*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
Chapter 1
Julie Chamblee hands shook as she tried to unscrew the cap from the rum bottle. George had screwed it back on, and as usual, had screwed it on so tightly, she couldn't get it off.
On the other bed, George pumped his short fat cock in and out of Marco's slimy ass. The two men feverishly kissed each other, thrusting their tongues in each other's mouths while George pounded in and out of Marco.
"Fuck!" Julie complained and stuck the cap into her mouth.
She used her molars to open the bottle and got out of bed. There was no ice in the plastic bucket, just a puddle of gritty water. The can of Diet Coke was warm, but Julie was beyond caring at this point. She splashed some of the flat dark liquid into a plastic cup, and then filled the cup with the rum.
Draining the glass did not still her shaking limbs, and the artificial sweetener did not rest well on her empty stomach.
She turned and looked at George's well muscled back and buttocks. She watched as Marco's legs, loosely wrapped around George's slim hips, bounced around under the force of George's thrusts.
Julie watched a trail of semen as it bubbled out of George's rectum, and trickled down George's hairy testicles.
Suddenly, Julie felt very ill, and ran to the bathroom.
"Aw, yeah, aw fuck yeah," George groaned as he shot stream after stream into Marco's clutching bowels.
When Julie staggered out of the bathroom, George was sucking Marco's short cock and finger fucking Marco's gaping rectum.
"Fuck, why'd you get rum, huh?" Julie complained. "Fucking hate that shit, ass hole."
"Store's right there, bitch; you can get what ever the fuck you want," George said, interrupting his cock sucking long enough to point in the general direction of the convenience store.
"Fine, fine, mother fucker," Julie spat, looking around for her clothing.
When she had met George and Marco in the treatment facility, they thought it was a hoot that they were all from the Bender/DeGarde area of Louisiana.
"Come all the way to Crestview, Florida and here y'all are," Julie had laughed.
In Group that night, Marco admitted that he was there to try to get off of meth. His reason was that his former girlfriend was expecting their baby and, even though she was now living with a 'no good rich mother fucker that stole her from him' he wanted to be a part of his baby's life.
"Plus that," the counselor said dryly, "It looks good for the judge when it comes time for sentencing, huh Marco?"
George flexed his muscles and admitted that he was there to try to get off the meth as well.
"Beating your boyfriend nearly to death wouldn't have anything to do with it, huh? The counselor asked.
"I am not gay!" George denied.
"Whatever," the counselor smirked. "A lot of straight guys live with cross dressers, right?"
"Mother fucker!" George yelled, getting to his feet.
"Sit your ass down before I knock it down, George," the counselor said, unperturbed by George's anger.
After group, Julie, Marco, and George sat down in the break room, sipping their cups of decaffeinated coffee.
"I um, I, you know, I did a couple of months, you know, in Bender's Lock Up?" Marco said quietly.
"Yeah? What for?" George asked.
Marco launched into a long story, embellished by many humorous anecdotes that made him look tough, almost heroic and certainly daring.
"But, um, you know, I mean, I love me the ladies know what I'm saying?" Marco said, lowering his voice. "But ain't nothing wrong with you know, slipping a little to a guy, you know, if they're down with that."
"I'm not gay," George denied.
"Fuck, ain't nobody saying you are," Julie said quickly. "Personally? I think that'd be so fucking hot, though, a three way? With two guys didn't mind doing each other."
"Oh yeah?" George asked, interested.
"Yeah, I mean, you guys are always going on and on about how hot it is when two girls fuck each other; why can't I think it's hot for two guys to fuck each other?" Julie asked.
"Julie, phone," a nurse waddled into the break room.
Julie went to the lobby, picked up the telephone and spoke with her husband, Mike Chamblee, then her daughter Andrea. Mike did put their younger daughter on the phone and Julie made the appropriate noises, but Kasie did not respond and after a moment, Mike ended the telephone call.
Four days later, against medical advice, Julie, George, and Marco checked out of the treatment facility and, using Julie's credit card checked themselves into a room at the Crestview Lodge.
Julie managed to get two hundred dollars out of an ATM and George found a source of met.
Meth was not Julie's drug of choice; she wanted alcohol. She loved alcohol, vodka in particular. George took some money, went to the convenience store (Julie was too paranoid after smoking meth, reacting badly to meth) and bought a pint of rum.
"Fuck, a pint?" Julie complained.
"Fuck, how much you need?" George asked.
"More than this," Julie snapped, and proved her point by drinking the entire pint in one swallow.
****
Julie staggered out of the motel room, got her bearings, took a few steps and almost fell down. She could not remember the last time she had eaten, couldn't even remember what day it was.
It had been a Tuesday when they'd checked out of Crestview C.D.U. but that didn't help her right now.
She entered the convenience store at a staggering run and almost fell over as she stood in front of the ATM. She found her card, inserted it, and punched out the numbers. Nothing happened, so she cleared the screen and entered her PIN again.
"Something's wrong with your ATM," she spat at the clerk, a scrawny Asian man.
"Not my machine, you call number, they come fix," he shouted.
"Come on, ass hole, it's in your store, get off your ass and help me here," Julie spat.
"Not my machine, number right there, you call number," the man insisted.
"Please?" Julie decided to try charming the man. "I'd really appreciate if you'd..."
Six years earlier, when Julie Vogel was eighteen, she had been a striking beauty. Her hair had been long, lustrous blonde locks that surrounded a round face and fell to the middle of her back. Her skin was lightly tanned, free of blemishes, and her large blue eyes mesmerized most boys and men that looked into them. Her nose was a small snub nose above full, pouting lips.
Her breasts were an impressive thirty six D cup, her waist, according to the chain that one of her lovers had looped around it, was twenty six inches, and her hips were a womanly swell of thirty two inches.
Her backside was compact, but was still rounded enough to look good in snug jeans, and in miniskirts. The miniskirts did highlight her sleek, lightly tanned legs, legs that she enjoyed wrapping around multiple men, other than her husband, Mike Chamblee.
Six years, two children, and countless bottles of vodka later, Julie looked nearly twenty years older than her age, was at least seventy pounds overweight, and was nearly yellowed in skin tone. Her hair was filthy (neither she nor Marco or George had used the motel's barely adequate shower yet.) her eyes were bloodshot, and her body odor was intolerable.
Again, she smiled what used to be a seductive smile at the man behind the counter.
The clerk almost smirked, but instead just repeated his statement.
"Can you at least get my card out? It's stuck," Julie asked.
"You call number; they come fix," the man repeated.
Julie checked her purse and found a few dollar bills stashed in a side pocket.
"Fine, fine, mother fucker, give me a fifth of the Dobro vodka; how much is that?" Julie spat.
"Five dollar twenty nine cent
Julie grabbed a can of regular Coke from the cooler, and grabbed a bag of powdered doughnuts and added that to the fifth of vodka.
When she staggered back to the motel room, both George and Marco were smoking more meth. Julie did not ask where they'd gotten the money for the drugs; she didn't care.
It had been fun, exciting, the first night they entered the motel room. Julie had wasted no time at all in stripping and proudly displaying her fat breasts to the two males.
(In her eyes, she was still the very desirable eighteen year old Homecoming Queen of St. Thomas Aquinas, not a bloated alcoholic woman.)
George, in an effort to prove that he was not gay, immediately began to tongue her thick blonde thatch.
Julie reached out to Marco and took his small cock into her mouth.
Then she pushed Marco's head close to George's short, fat cock.
She did not orgasm; George was unskilled in eating pussy. Both Marco and George did orgasm. Julie hated the taste of semen, but swallowed Marco's thin spurts.
Then both men took turns pumping in and out of her pussy before Marco offered George his ass.
From that moment on, Julie was almost an afterthought, getting cock only when one or the other was high enough to fuck her.
Standing in the doorway, watching the two lovers using their drug of choice, Julie briefly considered turning around and walking out. That thought was replaced with the sobering knowledge that there was nowhere for her to go.
Chapter 2
It was only by chance that Julie heard the muffled squeak of her cell phone. Opening the cheap plastic suitcase, she dug around until she found her cell phone.
Bending over hurt, walking hurt, trying to focus on the display of her cell phone hurt.
She carried the cell phone into the bathroom and squatted over the commode. Wiping herself clean, she noticed some spotting on the rough tissue and winced.
She did not remember saying it, but she supposed, in a drunken stupor, fueled by meth, she might have given voice to her thoughts. Both George and Marco claimed she declared that the two of them were faggots and that was a good thing, because with their tiny cocks, they'd never be able to satisfy a woman.
