Stories, Stereotypes & Superlatives

Lesbian fantasy usually wins with straight men.

"I don't think it was ugly on purpose, Jen. Did you see the inside, it was clean, and it sure wasn't running shitty." Melissa was defending him, even though she told herself he was a murderer, or a closet homosexual, perhaps a drug dealer, woman beater, or even someone who sold government secrets. It had to be anything other than she had no clue what to think, and that she did not understand him.

Melissa's solid efforts received good results, in two ways.

"Though... It did blow out a bunch of smoke. That can't be healthy, or good for the car, smoke all over like that. Plus he was beating the crap out of it." Melissa was running her hands down Jennifer's sides now, causing her to shiver from the graze.

That was not her intention, Melissa just assumed Jennifer was playing with the boys, but she couldn't see her face to know for sure. Regardless, both women were searching for the alpha male of the whole pack, only enhancing their display through looks, smiles, and the incidental shiver.

"No, he wasn't..." It was the first time the usually talkative and a touch over perky Guinevere had spoke since they all came to lie on the beach.

The other three stunners turned their attention back to Guinevere for a moment, away from tan, muscled, not-as-good-as-they-were-yesterday young men competing for their affections.

"That was tire smoke. It's good. They do that then they get hot and sticky. My daddy always said they do that when you are using them right." Guinevere was watching herself flick bits of sand with the end of her polished nails while speaking and thinking, nails painted light silver. Her knees were bent, and her feet were up as she lay on the towel, on her belly, dancing on air slowly. All along the back of her legs, occasionally along her suit bottoms were bits of sand, some rolling into the crack of her lovely rear-end.

Not only did the words so suddenly appear, but she mentioned her father, she rarely did, not since his death.

The applause though, pulled the far off look from her face and stopped her from saying anything further. It started as soon as Guinevere stopped talking, she looked around from her position laying on her stomach, chin on her outstretched but crossed arms. For a moment she thought the boys were clapping at what she said, until she saw Jennifer look embarrassed.

Melissa had hit a sweet spot - quite on purpose - when she finally realized how turned on her friend Jennifer was. She tweaked Jennifer not only for what she thought to be flattery at her ministrations, but because she had an idea.

Melissa watched the boys in the group react as her friend lost it. Melissa waited, not missing a beat and alluding like it happened all the time. She was actually turning Jennifer on slightly more than she wanted to be when she suddenly remembered the hands were not Wyatt's.

Melissa was counting on a group of over six or more, or three in a group, since, in Melissa's opinion, Guinevere had already found a man. When she saw the group of six quickly speak to the seventh man as if he didn't already know, Melissa caught Allison's eyes.

"Blue board shorts?" Allison said quietly to only Melissa, receiving another rallied cheer from the boys at the sexy way she lifted herself, holding her unhooked top on.

"Yeah, from the tribe that doesn't exist," Melissa was barely nodding 'yes' and referring to the multiple small, random, overdone 'tribal' artworks all over the young man. He seemed like the alpha of the small group of varied, not as lewd as the rest, jocks.

Half of the assembled boys looked upset as Allison sashayed away from their half of the group, towards the Chieftain in question, lying it thick. They were no longer upset when they got a view of her dark plump cheeks facing their way as she stepped. More cheering occurred for her still undone top, making it easier for Allison to send Wyatt from her mind; his ignorance was making her crazy. She began thinking it was "his loss" again.

"Hi there, chief, how are you and your friends today?" She didn't wait for his, or their, answers before continuing; they would have just stumbled out anyway. "Well, we are new in town, just got here a little while ago, and we don't know anybody, since we're all single. You think you and your boys could come over and hang, and like, um, talk to us and stuff." It was a top notch performance on her part. Jaws and sand collided within the surrounding tribe.

The trick to the performance was not all from the ditzy speech, but instead how Allison was acting like her top was trying to fly from her body at the slight breeze. She always did enjoy a good show, and as the perspective parts of the nearby pants started to fill out, she raised her eyebrows, acting like they had answered when they did not.

"Ok guys! Thanks a bunch! Oh my gawd! See you in a bit! My name's, like, Allison by the way! Ok! Well, I gotta go put some lotion on so, bye boys!" Recalling her mock excitement and pointless touching caused her to force back laughter as she returned to her friends in a light jog.

Most of the other various women on the beach went back to their activities, grinning silently to themselves at her fine work. Some though - they were watching the boys react to Allison's ploy, and taking notes.

"That was good, mmm... Well done." Jennifer said aloud when Allison returned.

Allison arrived the same time Melissa finished with the lotion, and the remainder of it. Melissa was just leaning back on her hands, not moving her legs away from Jennifer. Melissa threw a nod Allison's way with both routines complete. They each thought Jennifer's compliment was for them alone, even when she did not clarify when they did not ask.

"We'll at least get dates tonight, but I don't think they're talkers." Allison said to her friends. Guinevere was back to listening, and flicking sand, while inventing knew dance steps, having nothing much to say. She did not care what they did right now, or later, unless he was there. She had her mind on school for so long that she reveled in the break of Wyatt in her head - for now at least.

"Well they'd better have something good to offer, 'cause I'm not in the mood for 'hey lets fuck later' baby, oh baby." They started laughing aloud at Jennifer's fake man-voice, her favorite joke; not Guinevere though, she was lost to space.

"If someone else, a-hem..." Jennifer was looking at Guinevere on the last two words, leaning into the circle of friends, "...was talking to us, then maybe I would be a good girl."

"Sorry guys... it's just..." Guinevere lifted her head to look around, noting the Chieftain approaching. "Look, it's not a big deal. Can we worry about it later? Anyway, here comes the chief, look," nodding her head in his direction, tongue on her top teeth, accenting her slight smile at Allison's fine acting.

"Not bad," was uttered from someone after a short moment, quietly, before the Chieftain threw himself into the sand at Jennifer and Melissa collective feet.

"Hey, uh, hi there girls," his face was planted on multiple swimsuits, only glancing up when the women spoke in greeting.

He couldn't keep his eyes off Allison's ass glaring up at the sun.

Catching himself, he then he tried to fumble speaking to Melissa's lotioned tits, where she had put the leftovers from Jennifer.

"I... have, this, uh, so on Fridays...

"Uh, can get into y-"

"Get you into..."

"Um, club, a bunch of us for free."

"Uh, we got, uh..."

"Uh, stuff to do for a while, right now..."

"Tonight..."

"Maybe could use a phone number maybe?"

"Do you girls have any other friends?"

The young man almost started panting at the end of his speech, holding a cell phone in one hand, and his tongue was hanging out. He never asked for a name, never offered his own. Jennifer almost laughed aloud but averted with a hand covered on her mouth, mocking flattery.

Melissa gave him the number for the house phone, a disposable they picked up for that very reason, without waiting further. The bumbler muttered something about "around ten" and returned to his friends to brag about conversations and words that never happened.

He never said goodbye, all he could think was "two drink and I might have two of them at once back at the hotel" before he remembered his lie about something to do.

The group of young men mumbled, and grumbled amongst themselves as they walked up the beach, just out of sight, to scout for more, possibly better, dates. The Chieftain appeared 'true' to his word about something to do.

"At least we have something to do tonight, but we need a back-up plan. He felt sorta... Creepy. The one on the left was cute though," Allison was the first to speak when the fumbler started walking away. Jennifer nodded in return.

"We can get a cab now if he's right about the 'no cover' thing." Melissa spoke next, turning to Jennifer as she did. "Do you want to go to talk the one in the hat?"

"Who? Jackie Chan or Chuck Norris?" Jennifer was smiling. She liked both of the boys she saw; she usually ignored the beards, but not after today; and she was proud of her nicknames.

"Hmm..." Melissa licked her glossy lips before she finished replying with a finger on her chin. "Chuck." Her smile beamed at her friend's humor.

"Hmm... ok, that works. Don't worry about the cab. I'll get it if he's a liar." She turned her attention away from Chuck, and looked at the group as a whole.

"No one, no one, drink anything the Chief gives you. Please don't let him buy you drinks." Jennifer's face was stern.

"Deal." Was the reply in unison from the other three, even from the detached Guinevere. She felt the Chieftain was creepy as well, but ends and means and all of that justified their group decisions. To Guinevere, it didn't matter where they ended up tonight, she couldn't stop thinking about the same thing.

"How am I going to compete with my friends without cars separating us? What if I don't find him? What if they find him first?" As Guinevere went over it again and again, hope waved from the back of her mind, said hello, and began talking to her about lost toys in the garage.

***

The Bouncer was an oversized truck kind of person, and he fit the part perfectly, a matching stern look was on his face when he spoke. "That kid with the bad tattoos is back again with like fifteen other people."

Wyatt was in the middle of closing the small, additional bar at the back of the club. The register printing while he gathered the cash in the bag for the safe. It was damn near midnight, and he still had not seen freckles anywhere.

"I think it's a little late, but he does have a group of crazy hotties with him. They look like they got money, but who knows?" The Bouncer waited for Wyatt's reply to the statement.

He had to get back to the door, that was the Bouncer's job, and Wyatt was in a whole different place. He always seemed to not care, and it intimidated the Bouncer, even with his extra hundred pounds or so over Wyatt.

They were the same height, but the Bouncer knew Wyatt was fast, and strong. He watched Wyatt pimp-slap a chump down one evening; after the chump had grabbed the girl he brought and proceeded to shake her. As a topper, sometimes when Wyatt spoke to him, it was another language full of words and concepts the Bouncer did not comprehend in the least, the confusion making him feel small and more aggressive.

"You know what Roger would say: 'if we're not at capacity, and she's cute, let her in.' " Wyatt did not like the kid he was helping, but this wasn't his club, and he knew the money was there. In fact the kid was a big spender, using money to get the girls. He had paid Wyatt quite often to do specialty car work, always general with his request. "Make it fast" was the maximum mechanical understanding the kid had possessed, other than "I want what he has" or the equivalent.

Wyatt let out a long slow sigh before he told the Bouncer what to do.

"Let them in. Ladies free, guys, half cover," Wyatt knew that would hook the fish. Even a weak man loves the chase. That kid could spend bundles in two hours, but Wyatt was leaving anyway. He only did this job as a favor to a friend, once a week, during Roger's AA meeting. Roger would be back in time to close, and Wyatt's business contacts took a boost giving the idiot kid a deal.

"This might not be so bad, not seeing her," thought Wyatt, even though he'd be fist pumping to fantasy as always. "Relax, you don't even know her name," he finished the thought as the Bouncer left.

"You got it," the Bouncer said as he walked back to let the group in at the requested fee. The Bouncer knew the kid would pay the fee, hoping he wouldn't. The Bouncer arrived shortly after he finished thinking how he, or any man outside the club, would pay everyone's cover - every person in sight - simply for a crack at the girl in the white dress.

As he spat out the arrangements to the kid, the Bouncer was staring at the beauties that accompanied the creepy jock with friends. Especially the black haired one who was kissing at the Doorman, and standing next to the one with the ever-so-slightly-red-brown hair, and with the brown eyes flecked with green.

After Wyatt finished with the bar in the back lounge, he dropped the bank bag into the office safe, locking it and spinning the dial, ready to head for the door. His trust was earned. On a whim, he decided to stop at the bar for a free drink, before he left.

"Perks of the favor," he said aloud, smiling, locking the office door behind him. He grabbed the marker and wrote a quick message to his friend Roger on the marker board, next to the door, signing his name at the tail end.

"Stole some booze -- Wyatt"

Wyatt checked the spelling before he left.

***

His car was not in the parking lot. Guinevere had not seen it since this afternoon, and she was looking, listening, for it. She was actually glad for his car not being in the lot of the club.

"At least I won't have to fight for him yet," she mused to herself, double checking her attire was perfect. Competition was her motive for the slinky white dress that flowed from the waist down, and the matching white sandal pumps.

Her freckles and other exposed skin dwarfed the power of her cleavage, but she spent the time to make the unbraided pigtails, just to win in case he was here. It was the only club in town, one of five bars. "Good chances," she thought. The effect of the freckles on her neck and the two sprouts of hair made her just over too cute, but her eyes and movements turned it all to sex.

The sound of a loud car caught her attention, the snap sound of her neck almost audible as she turned into the lot of the club.

"Big Chief's here," she said aloud, "his car's nice."

It was nice, even if it was the same car everyone else drove when they wanted to be the fastest, or most attention getting, around. "Same old, same old," Guinevere thought as her mind flew to free drinks for a moment. She needed one, she was on edge. Her friends would have their fair share of them as well, their attire equally as divine.

"That big chief, him wampum, no good," Melissa was saying as she and Jennifer danced outside to the music flowing from inside of the club. The laughter the four emitted put the music to shame, catching the attention of the Doorman who looked their way, staring mostly at Allison. Melissa was not enjoying the Chieftain's flakiness, especially since his fourth attempt at being on time, was near failing.

"Around ten. Well we hit a bump, so, like, ten thirty, no wait, like sorry. How about eleven? Great, see yous all befores midnight." Jennifer's fake male voice brought joining laughter from some of the other women nearby - those who were waiting behind the fuzzy ropes - into their group which was standing aside and waiting on the Chieftain's promise.

Every man on the line was looking at Jennifer's wondrous trunk while it backed up towards the front of Melissa's hood. Melissa was driving her friend, with her hands, slowly sliding them on her hips; dancing the lead with her hands on the wheel. (bam)

"Don't worry, I think we'll be dancing and drinking here for free all summer," Allison spoke as soon as the Doorman caught her friend's debauchery in rhythm form. Mentally Allison was picking her move, because she didn't quite know which trick to use on the doorman, yet. She also was dancing slower, but much bolder than her friends all the while.

"Yeah we will," Guinevere said, she could see the Doorman had a thing for Allison; he was tactless and that was Allison's type.

Though, most men would have a thing for Allison in that outfit. It was bright yellow terry cloth, formed into a halter top and too short dress one piece, forcing her curves to spill out. The midnight hair and brown skin were only adding to the exposed flesh tantalization of Allison's dance.

"Ha, they brought skinnies!" It was Jennifer, now smacking her hand on her knee in the throws of humor, "...oh no...!" She was laughing so hard now that she had to stop dancing, Melissa too. The small tear in Jennifer's eye said it all.

The Chieftain had brought girls along with himself, and his friends. Four additional girls; and they all were wearing fuzzy boots. By comparison to Guinevere, Jennifer, Allison, and Melissa, these skinnies might as well have been males. Their matching spandex dresses were only separated by one random swath of color - a different one for each skinny.

The tribe, and the Chieftain, was no better in the fashion least. They all had khakis on, all of them beige with polos of assorted color. As they approached and joined together in a group next to the college friends, some appeared to be already drunk.

"Hey girls," said the chieftain in his too tight shirt, to no one in particular, "watch this!" He was proud of himself as he walked towards the Bouncer, knowing he was going to be with at least one of the sexpots from the beach.

Why else were they were waiting for him?

"IDs," the Bouncer thought as the glazed-over kid and his posse crowded towards the door. They were all over eighteen, but he knew some were not legal to be drinking. Actually, he was pretty sure they all were at least twenty-one, except for those four in the cheap spandex - the boots had given them away.

"Hey yo, my friend Wyatt runs this joint on Fridays."

"He said he'd get me in for free."

"I got a bunch of people wit' me. Dem too."

The Chieftain looked like he was owner of the world, a shabby world, with his arms crossed and his chest out. The Bouncer was twice his size, maybe more, and he was not blinking, causing the Chieftain to shrink a little after a moment.

"Are you on the list?" The Bouncer looked over at the Doorman. The Doorman was so caught up by the four that had been waiting - mostly Allison - that he did not even know the Chieftain was there, or that the Bouncer was looking his way.

"Uh, no." The Chieftain was surprised, last time he was here, this went much smoother. He had forgotten he started fights and had drunk himself stupid, and the Bouncer hated fights.

"Well Wyatt said to just let us in, man."

The Chieftain did not want to look the fool, but he was.

"Wyatt who?" The Bouncer hoped his ploy would work, and the kid would walk. He didn't, it didn't.

"Um, uh.... Collings?"

"No wait, Miller...?"

"Um, yeah, Wyatt... er..." (ha)

"Just go get him. He'll let me in."

The Chieftain was feeling cocky.

He had not guessed the name right...

But he knew he was in.

"I'll ask," the Bouncer said flatly, turning into the club. He didn't want to let the kid in, but he was not in charge, and he did not need complaints from rich kids to his manager.

"Seriously?" Jennifer said furiously. She was pissed as she knew they could have waited in line, or charmed their way in for free by now.