The funeral sucked.
"But then, they usually do," Sarah muttered as she wiped the streaming tears from her misty deep-blue eyes.
Uncle Jim's wife, Caroline, had been loved by all, which made the grief almost unbearable. Lou Gehrig's disease had turned a vibrant, beautiful, intelligent, loving woman into a vegetable and then a corpse.
As Sarah's family drove home, her mother couldn't stop weeping.
"Caroline is in a better place now," Sarah's father consoled. "She's up in heaven with the angels."
"Daddy?"
"Yes, Sarah?"
"What do they do up in heaven?"
"Well, there's no sex in heaven. So I guess they play cards or SCRABBLE or something."
"Daddy, the Bible says there is no marriage in heaven, not no sex. Reverend Jackson told me that's to make up for all the...uh...confusion about fornication down here on earth There's lots of blessed sex up in heaven. There's even sex down in hell. But it's damned in Satan's nether world, and they get STD's, according to Reverend Jackson. And all the fallen angels who had sex with human women have genital herpes."
"Honey, I don't like that church you've been attending. They're more liberal than the UU's."
"Ewe Ewes? I never heard of that church, Daddy. Is it in West Virginia? I heard a lot of funny stuff goes on there. You know, like incest and...bestiality—shagging sheep."
"Honey, I'm talking about the Unitarian Universalists. What I don't like about Reverend Jackson is that I heard he accepts gays into his church, and preaches that masturbation is not a sin."
"Oh shit," Sarah whispered to herself, "I hope he didn't see my new vibrator on the night stand when he came in to wake me up this morning."
"Sarah?"
"Yes, Mom?"
"Your father and I have been talking. We think you should spend the summer with Uncle Jim. He needs someone to...uh...help out. Cook, clean, that sort of thing. I mean, Jim has that big dog farm to run. He would never ask, but I think that's the least we can do, don't you? And your cousin Tim needs the loving care of a woman."
Sarah looked like she might regurgitate.
"Timmy is such a nerd!" Sarah blurted. "I don't really want to be his mother, ya know? Can't you hire someone? Don't they have surrogate mothers or some such thing?"
Sarah reminisced about a funny story her late Aunt Caroline told about Timmy and how she breast fed him until he was seven. He would pester her at the most inopportune times in stores and everywhere else with, "I want the breasty!" The way he stared at Sarah's bosom at the funeral, she thought he still had "Got milk?" on his mind. I should have worn a bra, she surmised.
"But you're his flesh and blood, Sarah," her mother admonished.
"So are you, Mom. Jim is your brother. And Tim is your nephew. Why don't you do them...uh...I mean...be their maid or cook or whatever."
"Because I have to work. You have nothing planned for the summer but sleeping until noon, beach bumming and partying."
"Yeah, so? I need a break. Last semester was tough. But I made the Dean's List didn't I? High honors, too."
"Yes, that you did, Sarah," her father agreed, "We're very proud of you."
"Okay then, it's settled, I'm not going to spend the summer with Uncle Jim and Cousin Tim!"
"Sarah, you keep insisting you need a new car," her father bribed.
"Yeah, well, I told you Daddy, I need a sports car. I mean, do I look like Ford Focus material?"
"What rhymes with Porsche?" he asked, a twinkle in his eye.
"Uh...of course?"
"So you'll do it?"
"For a Porsche—of course—a Boxster. Basalt black metallic exterior. Graphite grey/ black interior."
"I'll buy you new floor mats for your Focus."
"Well, I guess I won't be spending any part of this summer with Uncle Jim and Cousin Tim helping them forget the loss of a wife and mother."
"I expect to hear reports that you are getting along famously with your uncle and cousin," her father cautioned.
"Make that a Boxster S, Daddy."
"Don't press your potential good fortune, young lady."
"But Daddy, the S has a 3.2 liter engine that delivers noticeably more thrust than what's on tap from the 2.7 liter. The S has firmer suspension tuning. But what I like most are the bright red calipers, easily seen through the elegant spokes of its specially designed wheels. Gotta have 'em!"
"I've made my final offer," he father muttered with a frown. "You go down on the farm and then you get a Boxster, but no S, not for $9,000 more, just for some bright red calipers and a bigger engine."
"No, Daddy, when I have the car, I'll go down on the farm and spend quality time down with Uncle Jim and Cousin Tim. And since I lost my license for those speeding tickets, I want Roxanne to go with me. She can drive the car. Besides, she's a much better cook than I am. Uncle Jim will be real happy to have her. You know, I still can't believe that cop busted me all those times. He's gay, you know. Only way a cop would give me a ticket."
"Honey, I don't know about Roxanne," her father objected. "She's so wild and crazy."
"Daddy, you are such a prude! Roxanne was just being funny when you dressed up as Santa for Christmas and she sat on your lap."
"I didn't think that was funny, Sarah," her mother growled. "Your father ejaculated in those red wool Santa pants he borrowed from his boss. I couldn't wash them. They had to go to the dry cleaners."
"I couldn't help it," Sarah's father said to her mother, "the way Roxanne squirmed and wiggled on me..."
"Yeah Daddy, talk about a lap dance!"
***
"This sucker really rips," Roxie complimented, as she took the sharp curves at about eighty on the way to the farm.
"Yeah, but I really wish I could drive my own new car," Sarah complained miserably.
"Hey, you should have told that gay cop you'd put on a baseball hat and a fake beard and moustache and give him a blow job."
Roxie's silky, long black hair blew wickedly in the wind. Sarah had put her red tresses up in pigtails.
"You know, Roxie, I'm more than a little apprehensive about riding in this convertible naked. Did you notice how people in other cars and pedestrians have been staring at us?"
"I'd be more worried about sunburn, girlfriend. You got some kind of white skin, paleface. Better put some more sun screen on."
Sarah did. "Need some?" she asked Roxie.
"On my breasts, please."
Sarah did, toying with Roxie's nipples playfully.
"I think we should put our tops on," Sarah suggested.
"No way. I told you, I need to work on my tan. A real tan. You can tell the difference, you know. I just love it when some dipshit dude asks, "Are you tan from the sun?" and I answer, "No, I'm Roxanne from the earth." She giggled.
"Well, Roxie, I don't mind being naked, as you well know. But I don't really want to get arrested either. Actually, I love being naked."
"And why do you love being naked?" Roxie asked, with a twinkle in her eyes.
"Oh, I suppose...okay...I'll admit it...I like it when people...uh...admire my body."
"Admire? Remember when we went skinny dipping with our English professor and his friend? I'd call that worship. It got us A's. You got some great tits. Me, I hardly have anything up top."
"You're all nipples, Roxie," Sarah marveled as she teased them again with her fingers. "I can't believe how big the tips get. You could poke somebody's eye out."
"But my tits are so small. I need a boob job. Could you lend me the $10,000? Shit, you're loaded. You just bought this new car."
"$10,000? You've got to be kidding. No way, Roxie. You can get a good boob job for half that much. Why don't you just use the toilet paper method?"
"Hey, I need twice as much boob as your normal flat-chested woman. What's the toilet paper method?"
"Well, Roxie, every morning when you get up you just scrunch up a handful of toilet paper and rub it between your breasts, and eventually they definitely will get larger."
"You've got to be kidding, Sarah, how the hell is that supposed to work?"
"Beats me, but it sure worked on your ass!"
Sarah giggled hysterically and Roxie reached over and slapped her playfully.
"Funny, you never complained about my ass before, Sarah, especially when you did me with the strap-on and your big blue fake dick."
"You got an ass like a guy—big, fat, and hairy," Sarah joked. "Why do you love being naked, Roxie?"
"It's much easier to negotiate sex when you're naked. Ya know, girlfriend, this stick shift is making me horny as hell. Wish it was twisting in my pussy instead of my hand. Why don't you give me a buddy suck?"
"While you're driving my new car?"
"Sure, why not? I used to suck off Nick, my last boyfriend, all the time while he drove. He's swerve all over the road when he shot his load in my mouth."
"That doesn't sound very safe to me."
"Since when are you into safe sex, Sarah? You hate condoms."
"I don't like the smell of burning rubber. Unless I'm peeling out, which I have yet to do in my new Porsche. Another two months and I get my license back."
"So what about it, girlfriend, how about a buddy suck?"
"You said that. Do you promise to keep your eyes on the road and not to swerve and stuff?"
"Sure I do."
Sarah leaned over and began to tickle Roxie's ears with her lips. And then her neck. Her breasts. Her navel. Roxie wriggled and squirmed when Sarah tongued her belly button, and lower, to her neatly trimmed muff.
"Would you like me to go down on you, Roxie?" Sarah purred.
"Sure I would. But I better pull over. I don't see the slightest possibility of my being capable of keeping my left foot on the clutch, my right foot on the gas, my left hand on the steering wheel, and my right hand on the stick shift while you are tongue-fucking my pussy."
Roxie pulled off the road and spread her legs eagerly.
They never heard the police car pull up behind them. They never heard the officer approach the Porsche. In fact, he had stood there watching for ten minutes.
Finally Roxie saw him out of the corner of her eye.
"Uh...Sarah...I think we...uh...may have a..."
"Just what in the hell do you two think you are doing?" the officer, a large heavyset man in his forties asked belligerently.
"I think this is called cunnilingus," Sarah responded matter-of-factly.
"I'm going to have to arrest you two for indecent exposure and engaging in public sex."
"But officer, we're trying to get a tan!" Roxie protested.
"Oh really? Well, I can't say as I mind the view. You two are gorgeous, but you just can't go around having sex wherever you want."
"Oh really?" Roxie mimicked, winking at the officer. "You have a really big bulge in your pants. Just how big are you, anyway?"
