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Going Going Gang

Going Going Gang

by yowser
19 min read
4.54 (15100 views)
adultfiction
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The two old friends from university were sitting on the back porch of the summer house Stephanie had rented for the month, in Wellfleet on Cape Cod, looking east out over the Atlantic, blue water sparkling forever into the distance. The next land-stop was England. Stephanie reached for her glass of iced tea and stirred it before sipping.

For many years she had not paid much attention to birthdays.

"I'll be thirty-five years old at the end of the month. The end of this summer, Jed."

Jed shrugged and vaguely waved his pint glass of ale. "So? You're not twenty anymore? Regardless of the years it seems to me you've got just about everything you want, all under control at that."

"Thirty-five. What is the life expectancy of a female in the United States these days? Seventy something? Seventy-four?"

"I think it's a little more than that, but that sounds about right. So you'll be thirty-five at the end of August. You've got a superb job, a nice place to live. Lots of folks can't say that."

"You forgot the other part of Mona's Law." Stephanie issued Jed a challenging look.

"Mona's Law? You'll have to remind me."

"An Armisted Maupin character, from 'Tales of the City.' Mona opined that indeed it was possible in life to have a good job, a good place to live, and a good lover. Just never all at the same time."

Jed's smile was familiar, indulgent. "Okay, so you are missing a lover. But that's your choice, and as far as I can tell this summer, you are not lacking for love, or physical intimacy anyway."

Jed was not only an old friend but a former lover of Stephanie herself, back in their college years at the University of Massachusetts. He resisted the urge to reach over and put his arm around her, knowing how ambivalent her feelings were about their time together.

Stephanie regarded him carefully, recollecting a copulation event with a local fisherman in the dunes scarcely a week earlier.

"You're right. Of course. And I shouldn't be complaining. But regardless of the exact actual life expectancy, it feels to me like I am about halfway there. And of course just because life expectancy lies somewhere into the seventies, at least here in America, that doesn't mean I'm going to make it that far. But halfway through life? Does make one think a bit."

She pushed a loose strand of her darkly blonde hair back behind her left ear. Normally her shoulder length hair was thin and straight, but the ever-present salty ocean air made it thick and frizzy, which both pleased and irritated her for different reasons.

Jed looked at her evenly. "You're mid-thirties, yes. Still playing tennis. Still with strong legs and shoulders." He squeezed her right leg just above her knee. "You look good Steph, I'm not just saying that out of politeness."

"The thighs are thicker, Jed. Everything else too. You know that as well as anyone."

Jed shrugged again. "Not by much and doesn't matter. I am speaking of the whole package. I see guys on the beach, younger guys, staring at you in your bikini. No question to me there's hunger in their eyes."

He regarded her carefully, not wanting to say the wrong thing. "And you're smart as hell and I don't even want to know how much you earn at Random House."

Stephanie leveled a look at Jed that didn't leave much room for discussion. She'd gotten that position out of her own hard work and determination, and maybe Jed could have as well if he'd applied himself. So she was at a big mainstream publisher and he was stuck at the SUNY imprint in provincial upstate New York. There was no need for him to spotlight their income disparity.

"So what is it you want, Steph? You want a guy? You've said over and over that after your first marriage, and even before that, with me even, that the entanglements weren't worth it."

"No, you're right again. I don't want a guy. I am thinking for this birthday, this final birthday on the Cape, that I want a last blast of summer. Not a guy, but guys. Plural."

Jed put his head back and laughed long and loud.

His eyes twinkled when he returned his gaze to Stephanie.

"You're serious. And ever since I've known you there was never one guy who could keep you happy anyway, myself memorably included. Unlike work, or any other aspect of your life, on the romantic level you're like a pogo stick with ADHD, hopping from one fellow to another, never landing for long."

"Yep. That's how it's gone. And I don't mind it for the most part. It's a feature, not a bug."

Jed spread his hands. "Okay. That's fine. But you just said 'guys' plural. I can guess what that means, but is that really what you want?"

Stephanie leveled a look at him and neither spoke for a moment, both minds at work.

"You're simple, Steph."

"Oh? I was sure you'd never think that. How so?"

"You want unconditional love. All the time."

"Doesn't everyone?"

"Maybe. But most of us know how unrealistic that is and adjust our sensibilities accordingly."

"You don't think I do that?"

"I am sure you do. But I get the feeling you would never grow tired of being worshiped on a continual, even perpetual, basis."

She laughed. "Well said. And you're right, I wouldn't."

"I am intensely fond of male appendages," she continued, "just don't much like the fellows they're attached to."

Jed's snicker was short and knowing. "Well, I suppose that's a problem then, isn't it? You need your own basement glory hole then?"

She glared. "That's about the most insulting thing you could suggest to me. What a stupid idea."

Jed spread his hands. "How so? All the cocks you could want, no personalities attached? A constant stream of erections? You know I would be happy to feed the fellas, keep everyone hydrated and ready for you."

"A constant stream of semen maybe." Stephanie almost smiled. "All right, so maybe not so stupid, although the idea of glory holes makes me puke." She thought for a moment. "But no, cannot get into that part of it all. Can't Be That Impersonal."

"So you want some closeness, not one-night stand stuff, but not too close? Such as a lover that you'd have to please? Accommodate? Admit that he has some agency himself, and needs and wants and desires that would, might, maybe, involve you? You're dreaming, kid." Jed shook his head.

"You're probably right."

Stephanie's annoyance with Jed had always gone up and down the scales, although in recent years, since they were now unattached and just summer friends and housemates, it was only a one or two note deviation. Jed was hard to dislike, and that was almost the problem. Too much a people-pleaser and not assertive enough himself.

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Their last fight on breakup night back at UMass wasn't even that dramatic. Jed had hardly stood up for himself, reason enough for Stephanie to think she'd made the right move.

Their discussion that afternoon veered away into different areas, but the topic didn't exactly go gentle into the good night.

****

At lunch the next day, over sandwiches on their picnic on the Marconi Beach, even the warm on-shore breeze hadn't been enough to coax the sand-and-surf crew to a sizable crowd. Stephanie lobbed another barb Jed's way.

"I take it you're the kind of person who thinks the word 'fuck' is a copulative conjunction?"

Jed leveled a weary look at Stephanie. Another taunt, however witty, about his not taking linguistics at UMass, while Stephanie had taken every elective possible in that department while they were there. And then she'd gone on to the Big Job at Random House. Why the constant bombardment?

The zinger hadn't quite come out of nowhere. They had been discussing authors they'd had to edit who had exaggerated notions of their own grammatical excellence. But it seemed Stephanie's graduate school competitive nature had kicked into gear again. Jed elected to respond with a tangent.

"That sounds like something Edmund Wilson would have said to Mary McCarthy."

Stephanie laughed. "Sorry. You're right. I can actually hear him saying that."

"Amazing marriage. Archetypes of the creative/crazy couple. Passionate one minute, fighting like tomcats the next. They loved their summer place here, what, two miles from where we are?"

"Yep. Pamet Road. I'll take you by some time. McCarthy did her novel 'A Charmed Place' about Wellfleet. Wilson wrote about Gull Pond. They'd picnic there and then copulate out in the sand beyond the pond."

"Booze, the art scene, famous visitors. Wilson's caustic intelligence making him a fierce critic. Mary the sometimes spellbinding author, although in her Wellfleet novel, written after they divorced, she savaged the character clearly modeled on Wilson."

"John Dos Passos lived not far away, right?"

"Yes. And other literary figures flitted in and out. Beaches, oceans, hedonism, an open sky, all drugs to the muses and their charges. Cape Cod has launched a lot of literature, Jed."

Jed thought about Stephanie's own contribution to the field, her monograph "Colonial Rectification: Punctuation Evolution and Imperialism in English Orthography from Medieval to Modern." Jed had been thrilled to be included in the book's dedication, "To Jed and Zeugma," even though his name was paired with the name of Stephanie's Persian cat. But he reckoned that if he ranked as high as the feline in her life it was a compliment and an honor.

They ate quietly for a bit, staring off into the Atlantic.

With a dessert apple in hand, Stephanie began her complaints anew.

"Tired of this flab, Jed."

Stephanie grabbed her belly and held a roll of fat.

Jed eyed her carefully. "I know plenty of folks our age who don't look as good as you in the type of bikini that your wearing, Steph."

Indeed it was plain white, contrasting nicely against her bronzed skin, the top designed to make for a nice breast-valley of cleavage, and the bottom rode low on her hips. As they were sitting cross-legged facing the ocean on their beach-blanket, Jed noted, not without interest, a few dark pubic hairs poking out from the seam next to her groin.

"I would not worry. Your boobs have filled out since college, nothing that's gonna bother anybody but you."

"Every inch my boobs get my gut gets twice." She made a face.

"Boobs mean belly, no way around that," she asserted.

Jed shrugged. "Plenty of guys like a little softness in their females."

"I just wish mine were rounder, not so damned pointy." She squeezed her left breast in its covering with one hand, way too narrow for her preference, then looked around to see if anyone had witnessed her.

This had been a common complaint uttered to Jed during their time together. Stephanie had always compared her breasts to the little pint-sized footballs that kids tossed around on the beach, made to fit their own hands and not the full-sized college and professional article. Her boobs were narrow, sharp and pointed at their ends, hardly meaty in circumference.

Jed had insisted they had personality, that there was never anything wrong with protrusion when it came to boobs, and when they were a couple, he had gone out of his way to make sure Steph knew they were, at least for him, the most memorable mammaries he had ever known.

"I swear I do not know a single female, never any lover of mine, who was happy with her breasts." Jed was insistent. "I don't get it. Tamara complained about being flat-chested although her nipples were marvelous large and stiff. Rosemary wished her big, pillowy front didn't attract so much attention. From their point of view, you're Goldilocks. But I know that's not how you feel. Stephanie, you're plenty handsome just as you are."

****

The next morning Stephanie was up before sunrise for walk along the beach. So few people about in the early light, even here in August, just a couple of retirees walking their dogs. In a month the desolation would be near complete.

She walked north from the cottage, white clapboard with pastel blue shutters. That the back porch faced the Atlantic was surely its most captivating feature. Inside all was tight, small, cozy.

The ocean was dark, the whitecaps ghostly in the predawn light. Steph loved the elemental morning aspect of the ocean. There were ships out there, fisherman, yacht owners, life on the water, all manner of human activity, almost none of it visible from the shore but still there.

The moist cool sand just under the high water mark felt good on her bare feet. So many nerve endings down there, all for a purpose, helping one as a human walk upright, sensing any imbalance. Evolution having done its thing for millions of years, leading to this very moment, when Stephanie could make her way along the shore, feeling the world underneath her, enabling her with consciousness, awareness of the sun's imminent arrival.

She made her way to one of her favorite bluffs, several yards up off the sandy parts, and sat down to watch the sunrise. It wasn't all that far from her last coupling a week or so ago and the memory made her squeeze nether parts in pleasure.

More than one cock. Just the idea of that was grand. The trouble with guys was the erection business, one of the most ephemeral, if appealing, design-works in the human race. But it was so tricky to keep one hard long enough for the right amount of pleasure.

Stephanie knew the solution was not just the cock, there were plenty of ways to feel good from a guy even if his penis was soft. But fucking usually ended so quickly. It was so rare, maybe one in thirty, that she could climax with a cock up her channel. And that happened usually only for one of two reasons.

The guy had managed to get her so worked up that just breathing on her clit would take her over the edge, but instead the fuck did the deed.

Or it was round two. Which went longer but often had its own difficulties. Sometimes a guy would start hard but then falter. Timing would be off. Thoughts would intrude, distractions. If she'd climaxed already, her second was apt to be softer, different, nice but more dreamy than cataclysmic.

But multiple penises to play with! Four would be perfect: two-squared, Jungian, and symmetrical. One penis up her. The guy going slow, in and out, no hurry, those lovely internal feelings of a good fuck. One penis in her mouth that she could suck on, feel its hardness, smooth skin, the increasing arousal of the owner. Maybe another penis in each hand, to stroke as she pleased. The thought was enchanting.

A second one could go up her after the first one had discharged. And then another, and another, in succession. She squeezed her groin in excitement. How sweet that would be! And she'd never done it. Nothing like it.

But there were so many things in the way of it all. Fantasies always had this drawback. You could get it all perfect in your head, and Stephanie had done this plenty of times in the past, thinking about a particular scene with a guy but then inevitably reality deviated from the script and was never as good as in her imagination.

But good things never happen if you don't permit them. Or plan them.

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The first sharp slit of sunlight rose up off the horizon, the red streak floating over the blue arc of water.

She watched and ruminated until the full solar orb had separated from the water. Another day had arrived, and now it was too bright to stare into the light any longer.

She rose, stretched her legs, wished she was the sort of person who did meditation in the morning at sunrise, or yoga. But no, here she was, a new day arrived, and she was thinking of cocks, many of them. All eager for her, all ready to dump their semen into her most innermost recesses. Maybe more than once. If only desire would leave her at peace.

It was vacation, she knew, and with more time on her hands her mind was free to roam. No big things to worry about except what she might have to eat at lunch. Whether she'd go on a long walk in the afternoon or play tennis. Such a change from her life in New York on workdays. Or even weekends. Here there was air, an endless sky, an ocean stretching into the distance, infinite room for thoughts.

When she got back to the cottage and settled out on the back porch of the cottage, Jed served her up a small breakfast plate with a pair of

English muffins,

browned and buttered.

Stephanie looked at them closely.

"These don't look store-bought. Are they?"

"No, I made them."

Stephanie opened her mouth and closed it.

"Jed McNulty. You made them? When?"

"This morning. I was up early and thought I'd do some. They're so much better right off the griddle and toasted. And not from the grocery."

Stephanie took a bite. Her teeth sank into the first muffin, crispy on the outside, soft and smooth inside with the butter.

"Wow, these are wonderful. Thanks."

She looked at him.

"You're going to make some woman very happy someday, you must know that."

"I am not sure about that. But you've given me free rent for the month here. In a nice setting. I'm on vacation, I can do whatever I want. Making food is something I enjoy and a minor repayment to you."

"I don't want you thinking you need to repay me, Jed."

"I don't. Just something for you. You work hard the rest of the year. Excuse me, you bust your tail the rest of the year. After signing Gabriel Montego in 2023 and her subsequent blockbuster debut novel, you could have coasted for three years and no one would have minded. But no. Just the opposite."

Jed spoke further, said he had a potential solution to Stephanie's insistent desires. He'd been asking around, had maybe a couple potential fellows who would agree to the multiple-guy project, another couple he hadn't talked to yet.

Stephanie's eyebrows went up and she gave him a long look. "You're serious."

"Dead serious. You know I don't speak about something unless I am prepared to back it up."

She inhaled, closed her eyes, and called forth her fantasy.

"There are some issues."

"Always. What could they be?" Jed knew the list would be neither short nor vague.

"Sexual health. You know I hate condoms, I like a bare naked penis. I am settled okay on the pregnancy front, but have no interest in any of the lovely diseases the things can impart. Strangers. Personal safety." She indicated she didn't want something that became unmanageable.

Jed answered them all in order, in fact had anticipated each one. The chaps would need to get tested. He'd gauge their suitability himself and would be present for safety and management, make sure her wishes were accommodated.

"But I won't know them."

"Do you want to?"

"You had many one-night stands, Jed?"

"Not many. A few."

"Satisfying?"

"On occasion. In general not. I've always enjoyed second contact, or a more involved connection further long, far more."

"Since you're more comfortable."

"And know better what to expect."

"Anticipation. The best part."

Stephanie thought back to her most recent, just a week ago, when she'd let an older rugged fisherman take her in the dunes behind the parking lot of the Beachside pub. It was spur-of-the-moment, acting on a sub-cognitive attraction.

It had involved a condom, a necessary but hated accessory, and while watching the stars overhead while being tailed in the open air had some charm, the sand particles down her bum furrow afterwards, despite the gent having covered the bare ground with his jacket for her to lie on, had not been exactly memorable. Neither her arousal nor the length of their coupling had been sufficient for a climax.

"You know what might work?"

Jed arched his eyebrows. "Yes?"

"Maybe we'd arrange for an audition."

"As in an appetizer? A prelude evening in bed? Round one?"

Jed pondered.

"Sure. You would get to know them, at lest once before the grand orgy." He nodded. "Vet them. Decide if they would work for the big event."

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