sauce, good for my hunger AND my figure.

"How did you find this recipe?"

"What recipe? I just did it."

He does a lot like that.

Fucking is better.

Stan took our naked selves to his bedroom. He held and kissed me, licked my pussy till I fainted, and left me for dead. I reincarnated by mid-afternoon. I was ready for more. The outside weather was perfect for soaking in the horseless galvanized horse-water tank.

I sat facing him on his lap in the sun-warm water. Somehow his stiff cock slipped inside me. Somehow I held him without crying. We whispered about important things I do not recall. We sang silly verses. We throbbed. Somehow I came for a long, long time, and I felt him cum inside me, in a long tantric flow. And he stayed inside me. Somehow it was all perfect then.

I take perfection wherever I can find it.

My roommate Lorna loves Stan, maybe hopelessly. Stan's cousin my friend Jeri, and Stan's big sister Pam, love him incestuously. Other women probably love him too. I do not love him, not that way, not to possess him or spend my life with him or have his babies. But I love what he does for me. He is my friend with the most benefits for now.

I will know when I fall in love. I am not in love with Stan. I am relieved.

We did not submerge long enough to become prunes. We climbed out, slid into sandals, and air-dried again walking behind the big steel barn to the triple-size Mayan hammock from the Yucatan. Somehow a table of snacks and drinks awaited us. A light cotton blanket shielded our bare bodies from the hammock's hand-knotted mesh. We lay back. Our arms lightly wrapped us together. We noshed a little. We watched shadows wash the rocks and stars crawl from the encroaching darkness. We composed dirty limericks, and cried. We pulled up the blanket to cover us from the evening breeze. Coyotes sang in the distance.

If love is better than this, I will fucking explode.

=====

I was fully awake and alive by midnight. Time for breakfast. My burritos could not match Stan's but I made killer huevos rancheros and sides. This was not the time for coffee; hot creamy cocoa with enough tequila worked. Then Stan worked his computer keyboard while I put loud salsa music on the speakers and danced. He glanced at my naked cavorting form when I spun past his field of view. My legs felt good again.

The rest of me felt extra good after he called time at four in the morning. We needed to reset our internal clocks, to sync for the next action cycle. Drinks, puffs of hashish, first-class fucking, and we were down till mid-morning.

That day and night were more fun. The next day I had the easy nine-to-five shift but I was up by seven to make it on time. Well, up by six-thirty really, with a half-hour of fucking. Then it was back to the game tables to suck smoke, smile at suckers, and accept big tips. I would spend nights at our condo behind the casino-resort, the home I shared with Lorna.

Lorna sped off after her Friday nine-to-five to be Stan's "weekend wife." Poor girl.

She was back on the job Monday, of course. We actually managed to schedule a lunch hour together. We took a table in a far corner of the staff cantina. She had news.

"You heard about that photographer intern, Frieda Lagarda? Yeah, like THAT Lagarda."

The Lagarda from New Jersey, with the guys who ran the business for the Indians.

"Don't blame her for her uncle, "I said. "Yeah, I've heard mention. Stan took her out in the desert for a few days in Tilly so she could shoot stuff for you."

"For our last special issue. It went over big. We teamed her with our best Cahuilla staff writer, Martina Cerna, yeah, like THAT Cerna."

The Cerna who was big on the tribal council. Was everyone here connected but us?

"The council has been loaning or renting Frieda and Tina to tribes around the Southwest to do cultural features, to document important but obscure sites. They've mostly jeeped with local guides to fairly accessible places, tent-camped in the wi.ld, no great suffering. Thing is, Frieda and Tina are a pair now - the New Jersey bottled strawberry blonde and the raven-haired Cahuilla princess. They say it's teamwork. I say it's love."

"Speaking of love," I said, "I found a used pregnancy test kit in the bathroom trash."

"Oops." My roommate reddened. "I meant to toss that..."

"Did you pass?"

"Oh fuck. Thing is, we sort of had a wild weekend pool party a little while back."

"And WE would be...??"

"Ummm, well, Stan took Pam and Jeri and me to Larry and Sharli's place in Palm Springs, and we had a couple pairs of sisters over on different days, and now we are ALL knocked up. Stan and cousin Larry did us all, often one right after the other, their sisters too. They traded off spit-roasting us, Stan's cock in my mouth while Larry came in my pussy, then Larry in my mouth and Stan firing into me, and then on to the next girl. Or Sharli would be eating me, and Stan would pop a load into her, and then Larry added his jiz. Two guys with six girls each day."

"You all went off The Pill?"

"No, that's just it. This should not have happened! It's like with Babs. A wild weekend, Stan was there and I don't know who else, and Babs doesn't care who the father is. But chemicals didn't protect her, either."

A theory flashed into my head.

"So Stan and one or more others fucked Babs, and she's embarazada. Any other women at THAT party? Are they preggers? And Stan and Larry fucked you all, and you're all high as a kite now."

I waved my forefinger.

"Maybe, just maybe... I read that every guy has a few sorts of sperm, some acting to attack or defend or distract while others head in to fertilize. So suppose Stan has really aggressive sperm. They don't go hyper when then only run into others with Stan's DNA. But if they meet foreign sperm, they go supercharged, they shoot down the enemy sperm, and they rip right in to the egg, right past any protection contraceptives should give. Fighting sperm! Does that make any sense?"

Lorna looked at me. "Did you ever pass a biology class?"

"I remember dissecting a frog in high school. Croupier academy didn't go into that."

Lorna sighed. "Sure, we might all have missed our pills or had bad batches. But I don't believe in magic sperm. Maybe I should. Believe, I mean."

She patted her belly. She did not show yet.

"But that's not what I wanted to tell you. The Chemehuevi tribal council out by Lake Havasu wants sites on their rez documented. They say the terrain is off limits for jeeps, and Frieda's gear and other supplies would need too many horses or burros. They think Tilly would be low-impact enough. So Stan is taking Frieda and Tina out for maybe ten days, leaving tomorrow night."

In case you forgot, Tilly is the silent steam buggy Waltzing Matilda, sister to Stan's sweet, stealthy Heidi. Tilly was an old Japanese four-by pickup before a Volkswagen ZEE (Zero Emission Engine) went under her hood and she was mounted on wheels five feet high and four inches wide. She can crawl over almost anything and her footprint is minimal. Steel cargo bays hold a lot of supplies. Fifty-five gallon drums of water and fuel take her a long way. She's a good girl.

And now Lorna is pimping-out Tilly and Stan for the tribal council. I guess that is moral.

"My boss wants a little more coverage of Cahuilla territory so they'll zig-zag heading east. They expect to be in Needles by Friday morning."

I thought quickly.

"Tuesday night to Friday morning? My boss is moving our shifts around again before the weekend. I can take off after my Tuesday shift. I can get back from Needles before the Friday night shift. I'll check the train and bus schedules. Do you think I could maybe hitch a ride with them?"

Lorna frowned. "I thought you weren't in love with Stan."

"Well, not THAT way. But my time with him is never wasted."

She sighed. "Tilly is pretty slim. Four in the front seat would be too tight."

"She has that extended cab, y'know. I could fit in there. Or ride in back if I have to."

She sighed again. "Am I going to be sorry I told you about this? Anyway, you have to talk to Stan. He decides who rides."

Lunchtime was about over. I finished my mini-wontons-in-miso-soup bowl. Lorna grabbed a last bite of fruit salad. We stood. We hugged.

"Leave some for me, okay?" Lorna said.

"Don't I always?" I replied. We almost laughed.

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Back to work. I called Stan at my break. He quacked on the phone. I told him my desire. He did not shoot me down.

"Have you checked schedules yet?"

"The resort concierge has them. If I'm in Needles by noon Friday, I'll be back here on time."

"Will you bring much luggage?"

"You know I can live out of a duffel for a few days. I did on the cruise ship, and after you rescued us at the border, that weekend at Larry's, your goddam judge-our-tits fuckfest."

"That was entertaining and yes, you traveled light. Can you stop by this evening? The ladies will be here. We can all talk it over."

"Yes yes! I have the easy shift today and tomorrow. I'll see you before sunset."

"We'll keep the horse tank water warm for you. Wear a nice smile."

"Oh, it's like that, is it? Will I need Chapstick?"

"That depends on where you apply it."

"My labia get very dehydrated."

"Excellent. Be prepared."

Click.

Tom Lehrer wrote a song called BE PREPARED. It was almost smutty.

I clocked out exactly on time and drove madly to Rancho Relaxo. I did not slow for the dirt drive. I parked in front of the 'cabin' next to a little BMW. Tina was indeed connected.

I headed directly to the horseless water tank. I shed my clothes en route. Stan bathed with two seemingly naked women, one a striking Cahuilla, the other artificially blondish. I was not surprised. I climbed in, dunked myself, and surfaced, sputtering just a little. The two women were side by side. I settled beside Stan.

The Cahuilla woman, Tina I supposed, asked, "Are you here for a job interview too?"

The other, Frieda I guessed, said, "I had to pass this for my first assignment."

"I'm the pizza delivery girl," I said. "It's best to clean up before and after."

"She gets bigger tips with wet hair and dripping nipples," Stan said.

I splashed his face. "Just for that, no free breadsticks today."

"Feh, they're fattening. Gotta keep my figure trim."

"I thought you did that by chasing burros."

"I don't chase ass; ass chases me."

We all groaned at that one.

Even though truthy.

Introductions were made. I did not grab Stan's cock underwater. Babs had told me about her and Frieda and Stan but I did not know just how Tina fit in. Had Stan screwed her yet?

"You're the Mariana that Lorna told me about," Tina said.

"Nothing bad, I hope," I said. "I hate when she's truthful about me."

"You don't fraternize with customers, or embezzle. That's all that matters."

I should have expected that response from a management bitch.

We talked of social ills and music and stuff, and finally got to the upcoming trip. Stan admitted I could fit in Tilly and I would not have to scrunch behind the front seat the whole way. Stan had rigged an adjustable-height "catbird seat" on Tilly's bed. Frieda would spend much of our journey up in the open air photographing landscapes from up high. I could thus scrunch up next to Stan on Tilly's bench front seat while Tina looked out the window or something.

"I'll be up there myself at times," Tina said, "soaking up impressions and dictating notes."

"She has a little voice recorder, and transcription software on her mini-laptop," Frieda said.

"Easier than trying to write on paper before, during, and after shoots," Tina said.

"We have a pretty good formula for documenting sites," Frieda said. "Dictate everything. Times, routes, GPS, descriptions and exposure details for each shot, observations of the environment - a total audio logbook." Did she scoot closer to Tina?

"Just speak each number carefully so the software can parse it," Tina said. "Feed the audio to the laptop. I monitor to double-check the transcription. We don't want errors introduced. Then I edit as needed, and we have a detailed journal I can base my articles on."

"On your jeep trips, you had to wait till it stopped so you could record without engine noise, right?" Stan asked. "Tilly is quiet so you can dictate while we roll. That should speed it up. And we won't scare desert denizens so much." I felt Stan's hand on my knee.

"Tilly is kind of top-heavy, like Lorna, so she doesn't maneuver well at speed, unlike Lorna," Stan said. Giggles rewarded that one. "On dirt and gravel, she doesn't like going much over forty klicks, that's twenty-five miles per hour. She's street-legal and can do twice that on decent pavement. But she's mostly good for lollygagging." His hand crept up my thigh.

I said, "If you haven't ridden Tilly yet, she's a treat. She climbed up the mountains behind us like a spider going up a wall."

Stan's hand tried creeping upward. I held him in place. I did not want to squeal in front of these women. Not till I got to know them better, anyway.

I stood. I dripped from my nipples and bush. "Water's getting chilly. Anyone for pizza?"

"Huh?" Frieda said. "You're serious?"

"I'm prepared. I called an order to the casino's pizza kitchen and picked them up when I left. Stan has beer inside."

I climbed down the tank's outer steps. I wiggled my ass. Stan said I had a pretty butt. Those three were free to appreciate it.

I slipped on sandals and looked over my shoulder. Stan looked vaguely disappointed. The women watched me with interest. Yes, they could appreciate me, too. They stood and dripped. Stan did not look so disappointed then. He stood and dripped. I could appreciate that thick cock. Both women looked too. Would this be a fun trip?

Reheated pizzas, cold beer, more planning, and then we females had to dress and return to the rez. I would pack my duffel tonight and be totally ready for a few days out.

"Be here at the same time tomorrow," Stan instructed. Shorts draped his hips now. Too bad I did not have time to stay for a fuck. Tomorrow night, for sure!

+++++

They were already locked and loaded so we rolled from Rancho Relaxo as soon as I arrived, sufficiently before the magic hour of just-right sunlight and twilight for contrast and tone. Frieda shot a nearby site and then sunset-scapes. "For background," she said.

Tilly's elevated headlights guided us across rough country to the site Frieda would shoot first-thing Wednesday morning. Even with the two tents some distance apart, we still heard Frieda and Tina slurping and moaning. I am sure they heard Stan and me as we went at it. Birds tweeted around us and lizards slithered. Coyotes sang out there. It was nice.

Up before dawn for the shoot. Take the photos, collate notes, eat breakfast, pack up, and head to the next site, with Frieda in the catbird seat shooting landscapes again. Then to the next site by midday, and naptime in air-cooled light-proof tents - more sex followed by some snoring.

The Wednesday dusk shoot went well. Tilly scooted us to the Thursday morning site; Tina rode the catbird seat to watch stars and dictate thoughts or whatever. Frieda scooted next to Stan in the front seat. No whispering, but she held his leg, rubbed his knee, like a ritual.

We established camp. Turn on Tilly's side lights. Pop the tents. Unfold the table and chairs. Prep an easy dinner. No big bother. But I was grungy.

"I'm grungy," I told Stan. I need Tilly's shower." We all wore shorts and tees. Mine fell off. I kept my sandals on, of course, because desert.

Stan had a gentle, efficient misting shower rigged on Tilly. The night was warm and so was Tilly's water. I ooohed and aaahed with relief. I heard a rustling - that was Frieda getting naked and joining me. She set a control that widened the mist spread. Oh yes, she had done this before! We did not touch.

Tina did touch her when she stripped, stepped under the fine spray, and spooned her bedmate. Frieda adjusted the spray again. So did Stan when he stepped in and spooned me. I pushed away, stretched my arms, and spun slowly, letting the mist envelop me. Then Frieda spun, and then Tina. Stan did too, arms straight up, a pillar of masculinity, oh damn.

"Got all your dust off?" Stan asked. He stopped the spray anyway. A quart-per-minute mist drains a fifty-five gallon water barrel fast enough.

We could air-dry but we used thin towels to wipe moist dust off each other, Frieda and Tina, Stan and me. I noticed that faces and genitals received extra attention. Imagine that.

We stood in pairs, dry, naked, facing each other. Tina looked at Frieda and me.