Double Vision 4

TRAILER TRYST

I feverishly fondled my frankfurter.

From the opposite side of the trailer ― in a matching La-Z-Boy ― the white trash centerfold sat equally naked, watching two soap operas, a portion of Ellen, and the tail end of The View. All this, moments from the border of a "foreign" land.

An 18 pound cat ― improperly named Tiny ― took a liking to my lap, and proceeded to sink five razor-sharp claws into my left ball.

"Look!" the race car bikini model ― with tits more impressive than a supernova ― gleefully deduced. "He really likes you!"

How does digging five killing tools into a testicle equate to an act of affection?

The excruciating pain had me hallucinating I was Johnathan Taylor Thomas. On the verge of passing out, it was all I could do to stifle my screams.

In the end, I obtained eight minutes of actual intercourse ― assuredly a mercy fuck ― before the woman in question's head began ailing her. Days of nude, backyard sunbathing ― combined with a sea of margaritas ― had her less interested in me than shitting out a major organ.

It was then the doublewide dweller of course informed me of her sexual abuse as a child.

Combine this with her affirmations of unpredictable mood swings, due to PTSD ― don't fuckin' ask me ― and you've got a recipe for the ruined rump roast I experienced.

Had I not engaged in a variety of erogenous exploits in the past, I would have been more confused than Emilio Estevez at a Where's Your Career Going? seminar.

When said and done, I felt fortunate I didn't wind up shackled in this walking neurosis' basement ― FBI agents uncovering my rotting carcass, eight months down the line, alongside a stockpile of bootleg Shannen Doherty/Michael Caine porn tapes!

CONDOM NATION

Darla was a perfectly-packaged porn prima donna who hit the pool with her man ― Jefe.

Toiling on the clock, I ignited the conversation like a Saturn V rocket.

After numerous minutes of not knowing whether Darla liked single guys, she informed all males in attendance this was her second sojourn to a swing club. Moments later, she feigned a fall on the slippery slope of the Jacuzzi, and conveniently landed on the dong of Travis ― a regular.

At that point, we converged on her like vultures on a carcass.

Suggesting we transport Darla to the orgy bed, I was praised for my genius the way Tesla was, upon inventing the alternating current motor.

Surrounding this sexy strumpet, in less time than it takes the IRS to ruin a life, we took turns with said senorita, whilst Jefe humped Laurie ― a resident great time ― at the opposite end of the mattress.

I brought 14 condoms with me to that goddamned box spring. Upon leaving, I was able to recoup two unused prophylactics from atop the sheet! I'm sure I didn't burn through 12 love gloves in one half hour session, so there must be a Bermuda Triangle swallowing up poon balloons in that area of the club.

I used three with Darla, and two with Laurie. That leaves seven expensive latex sheathes lost, and unaccounted for! I'm callin' Magnum P.I. ― pun intended ― on this one.

Hence, it's back to the drug store for more supplies.

I don't mind sharin' provisions with other profligate people poolside, but most of these dudes don't even show up with a single condom! That's like failing to bring beer to a BYOB blowout, or earplugs to a Miley Cyrus concert.

I apparently drained an entire bottle of lube, during the interlude, as well, as I couldn't even find the container, upon leaving the bed!

Rubbers are $15 a 12 pack, and cock cream is $10. Together, that's more than the admission fee to the swing club I frequent. I can't even purchase the entire series of Matlock on DVD for $25!

All ranting aside, Darla is a squirter. Initially, I thought someone was spitting on me, while I was atop her. Unaware of what it takes to make women ejaculate, I didn't realize said spring was burgeoning from her crotch, until the third time it transpired.

Eventually, Darla experienced enough gyrating group groin action and left, leaving no means of contact. Always like to keep 'em satisfied, baby!

When it came to the mattress, it appeared as though the World War III of Sex had been waged upon it.

Grabbing a fistful of towels, and a palm of hand sanitizer, I cleaned up exactly 12 consumed condoms! Coincidence? I think not.

― authored by Hugh Mungus