Olive Might The Ocean Be -- Chapter 12
The women started measuring the luggage and positioning the mini-tramp. I could see from my couch numerous bras and panties, some of them still snuggly lying around me in the water. What I thought was a rubber duckie turned out to be Sophia, undressed.
Although we had a strict swim suits only rule in the tub, she somehow managed to sneak in under the bubbles near my loins. For a minute there, I didn't know what she was doing. Then Trisha came in and lightly pressed the forward button on my chair. Right about then we heard the storm lulling. "We leave tomorrow," she said. The rack and pinion steering on my Jaguar, pull to the right! pull to the right!... The telephone pole was there for a moment. Joan kissed me until I knew I had been holding out on her long enough, and soon would be making an outlandish request of her in a reproductive kind of way. I held my breath, hoping she would kiss me again.
Sandy sat there, shoving the gas pedal into the floorboard of the Turbo Pinto. The Beverly Hillbillies woulda been proud of the Oceanwear and Seabreeze boxes filled with stuff on top of and in and out went her body and mine as we French kissed and made love in the parking lot one more time, hankies out to catch the goodbyes. Both managers straddled one of our revving imports. I got out to check the rack, and the one with the smaller, shapelier breasts asked if I were sure I hadn't forgotten anything. This she said while taking my finger and putting it between her legs and up in. Presently, I pulled my finger back out and put it into my mouth, but not before running it under my nose like a fine wine. The other manager pulled me down under the mudflaps with her gums--her false teeth were in her hands. She clamped down onto me right about when my hook began throbbing with an incoming call. While I entered and left, entered and left the play zone that Mandy noticed whenever she stood in front of a mirror and felt like disrobing and gazing at some ripe curves, my hook continued to ring. Finally, I answered. Sandy--calling from the Pinto phone--wanted to know if she should continue warming her engine, or how long would I be? I asked the women from the hotel if we could have our old room back. The assistant manager's breasts stood out against the blacktop like two creamy beacons of joy against the storm of so many nights of loneliness.
"We checked the one wheel that's been rattling loose for quite some time... and I notice there's a woman wrapped around your leg, underneath that table," the woman wheelchair repairperson waiting outside our hotel room said. Debbie said she didn't have to wait in the hall. The repairwoman pointed and said she had rung down there too, and wasn't sure if she had the right room.
My eyes got big and I asked: "How many stops do you have to make?" Nancy and Lulu chose that moment to succor my neck, each shoving herself against my head, crushing me, flattening my ears, so I didn't hear the repairgal's reply. Nancy outmaneuvered Lulu for equal access to my files, giving in with a slight moan when I entered her in the lottery with some of the same numbers used twice. If this were winning, I'd have to wait to find out. Haley, the beautiful woman who had recently moved into our old suite, winked at me through the blinds from clear around over there on the ocean side of the hotel. And down a ways. I winked back, coquettishly.
Lulu said, "I hear you're leaving soon, eh?" Diane pulled my energetic pelvis down to around her ankles. I motioned to Haley how I wanted her with this even more than that new riding lawnmower I'd been eyeing down at the John Deere dealership. She ran down the hall and grabbed me by the handles and pushed me into her room. The lights flickered... or were those rockets?
"So you see, we have to get off this island," she said.
"I'm all for that," I said, springing to my feet and loping toward the door, but not before clutching three suitcases and a hatbox. Angie put her hand on my unit and--as my hand was full--I offered her an I-owe-you in exchange for her initiating a swap of bodily fluids between us. "We're leaving," I said, putting her feet on my wheelchair's castors, which had been outfitted with springs for just such an occasion. We bounced down the stairs and out to the hotel parking lot. Angie's body dripped with sweat. Her nipples stood out firm and proud in the brisk wind. Our stomachs slapped in unison; we got into her Ferrari. Spreading her thighs clear across the front seat, I started the engine, never completely leaving her body. We arched up in the windshield when the telephone pole came into view.
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