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Authors: Christine Zolendz,Angelisa Stone

Tags: #Contemporary

#TripleX (9 page)

BOOK: #TripleX
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“Oh, he is, hence the fact that he drives a Jaguar convertible, but that doesn’t stop him from using coupons and other crap like that to save a buck… including using my driveway as a parking lot for his business trips,” I explained truthfully.

“Damn, this is a gorgeous car,” she marveled, walking around the Jag and inspecting every inch of it.

“It really is. It kind of represents everything I want to be: new, shiny, tiny, sleek, and incredibly sexy,” I joked.

“Crap, me too. Now I have to be frigging jealous of cars, too,” Christine groaned, glaring at the car.

“With a body like that, what more could you ask for?” I said, laughing. “It’s so hot… so freaking hot.”

“Oh, speaking of hot, did I tell you that the air conditioning went out in my van?”

Christine said, frowning. “It’s going to be one hot drive to Vegas.”

Immediately her eyes lit up and sparkled with mischief.

Mine followed suit.



Twitter: Cupcakes. The answer to all life’s questions. #Gonein60seconds #AllYouCanEat



We launched into the street so fast I could swear I felt the pressure of centrifugal force slamming my eyeballs into the back of my skull. I snapped my head in Angelisa’s direction. She sat gripping the steering wheel and shrieking in holy terror. Her eyes were squeezed shut tight.

“Are you
” I yelled, clutching at my seat belt. “Open your eyes!”

There was a fleeting glimpse of the world outside the car’s tinted windows that blurred by fast. My heart hammered in my ears when she opened her eyes wide and cut across a curb to make a sharp turn onto a narrow side street. My head hit the roof. Pain screamed out from somewhere behind my eyeballs.

“We’re stealing a car!” she screamed.

We were.
We were stealing a mother-effing Jaguar!

She stomped the gas harder and flew out onto a four-lane boulevard as if NASCAR racing was her superpower. She cut off a family minivan and veered right. Tires squealed and screeched beneath us. Burning rubber and smoke trailed in our wake.

The sudden terror of a brick wall had me pulling my feet up over the dashboard, ready for impact. Sweat burst out across my face. At the last minute, she swerved to avoid the wall, throwing me up against the passenger side window, face smashed up against the glass.

“Whoops. Sorry.”

“S’ Okay,” I lied through gritted teeth.

Red lights and stop signs, just suggestions.

Yield signs, forget about them

She drove out of that neighborhood like we were on fire. We were on fire—a fire fueled by freedom and fun.

She took the onramp to the highway doing over 90 miles per hour. I was holding onto anything I could to keep my balance. The seat belt strap cut into my chest. I might even have peed just a little. “Dear Lord. Please watch over this crazy-ass driver and me,” I began. “I don’t want to die.”

She merged onto the highway, crossing all lanes at once. Cars blasted horns, and tires shrilled as drivers swerved out of her way.

“What are you doing?” I asked, bracing myself.

“Turning on the heated seats. I’ve never had a hot ass before,” she squealed.

“Trust me, you do not want to do that! You’ll end up with swamp vag—there’s nothing worse than warm, funky vag,” I explained, turning off the heat. “Plus, it’s June and 75 degrees. Why do you want heat, anyway?”

“Luxury that my old lady van doesn’t have,” she admitted.

“Let’s do this instead,” I yelled, opening the sunroof and sticking my whole torso and head out. With my hair blowing and Ang traveling at breakneck speed, I screamed, “Hey forty, suck it! Forty is the new nineteen, bitches.” Still screaming, I gagged on a mosquito, and picked two out of my teeth.

Then, Angelisa jammed on the brakes and slowed the Jag to 30 miles an hour. I lunged forward, banging my forehead on the roof. “What the Hell did you do that for?” I asked, rubbing my head and coming back into the car.

“Thought it would be funny,” she smirked, speeding up again. Skid marks and smoke trailed behind us. We were never getting to Vegas. We were going to die in a fiery crash of twisted metal and poorly packed luggage. Somebody would go through the wreckage and find my Pepto Bismol pink vibrator with clitoris stimulation and anal plug while judging my whorish, perverted ways.



“Pardon me,” the judge interrupts.
Why the hell does she have to keep interrupting my story?
“Are you telling me you committed grand theft auto? Then endangered the lives of the people in your community by disobeying traffic laws and…”

“No,” I lie, narrowing my eyes at her. “Angelisa pleasantly drove the speed limit and adhered to all traffic laws for the remainder of the drive. It was quite entertaining and enjoyably relaxing. I never once feared for my life in the least.” I cross my arms over my chest.
At this point I just want to tell my story and sit back down, let her really arrest me for something
. Just give me a pen and paper, so I could write this shit down.

“Ms. Zolendz, the district attorney is overwhelmed by the Affidavit I’m holding in my hands right now. And personally, I don’t know what to make of it either. I’m trying to give you the chance to explain yourselves…”

“She’ll get on with it, your Honor,” Angelisa says, smiling brightly.

“Please continue,” Judge DREAD orders.



Angelisa hit cruise control at THE LAWFUL SPEED LIMIT. “You want to listen to music?”

“No. I want to talk about that gorgeous, sweet man you call husband,” I pried.

“Nope. Off limits. I can’t think about him right now,” she stated, cutting me off.

“Seriously, what’s going on? There’s more to your story than you’re telling me. Did you find him banging some bedazzled thing at work?” I asked, with a bitter laugh.

“No, it’s nothing like that. We just don’t… It’s just not the same anymore,” she said just above a whisper.

“Are you telling me you’re not in love with him anymore?” I asked.

“I just don’t know if either of us are. What if we’re just together, because that’s where we’re stuck?” She turned toward me, her eyes welled with unshed tears. “Did you ever get that heart-pounding, exhilarating feeling when you were with someone?”

“Sure. I used to have that with Scott when we were younger, you know that first stage of a relationship where everything is new and exciting. Way before kids.” I said.

“Yeah. Then the person you had this great love for just turns into a regular, extremely flawed, annoying human being,” she continued.

“Yep. Same person that used to give you butterflies from a look across a room makes you sick to your stomach with their nail clippings, dirty underwear, and chainsaw snoring,” I added.

“And their jokes aren’t funny anymore. Their cologne makes you gag,” she cringed.

“The thought of having sex with them is akin to getting your teeth pulled by some guy who practices dentistry from the back of his old station wagon,” I laughed.

“All you end up doing is wondering every day what the hell happened to us? Where is the person I fell in love with? And who the Hell am I in this relationship? Where did I go?”

“That’s marriage, though, isn’t it? When you’re with someone for so long it gets easy to start taking each other for granted and lose sight of each other and staying friends. But you guys went on dates every week and…”

“See, that’s just it. We haven’t done that in months. God, Chris,” she wiped at her eyes. “I can’t even remember the last time we had sex.”

“What’s sex?” I laughed, looking out into the distance of the road we were on.

“We used to have amazing sex. Really dirty stuff. Like the erotica I write about in books. We’ve done everything I’ve written. You know, for research. But now he doesn’t ever want to. He doesn’t even look at me like he wants me anymore.”

“I want someone to look at me the same way I look at cupcakes,” I whispered.


“Mmm cupcakes,” I sang.

“I’m so hungry,” she sighed.

“Me too.”

“What’s the possibility rate of finding a cupcake restaurant in Ohio?” I asked.


“My imagination is so much better than my reality. So much better.”

After a hundred or so miles and three bags of chips each, we were still in Ohio. “How big is this state? It’s not ending. I want it to end.”

“You’re getting cranky, because you’re hungry,” she said.

“I was hungry two hours ago. Now I’m in a state of complete nutritional deprivation. Let’s stop somewhere,” I said.

I played with the extensive GPS system installed in the dash of the Jaguar, pushing buttons and giggling to myself. “Why in the world would a man need a car like this?” I waved my hands across the GPS screen. “Look at what I just did on his GPS! I found all the restaurants in the area. What are you in the mood for?”

The GPS beeped and made these cute little noises. Apparently, the brother must be some sort of technological hornball, because the entire GPS system spoke in a low seductive, female voice that chuckled and called us Jakey-Poo.
I mean who programs cars to do that stuff?

“Ohhhhh! Look! An All-You-Can-Eat buffet!” she simultaneously swerved and squealed.

“All you could eat buffet? That’s like food porn!”

Swerving across four lanes of traffic, she pulled off the highway and followed the provocative voice of the GPS toward the restaurant. “My God, your brother must be a real character, huh? This GPS. This car. I think I hate him already.”

“He’s a piece of work. That’s for sure,” she said, turning onto a narrow street and into the parking lot of the restaurant. “Oh man, I’m so hungry that they are going to need one of those hoist thingies or the
Jaws of Life
to get me to leave this place!”

We both climbed out of the car, stretching and yawning. Turning my back to her, I looked over my shoulder and asked, “Does my butt look like the shape of that seat? It feels weird.”

“No,” she chuckled, “But you do have potato chip crumbs all over it.” She started whacking at my bottom, helping me get all the crumbs off and added, “They’re kind of in the shape of a big penis, too. Looks like you’re taking it in the rear tonight, Chris,” she laughed, still wiping the chips from my astronomical ass.

Just then, two women walked past us to go into the restaurant. They both wore expressions of disgust and shock. One gasped dramatically. Angelisa and I both froze in our positions. Her hands grasped at my ass while I bent over, thrusting my giant, rectal globe in her face.

The two women stopped walking dead in their tracks and stared at us with mouths agape, wrinkled noses, and eyes the size of fish bowls.

I heard Angelisa giggle behind me, and I knew she was about to say something to cause the girls even more shock. “No, honey. I don’t think anyone could tell you’re wearing your strap-on.” Then, she smacked my ass and moaned. The two women quickly averted their gaze.

“Wait,” Angelisa said, grabbing her phone and sidling up next to me. “We need to get a selfie before we go in.”

“Isn’t it an usie if two of us are in it?” I questioned.

“Whatever, just get over here,” she ordered, taking a picture of us and posting it immediately to all of our social sites. “And never use the word ‘usie’ again. It’s so stupid,” she complained. Then excitedly, we stumbled quickly through the door to the restaurant. This feeding event was going to be epic.

The place was packed. Silverware clinking and a steady hum of people talking filled the room. Angelisa and I looked over toward the enormous buffet and smiled mischievously at each other; it was like coming home—home to graze.

We ate for three hours.

Leave your judgments at the door

The two skinny girls from outside stayed there just as long as us. Albeit, they did not eat the entire time they were there, but that’s their story. They sat at the table next to us and talked about country club gossip and who was doing whom the entire time.

Incidentally, if I were one of them, I’d tell Tenelle’s husband that Tenelle and Natalia were grinding cooters and not playing tennis. But like I said, that’s their story. Country club gossip isn’t my forte, but don’t be surprised when Tenelle and Natalia make a cameo in my next lesbian erotic short story.

Ang and I were just beginning our dessert portion of our feast (caramelized banana pudding, truffles, apple Danishes, and to DIE FOR éclairs) when we overheard one of the women tsk and say, “I know, sometimes I just forget to eat…”

How was that even possible? That’s like forgetting to breathe. I leaned over the table, smashing my chest into a truffle. “Maybe it’s contagious. Let’s go lick her face. See what happens.”

“You got creamy boobs,” Angelisa said, pointing at my truffle stained shirt.

I tried wiping away the mess, both of us still listening to the conversation next to us. The woman who forgets to eat held up a fork with a tiny piece of pineapple on it, “Well, you are what you eat, and I’m super healthy.”

BOOK: #TripleX
3.8Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

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