Magnum Dong P.i. Vol. 4.

This being a dirty interracial story about cheating. Read tags for further details. Part 1, chapters 1, 2, 3, and 4.

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Chapter 1. Winter Break

December 14, 1980.

As a young man raised an only child. I hesitated, when accepting the scholarship to Juilliard, knowing I wouldn't be able to afford traveling home for weekends and holidays. Christmas of course being the exception.

'Tis the season, with festive colorful lights wrapped around outside windows and rooftops. Mass produced cutouts of familiar Christmas characters displayed on front lawns. Decorative wreaths hanged on doors greeting solicitors and guest.

Carolers dressed in Victorian fashion, bringing yuletide throughout the neighborhoods.

"Deck the halls with boughs of holly.

Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la, la, la.

'Tis the season to be jolly.

Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la, la, la..."

Reminders of holiday cheer everywhere one looks, with the true meaning of Christmas being consumerism. Motorists circling full parking lots. While the Salvation Army Santa, rings his bell outside a department store.

"Ho ho ho, merry Christmas," said Santa. As boisterous shoppers crowded the mall dropping coins into his red donation bucket.

Inside, a river of patrons streaming in and out of retail shops. Fragrancing the air with a mix of flowery perfumes, strong colognes, and cigarettes. Shuffling past jittery children, waiting in line to sit on Santa's lap with raised small hands trying to get Mrs. Claus's attention. As she walks by, pushing a tray cart handing out small paper cups of hot cocoa and freshly baked gingerbread men cookies.

The North Pole, conveniently located in the shopping centers largest gathering spot. Where potential customers and loitering mallrats, cluster together flipping coins into an indoor water feature and moving between floors on escalators.

Natural sunlight, shining through the glass skylight illuminating the festive atmosphere. Holiday decorations festooned throughout, with the main attraction being the tall Christmas tree wrapped in ornaments and colorful lights. Its dazzling star topper, only inches from touching the glass ceiling.

"All aboard!" said a midget. Dressed as an elf, occupying the engineer seat up front.

"Chugga lugga, chugga lugga, chugga lugga," on repeat. Coming from several speakers built into the rides carriages.

"Choo, choo," goes the conductors air horn.

As the small electric locomotive pulls out from the station. Children smiling and waving at their parents. Traveling the railway track around the makeshift Christmas Village. While water vapor puffs out the train's smokestack.

My mom, in a soft voice. Explaining how she played the role of Mrs. Claus. Managing four rambunctious elves, on a cardboard set made to resemble a toy workshop.

"They were banging away, with all their little moving parts shaking the set. Thought the walls would collapse on top of us," she said. "Anyways, I can't get over how large..."

Lights dimmed, sitting around the dining room table. Mom wearing a pink satin bathrobe, with her head wrapped in a white towel, and an avocado mud mask smeared over her face. She leans back on her chair, swirling the mostly emptied glass of red wine in her right hand. The tips of her left index and middle finger pressed against her lips. Grinning at the whirlpool she created.

"How large... hello mom?" Snapping my fingers and waving in her direction. "Hey mom."

"I'm sorry. It's late, and I had one too many." Tapping a fingernail against the wine glass. "Considering everything else inside the workshop being small. I thought their tools would be proportionate to size. Anyways, enough talking about my boring jobs. How's life in the Big Apple?"

In her youth, she dreamed of being a leading lady on the big screen. Her name on a Hollywood star with a mantle of lifetime trophies from award shows. Only to get married, pregnant, and settle for the role of happy homemaker.

Widowed at the age of 37, with my father dying April 12, 1978. She's left alone to roam a two-story four bedroom in Modesto, California.

Surprised, when I returned from my absence. I found her to be in good spirits and thriving with the purchase of a new car, a new stylish look, and new friends.

Mom, a college graduate. Able to type 58 words per minute and speaks 4 languages. Started working for a temp agency in October of 1980.

Affording her enough leisure time at home, with a variety of occupations to choose from. Before commuting to different job sites, working as a secretary, nurse's aid, and Mrs. Claus.

Prior to her seeking employment from the temp agency. She did a favor, tutoring her friend's son in biology. Without boring me with a long story. She briefly mentioned it, while we continued to sit around the dining room table.

"The principal, wouldn't let him play football if he didn't pass his female anatomy exam." Swallowing her wine in two gulps and smiling at the polished glass. "Combining the biology textbook with an 18 year old boy's interest. He finally buckled down, and started grinding away on his studies."

Chapter 2. It's too Much

The following afternoon, mom emerges from her bedroom dressed for the disco.

Stepping down the staircase in black knee high stiletto boots wrapped tight around her calves. Tucked into the waistband of her black pleated mini skirt, a silver and black polyester button down top resembling a referees striped uniform.

The tight short sleeve shirt with buttons unfastened exposing cleavage. Drawing attention to the silver necklace and crucifix pendant hanging between her large breast. Earrings dangling six Sapphires linked together on a silver chain by threes. A thick silver bracelet wrapped around her left wrist with fingernails painted chrome.

Small black leather handbag hanging off her left shoulder. Mom, smiling down a warm reception.

As I stood at the bottom of the staircase with the front door behind me. To my right, framed photos of the extended family nailed diagonally going up the wall. The Oakwood banister and handrail to my left.

"Hi mom. You've been in your room all morning."

"Lost track of time, reading about a recently divorcee who couldn't keep her legs shut. She ends up in a sex cult. Don't know why I keep buying these trashy romance novels. Anyways, decided to go Christmas shopping with money I earned at the North Pole." Stepping off the staircase, digging her hand inside the black purse. "My employer, wanted me to wear these boots at tomorrow's New Year's party."

"Early to be celebrating New Year's." Shrugging my shoulders. "Why don't they throw a Christmas party?"

"It's a company party, and not everyone celebrates Christmas."

"And the boots?" Tilting my head down, with eyes drawn to the spike knee high stilettos.

"When getting the rundown on my next job. My boss, overheard me telling his secretary about the boots sitting in my closet. And asked, if I would wear them." Mom, rotating a full three-sixty. "Anyways, thought of counting down to midnight with this outfit. What do you think... its to much?"

"It's fine, if you're trying to flirt with salesmen for discounts. However... shouldn't wear it around men you work with. Last thing you want, is to be the prized tenderloin. First served up to your boss. Before getting forked, by every office horndog making a diner reservation."

Mom paused, dropping her lower jaw, and raising her long eyelashes under black smokey eyeshadow. Shaking her head and rolling her brown eyes. She smiles, stretching her arms around me with an open palm rubbing small circles on my back, and stamping red painted lips against my left cheek. Lilac, honeysuckle, and lavender coming from her hair and skin.

"I've been faithful to your father longer than you have been alive. While finding single life to be liberating. Dating and starting a romantic relationship, is the last thing I want." Smacking another kiss on my cheek and releasing her embrace. "Speaking of forking choice meat, I'm bring home Bar-B-Q for dinner. Now lock up behind me."

Mom, stepping out front with keys jangling in hand. Greeting the outside world with a smile. Her shoulders pulled back, head held high, and curvy hips swaying with every stride of her stiletto boots knocking on the walkway.

Small Virgin Mary figurine on the dashboard. Driver side door opens and shuts. The Cadillac engine comes alive. "Gypsies Tramps & Thieves" by Cher, blasting from the 8 track stereo. She blows a kiss goodbye before reversing out the driveway. Cher's singing fades as the car disappears between rows of white, yellow, and soft turquoise suburban houses built in the early 1950s.

Meat cooking in hickory smoke coming from downwind. Mild air replaced by cooler weather whipping leaves off trees and knocking over aluminum trash cans. Sending one of the barrel shaped receptacle loudly rolling downhill. Before skipping against the road, smashing into a black El Camino parked curbside.

Across the street. Group of small children playing with Lawn Darts in front of a one-story pink house. Throwing the 12 inch metal spikes high in the air. Sending the juveniles scattering in all directions, while screaming and giggling for their lives.

"Swoosh... swoosh... swoo-woosh-woosh-woosh-woosh-woosh-woosh-woosh-woosh... swoosh-clink." Twelve darts raining down terror, with the wind blowing them across the neighbors front lawns. Piercing into the soft top of a convertible Ford Mustang, a rusty mailbox, and a tire swing hanging from a tall tree. One crossing the street sparking against the driveway next to my brown slippers.

Standing under menacing dark clouds. Wearing green pajama pants with black pinstripes, and a white undershirt. Jaw dropped and wide-eyed. My right hand rubbing off red lipstick from my left cheek. My left hand waving goodbye in the direction she drove off.

"Tomorrow, every douchebag drenched in cologne will try to fork it." Thinking the way a father would, when his brick house daughter steps out in an outfit one size to small.

Chapter 3. Pandora's Box

Home alone, with the TV remote control out of juice. Rummaging for batteries in mom's bedroom. Eyes following my every move, from a framed picture of Jesus Christ, hanging above the beds headboard.

Searching high and low, and always in the last place one looks. Opening her nightstand drawer, sent tumbling forward a large metal dildo over a collection of romance novels laid flat, with the paperback front covers arranged similar to floor tiles. Residue marking the muff divers morning swim. With the wooden receptacle, fragranced in mom's flowery perfume and a hint of pussy.

Knowing the large four D size batteries wouldn't fit in the remote controls AAA slots. I didn't bother, taking apart the rose colored toy with three speed vibrating action.

Disgusted, and careful not to disturb the girthy man of steel. Probing my hand underneath the books. Finding old post cards and small keepsakes, from family vacations over the years. Shuffling around old papers belonging to my dad. Before rubbing fingertips, against waxy film at the bottom.

Pulling out the magazine, the way one works an arcade claw machine. I won my prize, and found a hard core porno published by "Spooge."

Similar to "X-Rated," "Private," and "X- Cinema" of its day. This particular magazine, focused on porn films they produced for XXX theaters.

Well known for their amateur orgie and gangbang productions. With "Frat Party," being their most popular series. Where a bunch of horny white guys, take turns crawling over the wife of a college professor or the mom from a rival fraternity. Always ending, with the woman consuming a biscuit covered in male ejaculate. Better known as limp biscuit or soggy biscuit depending on what region the university is from.

Slow to transition for the home video market, with expensive video cassettes and VCRs costing over $1,000 in 1976. They made their profits from box office ticket sales. Along with magazine subscriptions, following a variety of adult movies. The performers lines and story narrative underneath photos of the talent having sex.

Rumors of actor Tom Selleck, being an avid reader and subscriber to "Spooge," for the articles on how to maximize sexy with little to no effort. Allegedly voiced to his chagrin in an interview.

"Sitting back on my recliner with legs up. When I got the call for the role of Magnum, P.I. Excited, would be an understatement of the century. I shot to the ceiling, only for reality to come down landing egg whites on my face.

When I arrived on set for the first time, and realized I would be whoring my talents doing family friendly television. Didn't know if I could show face in public again. Family and friends, stopped returning my phone calls. Small children, would run away screaming when they recognized me on the street. And my wife..." Tom, slumping forward on the chair, moving a trembling hand over his eyes, and sniffing short breaths. "Blue Bloods, what the hell was I thinking."

Chapter 4. Magnum Dong

Always happy, when I found one of my dad's dirty magazines. And now glad to finally have a keepsake. Mom, must have missed one when she threw out his porn.

Due to the date being damaged. I couldn't tell if it's from 1978 or earlier.

The feature titled, "Magnum Dong P.I. Vol. 4." With smaller font reading underneath, "When there's a fox in the henhouse, call 555-Dong, and send the cock to investigate. We don't charge until you get the money shot."

Magazine's front cover, showed a tall muscular black man in his early 30s, with an afro and sideburns. Standing in front of a royal blue background. Wearing black military boots, with green camouflage pants, and a black leather vest. His muscular arms, chest, and stomach exposed to the elements. Holding a nickel-plated.38 snub nose revolver in his right and a fistful of long red curly hair in his left.

The redhead, in a white and black zebra striped bikini. On her knees at Magnum Dong's feet. Hugging his left leg, looking up at him with hungry animal lust in her green eyes.

It being an interracial porno. With the hero Magnum Dong, starring in every scene. Committing adultery with the married women he's hired to investigate for infidelity.

Story structure kept simple. If the women were found cheating, Magnum Dong using implication would manipulate them into sex. And show the evidence of infidelity to their husbands anyways. If the women were not cheating, Magnum Dong would seduce the women into sex, with his younger employee taking pictures. And show the client, photographic evidence of his lucky wife getting Magnum Dong.

Skipping the index and flipping through pages. It reminded me of a comic book, with the only difference being actual photos instead of drawings. The stories off-colored remarks acceptable for its time.

First story I came across, titled "Trad Wife." Staring: Alexa Boom Boom Huxley.

The big bosom redhead on the cover. Sunbathing under the California sun on a lounge chair by her swimming pool. Wearing zebra striped sunglasses, with a zebra striped bikini, and zebra striped platform heels. Sipping a Mai Tai, served in a coconut cup with decorative tiny umbrella. And a white poodle resting on the ground by her right side.

A man's large shadow blocks the sunlight. Dropping the temperature around the big bosom hottie. Her heart races with goosebumps forming on her skin.

"Who are you? And what the hell are doing here?" Removing her sunglasses and squinting.

"Names Dong, Magnum Dong. And I was about to ask you same thing Mrs. Huxley. What the hell are you doing here?"

"I live here. Now get the fuck out of my backyard. Before I call spook patrol, and tell them one of those people crossed the red line."

"Okay Boom Boom, I'll leave. Just thought I'd do you the courtesy before telling your husband about what's happening here. Oh yeah, I know."

"Know what exactly? You come here to bark accusations with zero proof. And for what, see if I would bend the knee to extort money. I can also make accusations, and tell people you tried to harm my person."

"What I know exactly. I know about the 19 year old hunky neighbor next door getting his dick wet poolside. I know about him, two little people, and you in the hot tub splashing around making soup." Magnum Dong, tossing a roll of negative film to Mrs. Huxley. "Your husband's lawyer, is going to be pleased on how good the photographs turned out. So kiss this big house and your marriage goodbye, sucka."

Magnum Dong, turning to take his exit towards the black metal privacy gate. Attached to a tall stonewall surrounding the back property. Honeysuckle vines hanging over parts of the privacy wall, with red and pink rose bushes lining the bottom.

Mrs. Huxley, sitting up with urgency. Jaw dropped and eyes wide, as black pupils bounce around inside sockets at the unraveled negatives between her hands.

"No wait, I'll pay you double what my husband has." She says in a seductive tone, "And maybe sweeten the deal with a little something more. See anything you like... Dong?"

Negotiating her greatest asset. Mrs. Huxley, on all fours over the lounge chair with her tits out and zebra striped bikini laying on the ground. Showing off her juicy sun-kissed buns in contrasting white bikini lines.

"It's Mr. Dong, to you. What do you say, to laying down a beach towel over the grass. Away from this clutter of dog poop landmines. And while I consider your proposal. You can bend the knee to chew the fat."

Magnum Dong, with his camouflage pants and underwear pulled around his knees. Mrs. Huxley, squatting down facing him, with black mascara around long eyelashes rising under pink eyeshadow. Going cross-eyed the closer she approach waist level.

Magnum Dong's uncut cock, resembling a 7 inch Boston brown bread submarine sandwich. With a brown sack underneath, carrying two jawbreaker candles.

Her slim face, with rosy high cheekbones, and small red pouty lips. Tries to open wide enough to accommodate the man-wich to no avail. Leaving her to lick and smack her lips against the large cock. Shaking her head between the scrotum and helmet, similar to a cartoon character eating corn on the cob. Dragging her wiggling tongue back and forth across the wet flesh.

Sucking on a testicle she convulses, gags, and coughs after it began to slip down her throat.

"God damn baby, didn't say you can eat it."

Mrs. Huxley, laying on her back spreads her trembling legs apart. As Magnum Dong, presses the tip against her vaginal lips.

Pushing through the circumference of a torpedo tipped soup can. With wet walls, stretching and elongating around the girth of his cock. Her eyes and mouth growing wider the deeper he entered. Mrs. Huxley's muscles flexed, with legs extending, and zebra striped heels kicking the air. Her tongue sticking out, while dry heaving to every thrust, as if her insides are about to come rocketing past the ring of glossy red lips.

Magnum Dong's wet scrotum slapping against Mrs. Huxley's anus. Splitting her legs, with his hands pushing down on the inside of her thighs. Dark wet flesh diving in and out underneath red bush. Its hard bumpy surface, ironing out silky soft walls to a wrinkled free finish.

Rampaging through the usual gamut of sex positions.

Mrs. Huxley, taking Dong, with her face to the ground, back arched, ass in the air, and cheeks spread. Zebra striped heels crossed at her ankles. Her furry red beaver, getting stuffed repeatedly with meaty man-wich.

The poodle, watching in horror. As the sounds of mommy's high pitched whimpering rings in her ears. She attempts to bury her head in the grass. Before running back and forth, barking "Yap-yap-yap," at the pile of shimmering muscles jockeying Mrs. Huxley to the finish line.