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I was in the doghouse for something she thought that I'd said, but hadn't. It's hard for me to remember all the details, but to be honest, the drive there was cake. It was the drive back that changed our lives forever.
Let me start off by assuring you that, before five months ago, I had never been too much of a sexual guy. Seriously! Within reason, I mean. I gain absolutely nothing by lying to you.
I'll be honest. If I saw a big butt in tight denim ahead of me in the supermarket checkout, I'd most certainly have looked. I'm a heterosexual male. Biology has the final say. Big butts simply have that direct hook line to my libido.
But I wouldn't be one of those dudes who stopped at nothing to make his presence known, or if that somehow didn't work (it almost always does these days, like a charm) jerk off heatedly, immediately afterward, to coat my dashboard with jizz. Don't get me wrong, here. I'm a man.
Wide-set hips and thick, wobbly tits would certainly have caught my eyes or make me turn my head, especially if a woman was equipped with both. But I never used to have this foul, disgusting animal need like I do now, to use my equipment with hers, and to not even be slightly distracted until I can manage to choke out a load of cum.
I have no one to blame but Jeanie and Jackie. God, if my wife heard me admit that, she'd chop my dick off (although, maybe that's not true -- she certainly has had a lot of fun with it as of late). She's been suspecting me of porking her daughters on the side for the past month or so.
Dottie only thinks there must be something going on with how often I go to the movies with them. She'll eventually find out all that's happening. In fact, I give her two weeks.
We really do go to the movies, though, but really, they only blow me. And I always make them take turns! Besides, I think I caught my wife making out with Jackie. Yes, her own daughter. So it's whatever.
Aw, man, now I'm getting hard and ahead of myself. It all began without incident, just some mild annoyance. Again, just to get back in Dottie's good graces. I was to pick them up at ten in the morning, after their flight landed, and bring them back. It seemed simple enough. I was incredibly naive about it.
"Make sure you guys don't stop over in Cherub Cove for anything," Dottie warned me, believing (stupidly, I thought) that prolonged contact with just the air there could brainwash and tranform people. Let's just say I was very skeptical. She'd heard it on the news, she said.
Maybe I should have called her, or at least texted her to let her know that her daughters just wouldn't stop talking up that place. Though I knew this was rather strange, I didn't. Maybe you think that makes me a pussy. Maybe I just felt like not rocking the boat and worrying her.
Whichever the case, the situation sure wasn't made a hell of a lot better by the kind of swill pulsing from the airwaves and into my Civic. After about forty or fifty miles into the trip, the only stations we could pick up were playing, for lack of a better description... hill-hop.
That's not to say it was country-rap. This wasn't Kid Rock. It was messy, strewn with odd, screechy strings and off-beat jug blows. It was charged with some undeniably sexual energy. I have to admit, I was impressed with it, despite myself, but that doesn't mean I enjoyed it. I just couldn't take my mind off it at all.
Literally. "I ain't a slut, I just suck a lot," was the bubbly refrain in the chorus. At first, I thought my ears were playing tricks on me. Once I heard some bimbette drawl the verse, though, they perked up:
"Life sucks and boy, so don't I / so bust a nut in my black eye." I checked the mirror to see if the girls were as bored as they'd usually be at such insipid garbage. To my horror, Jeanie was playing air fiddle and Jackie was bobbing her head, long with the low end of the tune. I switched over to another station in disgust.
I started yelling. "I don't care if you girls think this... music is funny, or ironic, or whatever, but it's hurting my goddamn brain!" It was unusual for me to do, but it felt good to be a stepdad for a change.
The car was starting to reek of some sort of too-sweet candy. It made my eyes burn, the lids starting to droop if just to protectively cover the irritation. Jackie popped a stick of gum into her mouth and flipped open a sparkly pink phone.
I had never seen the device before. It looked almost like a toy version of a first generation cell phone. She was typing a message on the clunky thing, and, not so much as picking her head up or breaking her concentration onscreen, said, "Jeff's got a stick up his ass", to her sister, who was now pulling a second bangle bracelet on past her wrist.
The whole atmosphere was lots chummier and more playful than I remembered it ever being with them, a feeling that was cemented by Jeanie edging closer to the back of my seat and flicking my ear. "I refuse to believe you two listen to that trash," I said. "Even the goth phase you guys went through was more tolerable than that." Impressions of black nail polish and caked-on white foundation fluttered through my head. It didn't concern me that I remembered these things with new and extreme disgust.
"Awww, what's wrong with it, huh?" Jackie smacked. She leaned in closer in the passenger seat, like she was trying to get me to look back at her. I did. Her mouth looked a little bit bigger -- she smiled with... more teeth, or... something. I thought it had to have been a trick of the light, though, or that maybe it was because I just rarely ever saw her smile.
"Too hawt fer ya?" she nudged, popping a bubble and holding her hand out, idly gazing at her polished nails. I decided I approved of their garish and glittery neon hue, without even considering how strange thinking anything about my wife's daughters was, well, hot.
"Yeah, yeah, too hot for me, yeah right," I said sarcastically, rolling my window down hurriedly, nervy. I knew I needed to change the subject. In reality, I had no business reprimanding these girls for anything. For one, they weren't my kids, and also, they'd just graduated from high school. Young women try out new things. That wasn't a new concept.
"So, when did you start wearing pink nail polish?" The embarrassing fact that I hadn't changed the subject at all, even drove it deeper into inappropriate territory, was smothered by her warming response. In the mid-day glare, I could see Jackie blush. I pretended to divert my attention to another mile of straight, empty road.
I felt like asking her if she was wearing rouge, if she did anything with her hair. What that flirty imitation beauty mark was all about. I came dangerously short of telling my wife's daughter that she reminded me of Marilyn Monroe. I was easing into their infectious enthusiasm. "When did you decide you wanted to look... well - like a girl..." I trailed off. "...should..." I coughed.
Hey -- if they wanted to be so aggressively sociable, I wasn't about to start any unnecessary quarreling. I was still sort of nervous, though. Dottie's girls had never ever seemed to be too interested in girly things. Now Jeanie was applying what I now know to be barbecue -- yes, honey BBQ in fact -- flavored lip gloss.
That afternoon, though, I convinced myself that this couldn't possibly have been what I was smelling. Jeanie was a vegan, for pete's sake. She'd gone so far as to swear off even barbecued tofus or tempehs! The mere suggestion of meat in her food made her lose her appetite.
That afternoon in the back seat, she puckered her new big mouth, looking more than satisfied. That puffy pair of lips gave up after a half-second of struggling to get unstuck. It took a sigh, and a rolling of her eyes that implied a far more intensive labor, to get the candy-colored things open.
Then she slowly, slowly licked them, suggestively screaming out her pleasure with her lapping tongue. Jeanie didn't need to say, "I just love barbecue now!" for me to get the picture. Her juicy mouth was emphatically putting on a show all its own. The long, drawn-out "mmmmmmmm", ending in a blankly horned-out gurgle, was plenty indicative.
I was struck with an idea right as she winked at me. I grabbed my dick to double-check that it was still proper and limp. Jeanie and Jackie erupted in grade-school girly laughs. I willed my penis to ignore them.
"Gee, I'm hungry!" I yawned, hiding a grin. "Thinking of stopping off at the next exit for something... Say, Jeanie -- what do you want on your cheeseburger, hm?" I winked into the rearview. She winked back. She opened her mouth, letting her jaw hang. "Ummm..."
Jackie sucked her tongue, annoyed. "Like, hello! She's a vedge-uh-muh --" Jeanie slapped her manicured hand over her sister's mouth. "Extra bacon's just fine, dad! I don't give a shit about vegetables, neither." I smirked and unbuttoned my collar. She called me dad! But...
Why was I their chauffeur all of a sudden? When had Jackie joined her sister in the back seat? The more I thought about it, the more normal it seemed, so I stopped thinking and just looked at the yin-yang of yummy girl behind me.
"Doesn't even like vegetables," I muttered, playing up the "old man" element. I didn't let myself get too worked up over the depressing and sick notion that I was thinking very randy thoughts about my wife's daughter, and all because her ethics had gotten completely warped or wiped clean somewhere.
I still had a knee-jerk reaction to their BBQ indulgence. I jerked my knee up and propped it to the side of the steering wheel, vaguely recalling how much driving with it impressed one (or both) of them back when they were in junior high, back when I'd started dating Dottie.
I knew I'd have to really squeeze out some dadly disgust for it to come out at all. So it exited my mouth quick, along with unbridled amusement, as Jeanie hid the bottle of lip gloss, generously sized and made to look like a little condiment bottle, between her broad thighs, clasping them shut.
Jackie, almost done with a family size bag of corn chips, wanted to use the beauty product as a dipping sauce. She whined as her sister played keep-away, and I knew I had to say something, or else she'd end up eating Jeanie out.
Did I know that might happen with good reason, or was my imagination running away with me? I can't say. I knew I had to say something, or else I'd let them know how much I actually loved this idea of sibling cunnilingus, for their benefit and mine.
I smacked my forehead, worried. The final straw, my "in", was when one of Jackie's shiny gold hoop earrings got caught in some new and gaudy navel piercing Jeanie got. After only three or so seconds of attempting to wriggle out, Jackie sighed and gave up, cooing on her sister's tummy as she rested her lazy face right on it.
I listened to her start to snore in total disbelief. "What's happened to you girls!?!" I blurted, sharp and deep and angry, surprising even myself. I knew the question was a rhetorical one. I knew I'd be in big, big trouble with the wife.
The girls sat bolt upright and looked shocked, eyes wet and glazing over to match the wet glaze of their lazy open mouths. Twin drippy faces for twin dippy ditzes. The uninvited phrase "daddy's girls" floated into my brain. It wouldn't leave until I mouthed the words, away from them.
It took a lot of willpower to stay on topic, however irrelevantly. "I mean, Jeanie, when did you start eating meat?!" Jackie broke up the heavy mood by crunching her last handful of chips and belching big, her tarted-up face appearing to relax afterward, into an expression she deemed just stupid enough.
"Since she fuckin' felt like it," she giggled, bouncing up and down in the back seat, retrieving a joint from her handbag and lighting it up unselfconsciously. I lost my virile grip of the situation, and I didn't stop her. Some father figure. The closest I came was thinking, Those kids!
I'll come clean. If I had truly felt like being the upstanding sorta-dad, I would have commanded her to put it out. But I swear, we never had a relationship like that! I would pick these girls up from school, drive them to comic book shops, and say "hi." They had shared more words with me in one trip than they had in the previous year.
Meh, I'm making too many excuses right now, I know. I took a healthier-than-healthy hit when offered because I wanted to, playing it cool, barely acknowledging it. "It's been a while," I said, in my best older-guy voice, and tried not to cough.
And there I was: rolling down the interstate with two perky twins, stoned and terrorized on their beauty. It was stabbing me in my guts and in my heart. "What do you have against Cherub Cove?" Jackie asked, referring to me laying out her mother's ground rules early on in the trip.
She was batting her eyelashes at me like some conformity-slathered mallrat. I just choked on weed and words I might have wanted to say. I flicked the radio back on as a concession. I didn't want to get into it. And I didn't want to so much as entertain the possiblity that my stepdaughters were already beginning to be indoctrinated into that sick cult.
I was beginning to feel pretty helpless, and getting much too stoned was feeling inevitable, but part of me felt like I would be in even deeper shit with my wife no matter what. Even though I planned on whizzing right past Cherub Cove on the way back home, her children already showed signs of the... reprogramming, or whatever... family way flu, or whatever, was.
I looked behind to Jackie and inspected her hips for the first time, but was extra-embarrassed and didn't linger long at all. I took a fourth or fifth hit and tossed the joint out my window, cursing the familiar, blood-pumping insistence now taking over my crotch.
I was determined to stop the girls from doing drugs. I only made sure we were all good and high, first, that's all. I tried to will myself not to get a boner. It didn't take long at all for me to give in and luxuriate in the feeling.
I was somehow able to remind myself that, though these weren't my kids, I was still the only adult in the car. I'm gawking at an eighteen-year-old's thighs. I couldn't stop, though, not then, when she had eased them apart ever-so-slightly. Like they were winking at my sex drive.
Yup. They were thicker. Definitely thicker. Much thicker. The demonic brain at the base of my balls was pleading with me to flirt more openly, to let them know with no mistake that I more than noticed how womanly they both looked.
Jackie again asked what my beef with Cherub Cove was. She closed her legs. It looked like it took some amount of effort. It wouldn't be fair if I didn't play her game by the rules. My brain begged me to stop this all before it could really start. My hardon told me to play strip poker with my voice.
"The women there are all fat," I deadpanned, adding a bunch of gravel, and grabbed the cigarette she was smoking right out of her hand. They "pshawed" me. Then I took a couple drags and threw that out the window too. Rolling it and the others up, I turned on the air conditioner.
It was safe to say the warm breeze was getting to my head. I was going to be in the deepest doo-doo with my wife. It seemed now like the only likelihood. Little hints were being ignored just as much as bigger, practically screaming indicators were.
There wasn't a millimeter's room for any doubt as to just what was happening with the girls. I think I probably realized this when Jeanie took her shirt off. Just took it right off. My mouth popped open to chide her, but I shut it right back up when she glared at me with a snotty "What!" look.
You know, it's kind of funny. It didn't even cross my mind then that, as an act, it was totally, without any exception, very out of line. I was much more concerned with the size of her breasts! Though this preoccupation merely registered in telling my jaw to drop, smile, and ruminate on the then-beautiful, seemingly poignant word: biiiig.
Not huge by any means, just... nice. Very full and hot and nice. Oh, how I wish I could shake this initial image from my brain. No matter how big they get -- and apparently they're not even close to being... done -- that image of her in the back seat, craning her neck proudly, fiddling around with another crinkly bag to grab a massive donut to munch on, is seared hot into my memory.
I wasn't always this perverted, I swear. It was just such a shocker to see the girl's open-aired girls rippling and bouncing like they were, because, I'm telling you, Jeanie never had any use for a training bra beforehand. I'd sometimes have to help Dottie console her after school when she'd come home in tears because someone talked shit about her bee-stings.
I cursed my dumb luck. I felt guilty and ashamed. Those tits brought me back down to reality. Not too long before, I felt like a model husband. But in the end, I was the one who okayed their idea to take a trip to St. Brittany's Megamilky Music Party Fun Times.
I guess I thought that it would be harmless, I don't know. I regret it, even if I'm getting like five blowjobs a day. The girls hadwanted to go to make fun of the whole event and get some choice footage for YouTube. I never thought for a second that any of that stuff was real, that the rumors held any itty bitty tinge of truth.
Naturally, I was wrong, but before this could even prove itself to be the case, I'd gotten into a huge fight with Dottie about allowing them to go in the first place. I was sure that a million more arguments were headed straight for me like a bullet train. The two giggly girls bouncing around in my back seat dulled and smoothed out my worries, but didn't completely erase them.
I could only imagine what my wife was going to say. "That's all, Jeff?! Really. I'm supposed to be happy with this 'explanation'? That my daughters magically grew big boobs for no reason and that you had simply had no choice but to let them fuck you with them?!"
Even the tamer versions of us fighting that I imagined were pitiful losses on my part. Okay, okay. I think I get it, maybe. So they weren't masturbating until you came inside both of their cleavages?
I bitch-slapped one of my cheeks. I'm not positive what was going on in my brain, I suppose I just assumed that a titfuck was inevitable, for whatever reason, and was already worming around some ideas that would make it all seem so plausible... you know... to their concerned mother.
Jeanie reached up from behind me and cranked the volume on the car stereo way, way up. "Oh. My. Uh-Gawwwd!" She literally squealed, like an ecstatic frollicking pig. "It's Shayla's new single!" Her soft arms took their time to fall back down to her squirming lap. Suddenly, I was getting a massage from her.
As the backbeat surged up my spine and rattled the whole damn car, my body stiffened. I smelled a faint but undeniable aroma of cow shit, wafting and pushing its way through the plastic princess BBQ candy perfume that my car was marinating in.
I felt a disconcerting lump bubble up, down at the bottom of my throat. I'd been sweating for a while, but it was then that I started to feel every bead. Blanching, I ripped my stepdaughter's hand off of my shoulder. "Just what in the fuck are you doing?" I demanded, confused upon confused. Jeanie and Jackie just laughed at me and turned the radio down a notch.
"Jeanie was wonderin' when you was gonna snap out of it," Jackie giggled. "Thought we done lost ya to da open road for a hawt li'l second right thurr." I looked at her, my jaw ajar, no doubt looking as idiotic as she'd looked earlier. "You was just starin' on into th' spacey-place for the past forty-odd minutes."
I noticed that not only was she shirtless now, but she wasn't even wearing a bra, either. Or jeans. Or any sort of conceit at underwear. I noticed this, of course, before I noticed the car was sputtering to a stop. I stared long and hard ahead, taking dejected note of the gravel road.
"You... fucking..." I couldn't think in anything but a revved-up circle. "You... girls, be... good girls and take your goddamn clothes off -- I mean, put your goddamn clothes on. Right fuckin' now!" I could hear the sound of a bra unhooking in the back seat, a resulting high-pitched sigh.
Jackie had the gall to reach into her purse and gra a tube of baby oil, dousing her tits in the stuff right there next to me. "Or what!" she shouted. "What're yew gon' do about it, huh, daddy?" She pouted to emphasize this last zinger.
When she slushed boobs-first down to the floor of the car to put the baby oil back in her handbag, I could see through her foggy window to the sign I half-knew was there already: WELCOME TO CHERUB COVE, Y'ALL!
"I'll call your mother!" I shouted, my anger getting crazier by the second, flexing chest and neck muscles I never knew I had, drumming the steering wheel savagely with an open fist. I knew I had to take control, had to be a man.
"Oh yeah?" cooed Jackie, circling a substantial areola with her middle finger. She'd come back up to the passenger side, as if magically, most likely when he was trancing out. "I don't know if'n that's wiiiise, big daddy. Omigod, like -- whatchoo gon' say, anyhow?"
She looked back at Jeanie and they both snickered, four nude titties jiggling their own delight in tow. Despite my chaste-ish intentions, I was getting a mean hardon again. I hoped that, by some miracle, neither would notice. I recognized, dimly, that I was living out a douchebag dad's craziest fantasy. God damn it, I didn't want to be a douchebag dad! I still don't...
My bimboized stepdaughters were humiliating me. "Well, honey," Jackie said, utilizing her best gruff dad voice, "your daughters are in their underwear and I think they're trying to --" I opened my mouth to remind her that she didn't have underwear on when her phone rang.
The ringtone was, I shit you not, the sound of a woman climaxing. "Oh hi, mom!" The girls laughed together for the millionth time. I was about to scream bloody murder when I felt Jeanie reach forward yet again, this time to gag me. I moaned and groaned, seething, until Jackie started rubbing her sister's freshly-shucked panties onto my nose, even as she was benignly chatting with her mother.
They smelled, well, fucking incredible. An elemental, prehistoric feeling floated along with the scent. It told me that these two high-school graduates could teach me more about sex than any woman I'd ever been with, least of all their mother. It was hard to mistake pungent undertones of ripe fertility.
"Oh-psshhh -- naw, mom," Jackie continued, as calm and believable as she used to be, once upon a faraway-seeming time. She shoved some of the balled-up undies further down my throat, while lifting the opposite end closer to my nostrils, waving it around like a flag. "We're just gettin' some dinner."
I didn't dare look, exhausted from caring, but I could feel two or three hands stroking my cock. It seemed to be getting bigger as it was getting harder. I didn't look down, I did not want to believe it. Jackie rolled her window down. Now all I could smell were cows and fake raspberries.
"No, mom," she said. "First of all he's not my dad," she winked over pitch-perfect feigned sarcasm. "Your second husband's in the bathroom." Then she began to work my shaft with her own tiny bunched-up panties. I would have laughed if given the opportunity.
"Not sure. I think I'm probably gonna get cream of mushroom," she said, squirting some baby oil onto my bone. I bit my lip then let it gush and flow right onto her left eyebrow. "Okay, mom." She giggled. "Okay. Love you too."
I heard a stroller roll by as my gag lifted. "Nuh-uh, we're not lost! We'll be home so soon." Jackie looked at her cum-caked wrist, then up at me with playfully mock "disbelief". Then she licked it off and straightened up. "I can't wait to see you either," she said sweetly, but looked at me, giving an air blowjob with her hand.
Flipping her huge, ridiculous phone shut and wiping some stray semen off of it, she stepped out of the car. She lit a cigarette and stretched, naked as the day God made her, or, to be more apt, as the day "God" remade her.
She ducked down outside my door, boobies falling down and in the open window, and peered in. "Don't you go on a-worryin'," she heaved, and smooched me sloppily on the cheek. "Y'know I, like, love you too an' shit, daddy-waddy."
Minutes later, they were nice enough to give me a straight answer to precisely how they'd heard of the church of Saint Brittany. "The internet?" I asked dismissively. I cleaned my sticky dick off with Jackie's doused undies. She didn't seem too eager to put them back on anytime soon, anyway.
"That's such a cliche. I thought you girls were above being so typical." They had to be bullshitting. Media domination was in full force. There was even a reality show on basic cable devoted to the church and its way of life: Ho-down Hunnerds.
The object of the reality TV game was simple enough. For every five minutes Cherub Cove man and his woman spent in a soundproofed room without so much as touching each other, they won a hundred dollars. Needless to say, there wasn't, after half a year of Nielsen-clobbering glory, one single couple on the show that won a grand, and barely any that broke 500 bucks.
Why do I know this? "I couldn't care less why you guys became... St. Brit...tani..ennes?" "Brittany-bitches, actually," Jeanie piped up, "but we done purr-fer t'be called cherubs, under the wiggly will of our hunky Lord-man Jesus His Christ-itude." Jackie went, "mmm-hmm, dass right!" and high-fived her sister.
"Whatever!" I roared over a stiffening headache. "I honestly don't give a shit," I lied, "so you don't have to make up some bullshit story about how you knew about it when it was still 'undergound, man.'" Post-orgasm, I had never felt more stoned or more beautifully at ease in all my years, but I was afraid to show it.
Jeanie fought with all her mushed-around might to yank a tube top over her nuzzable, super-womanly titties. "Awww, but we didn't make up no story, big daddy," she whined, spritzing herself with something. It smelled like baked bubblegum and cocoa butter and cum. Like she was spurting out a replenishing dollop of her new essence.
"And we wuddn't on no ding-dong ground floor-type stuff, neither," she drawled in a farmgirl accent that sounded less and less put-on with each word, rolling up her window. "Jackie an' I, us big bitches we is, put together they big ol' webby-site thang after they, like, inter-duced they own shampoo an' shit an' started makin' the mission a little sump'n'. Y'see?"
She brought out her phone and showed me a picture of her in bed with R&B/country singer Shayla Mendoza, a glamour photo shot with all manner of pink bubbles floating around. "This is just a vanity shot, daddy." I have to admit, being called that made my dick rock hard again.
I tried my bst to pull my pants up before either of them noticed. "It's not like I know her know her. I mean, I do kinda sorta know her. Like, she was always real sweet to me and Jackie, at least. She's so kooky and fun in the shower."
"Kooky in the..." I rubbed my head. It felt like grape cotton candy lying out in the country sun. "Wait, so you're telling me you two just got hired into the project sight-unseen? How much money did you make, if you don't mind me asking?" Jeanie took a copy of Fortune out of her handbag and flipped to an earmarked page. For a second, I actually thought she and Jackie might have had a write-up in it. She pulled a polaroid out from some stuck-together pages.
There my stepdaughters were in a faded vision, far from professional-looking. If I hadn't been so invested in the crazy crap unfolding before me, I might have noticed that we were still in the car together. The air was getting stuffier, and there felt like no good reason why we were in there. One of them must have turned the heat on while I was preoccupied with the unnecessary amount of cum cleanup.
Cursing my horrible luck, I took a big strong sniff of the air and felt it slush into my system. Feeling a bit better, I was compelled to recline my seat, letting both girls hover over me and pet my hair at their leisure. It definitely helped me mellow out. That was probably why I didn't react as strongly as I should have when they showed me the photograph.
"Wait, so you two are responsible for the entry page with the legit hypnosis app, then?" They ignored me. "You see that?" Jeanie asked, holding it up closer to mezmerised face, like she was truly concerned for my eyesight. How could I miss it! It was my wife's daughter's shiny and sweaty, heavily made-up faces, each pair of lips happy entertained with its own testicle. Belonging to an inhuman, livestock-y cock.
"That's Monsignor O'Riordan, daddy-waddy," she said, unclasping her fingers from my fist one by one, eventually glomming onto my hand and squeezing it excitedly. "Mom just didn't want to believe that we could make something of ourselves, by ourselves," she said, in a pretend but believable gosh-golly voice.
"Yeah," chimed Jackie, "she has, like no idea we makin' hunnerds of dollars just for stickin' dildos in ourselves on cam!" I was aghast. Hadn't they just told me they were instrumental in the indoctrination of a good goddamned number of girls by willfully designing that page?
Now they were talking about making money just from posing on it? I just had to bite my tongue. I had learned to be lenient with my critcisms and my doubts as to how much truth they were allowing me. All I had to do was stay calm and take a deep breath. Jackie asked if Jeanie knew where a picture was.
"You knooowww," she teased, "the one where we's was all dolled up in gingham wit da empire waiss-es..." She trailed off and put a pen in her o-shaped, jam-colored lips. "We weren't with no underoos on then!" I couldn't seem to find an answer as to what exactly that had to do with web design. Every new bit of evidence since their likely tall tale pointed to their jobs being hardcore-leaning glamour models.
"Nahh, it's somewheres on my phone an I don't feel like wastin' no time lookin' fer it," said Jeanie. "Wait, is you talkin' 'bout that time we played Cowgirl Corral or some such video game thingie, when Duke snuck into our office with that cock-shaped --" I couldn't take much of it anymore. I started giggling and swatting one of the girls' boobs.
Trust me, I don't even give a shit which one it belonged to, and what's more is that they wouldn't either. Jeanie gets all sorts of heated when I have my dick down her throat and I mistakenly call her Jackie, and vice versa.
"I'm sick of that big-ass ugly piece of shit phone." I shot up, grabbed it from Jeanie, and scrolled through her stored numbers. The screen was huge but only accounted for a baker's dozen LCD letters. It took an eternity to pass through our numbers. I laughed at the thing. It looked kind of familiar.
"This is fucking retarded. Two of these numbers are for pop star hotlines, one is for something called... 420 Chicken Pot Pizza, and then you have Jackie's number. I gulped and saw the last one toggle onscreen. "What's... what's 'Dad-Homestead?'" I began to panic, feeling a rough burst of strength course through me as Jackie ran Jeanie's ill-fitting tube top over the driver's side window to defog it.
This had to be my "new house." I could see some shadows on the passenger side, forms hoving closer, that fucking familiar chatter. I put my window down to get a better look. Sticky, humid air flooded in. I noticed the somehow erotic tang of manure and hay before I noticed the cameras pointed my way.
I'd heard about this show. I knew what to do. "Oh, heck!" I fake-lamented directly into one of the handhelds. "I guess I's on 'Stupid Cupids!'" My stepdaughters just laughed along with the crew.
For the rest of the season, the filming of which was spread out over one week, I pretended like I wasn't enjoying any of it. We'd swoop down to Cherub Cove every weekday while my wife was working. They told me midway through the shoot that I was already being edited to look like a strict father, so I played up that angle, because I thought we were getting paid. Lifetime supplies of beauty products and St. Brittany's health shakes don't cut it. Neither do the complimentary Barbecue Bibles.
If I had any idea that this was what our salaries would consist of, I wouldn't have swatted their asses so many times on camera because it "looked paternal." Well, I'm not sure, actually. I'm not one to argue with a producer, though. I smacked their big behinds so much each day that it became a habit. Even when the cameras weren't rolling, I swatted their butts for foreplay. It's become a sort of running joke now.
My wife has no clue about any of it, but the series premieres two Tuesdays from now. Jeanie and Jackie and I want to go somewhere private where we can fuck and watch it, and we know that Dottie never watches TV, but I'm sure someone she knows will rat us out. I'm just hoping that she won't go completely ballistic, and that maybe, just maybe, she can be persuaded into joining the cast for next season.
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