Becoming the Storm
29 Closed
I DIDN’T GO TO CLASS on Friday and canceled taping on Saturday. We’d have to tape two each week until the end of the season to get everything finished, but I couldn’t get the latex gloves on my swollen hands. We’d still finish by April first and they’d have plenty of post-production time for editing before the term ended.
After my purging, I had a profound sense of peace come over me. Perhaps I had laid Denise to rest at last. I studied in front of the fireplace. Friday morning, Elaine had licked me to an erection and planted herself on my cock. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t slide up and down. She got me into her and held me tightly, pulsing with her interior muscles until we both came almost silently. Then, just as silently, she left. Dani knelt before me and cleaned Elaine’s juices off my cock with her mouth. When she was finished and I was half erect again, she curled up in my lap and we went to sleep.
Saturday, my blonde anarchist arrived for her mid-winter break. She’d flown in only for the party last weekend and was gone again the next day. I was glad she could afford to fly back and forth so frequently. She was in my bed that night. She sighed as I fumbled around. My fingers weren’t much good for foreplay.
“It’s been getting crowded lately,” she said as she finally pushed my face against her breast and got my tongue busy. “It used to be I was the only crazy one. I miss those days, you know? Then there was Hannah and Robyn and Jessica and maybe Dani—I still haven’t figured her out—and now you. I feel downright sane.” She giggled and I bounced happily against her nipple. I traced her rose with my tongue. “In a way, it’s kind of a relief. I look at people who are all happy all the time and think, ‘What is wrong with them?’ It’s like they don’t have a clue about the world they live in. Everybody looks up to Brian Frost thinking he’s the epitome of the guy who has it made. Successful TV show. Sex on demand. BS in three years. Establishing a village. What a guy! Then you go ten rounds with a wooden post.” Nikki laughed so hard I had to let her tit go and look up at her.
“It’s that funny?”
“Think about it.” I did. Probably for the first time since Thursday, I started laughing. “You didn’t, like, attack it with your prick, did you? Because I could really use it in me about now.” She had to put the condom on me because my bandaged hands couldn’t manage it. Then she rolled me onto my back and mounted me, not giving me a chance to try to support my weight on my hands and feet.
If you’ve never had sex while laughing, you’ve got to try it. Every time I started to seriously start focusing on the way my cock was moving in her pussy, she’d say something else and we’d start laughing. She reared back and did her best horseback riding imitation as she sang out, “I am I, Don Quixote, the Lord of La Mancha. My destiny calls and I go!” Nikki isn’t that good a singer. Certainly not like Elaine. But her portrayal of Don Quixote, the madman tilting at windmills, was adequate for us to have a shaking, laughing orgasm.
ELAINE: What is sane? Sane is getting up every morning at six o’clock, getting breakfast ready, getting the man off to work, getting the kids off to school, getting dressed (or not), doing housework or going to the job, working for five dollars an hour, paying bills, making dinner, arguing with the children about their homework, arguing with the husband about the leaky roof, cleaning up, watching TV, and going to bed wondering why you aren’t happy. Then getting up the next morning and doing it all again.
NO! WAIT! Albert Einstein said “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.” So if I repeatedly do the same sane thing over and over again and expect that one day it will make me happy, I’m not sane. I’m insane.
Except I can’t be going crazy if I think I’m going crazy. Right? This is going to drive me crazy!
“Yeah, but we’ve got to link it together with other material,” Nikki said. “Remember, we’ve got to get a full half hour out of this, with no commercial break. What we’ve got so far isn’t even enough for a monologue.”
“I think you should retarget the audience,” Hannah said. “Housewives, or any women who are married and have kids, aren’t really your audience. It’s going to be delivered on campus a week before graduation. Bring the audience level down.”
“How about if we talk about going out every Friday night and going through the same battle with the octopus, but going out with him the next week and expecting it will be better?” Elaine asked.
“Only if you can switch it around so that it’s the guy going out and expecting that this week she’s going to give in,” I suggested. “It’s a two-way street. He acts exactly the same way, treats her the same, makes the same moves, and expects that this week it will be different and she’ll let him cop a feel.”
“But that’s all about wearing down her resistance,” Samantha said. “Finally, she just quits fighting. I’m so glad we didn’t have to go through that in our group.”
We were sitting around Monday night with everyone helping contribute to Elaine’s Comedy Channel special in May. Of course, she and Nikki were the ones who had to refine the script, but it was fun for everyone to work on it.
I stood inside the open door of the silo. There was a scattered dusting of snow on the ground and it was getting steadily colder. There were a few scattered sunbreaks as the clouds scooted across the sky and each one was like a flashbulb going off in the normally dark silo. The bare cement floor. The gloves I never put on a week ago. The bracing of my post. Finally, the split railroad tie. It wasn’t in two pieces lying on opposite sides of the room. That would be dramatic. It was more like a green twig that had been broken. It was bent at the point of impact and the back of the tie was separated in splinters. But the parts were still together, still held up by the braces.
My head was clear. In fact, I felt at peace again. I looked for my rage and found it missing. I clasped my hands and bowed to the post. Then I backed out of the door. I fished my keys out of my pocket and separated the one for the padlock. I tossed it over to the post before I closed the door and snapped the lock back into place. The temple of rage was closed.
Sunday, we celebrated Doreen’s twenty-fifth birthday. I bounced our son on my knee and tickled his tummy. He stuffed cake into his mouth with both hands and then wanted a kiss. Before he was ready for bed, all six of us had cake on our faces. Six? Hannah was with us, too. She was taking Matthew to the big house for the night so the adults could play undisturbed.
There was a lot of kissing and touching and eventually getting naked as we each tried to make Doreen’s quarter century birthday memorable. At one point, Sandy and I had both dived between Dor’s legs to lick her. Neither of us would give way, so our tongues met and meshed as we tickled our lover’s clit and lapped her juices. As we rose from Doreen’s climax, our tongues continued to touch as we kissed. I don’t know what it was about Sandy’s kisses, but they were easy to get lost in. While Doug and Rhiannon made love beside us, Sandy wrapped my cock in latex and guided me to Doreen’s hot, wet opening. Then she continued to caress my butt and balls as I made love to the mother of my child.
“June,” Doreen whispered as she thrust up to meet me.
“What’s in June?” I asked.
“June is when we start making a sister for Matthew.” I looked into Doreen’s eyes and saw the love and determination there.
“Why June?”
“Because I don’t want to be quite so pregnant in the summer. We’ll have a spring baby. March or April. We’ll have Christmas pictures with my tummy wrapped in a bow. And we’ll have a little girl.” She giggled and Sandy started pressing her finger against my asshole making me clench and throb in Doreen’s pussy. “Am I being too controlling by making all these decisions already?”
“I’m glad you are in control,” I gasped as Sandy’s finger pressed through my sphincter. “I’m totally out of control.” It took about three more thrusts before I was firing everything I had into the condom.
Another baby? Oh, hell yes. Why not?
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