Edward Lee - Family Tradition

Rochelle wiped tears from her eyes, gently touched her nose with a finger. “It hurts! And it feels… really big.”

“Trust me,” James lied. “Your nose is fine. As beautiful as always, just like the rest of you. And, again, I’m very, very sorry.” James kept driving, and casting alternating glances at Rochelle. “I’ve been bad,” he said. “And I need to be punished. You know…”

Rochelle rolled her eyes, muttered “Jesus” under her breath, then hitched her little butt up in the seat and slipped off the smart white shorts.

“I’ve been bad,” James repeated, “ real bad. I should never have hit Mommie.” He pulled over onto the shoulder and stopped the big Lincoln. He reached under the seat, then sheepishly handed Rochelle an 16-ounce Pyrex mixing cup.

“I think I’m actually going to enjoy it this time,” Rochelle sniped. Still lifting her ass above the leather seat, she brought the Pyrex cup between her legs and began to pee in it. The tinkle was almost musical, not quite Handel’s Water Music, but musical nonetheless. Rochelle filled it up more than halfway—impressive for a girl—and then she actually grinned.

“Jamesey’s been a bad, bad boy!” she yelled, huge-nosed. “Jamesey hit Mommy, and that’s bad! ”

“Yes, yes,” James blubbered from his seat. “I’m bad! I’m bad!”

“So Jamesey’s going to be punished! Jamesey’s gonna drink Mommy’s piss!” and with that, Rochelle leaned up and began to empty the amber cup into James’ mouth. Eyes shut, he gulped and gulped and gulped, urine overflowing from his mouth. Gulp, gulp, gulp—recompense for a bad boy. Soon James’ belly was full of heat, and his black-satin St. Moritz shirt was drenched.

“God, that was fun,” Rochelle muttered under her breath.

Ahhhh, James thought, slack and sated now behind the wheel. Rochelle pulled her shorts back on, then continued to inspect her bulbous nose with a finger.

Who knows? James thought. I may very well marry her someday.

But such a venture existed only in the future. James had, first, to deal with the present. He had to deal with—

Ashton FUCKING Morrone, he thought.

That fat, mincing queer has FUCKED with me long enough!

I’m going to overturn his cart!

I’m going to paint his wagon!

James’ teeth slowly ground back and forth in the delicious vision.

I’m going to KILL that limp-wristed behemoth homo…

Just a bit deeper under the Lincoln’s seat, where James had kept the Pyrex cup of his perverted pleasure, was another object.

A small .22 revolver.

««—»»

“I don’t know about you,” Carol proclaimed, “but I’m shit-faced!”

Sheree lounged opposite her, her bare feet propped up on the Winnebago’s small kitchen table. “Then I must be double shit-faced.”

The two of them had sufficiently plowed through half a case of beer and two snifters each of Ashton’s prized bottle of 1977 Gers Armagnac white brandy. Giggling, Carol had brought the bottle level back up with tap water.

With some difficulty, Sheree got up, looked out the window. Full dark had settled over the lake. A full moon glowed over the water.

“You see them?” Carol asked.

“No. I don’t know where those two fat peckerheads are. They should’ve been back by now, though.”

“Who cares? All that matters is that they’re not back. And that means it’s time for us to have some fun. I’ve got some Bebo.”

“Some…what?”

Carol was rummaging in her purse on the bed, her gorgeous breasts swaying in the tank top. “It’s the latest designer acid,” she said. “You’ve done acid, haven’t you?”

“Well, no. When I was in L.A., I was too busy doing coke,” she admitted, remembering all the hard producers’ cocks she’d sniffed lines off of.

“You’ve gotta try some Bebo. I’ve only got two tabs left.” Carol displayed the small strip of paper. On the paper were two scarlet ink-prints of what appeared to be the head of a bald baby with enormous ears and a third eye in the middle of its forehead. “It’s pretty mild, so don’t worry,” Carol added. “You’re game, right?”

What the fuck? Sheree thought. “Sure. I just lick it, right?”

“No, put it on your tongue and swallow the whole thing. But not here…” Carol got up, led Sheree by the hand to the RV’s narrow metal door. “We’re not going to drop acid in this dork-box.”

“Where are we going to do it?”

Carol opened the door. “On the lake.”

Sheree, however drunkenly, followed her new friend out to the shore. The entirety of the earth sounded pin-prick silent. Moonlight floated in ripples on the water; across the lake, the island’s trees looked like crags of mountains.

“Help me,” Carol asked. “The boat’s on the other side now.” Sheree got behind the crank on this end, grabbed the crank-handle, and began turning it, Carol cranking from the other side. In a matter of minutes, the “pull-ferry” arrived and they both stepped on.

They began cranking in the other direction, dragging the old rowboat back across the lake. Sheree took inadvertent glances over her shoulder. “Aren’t you…a little worried about them?”

“Bob and Ashton?” Carol chuckled. “They’re big boys, they can take care of themselves.”

All of a sudden, the night and its tranquil surroundings began to bother Sheree a little. Sure, Ashton was a self-aggrandizing fat dick, but she supposed she cared about him, his gayness notwithstanding. “Well…”

“You’re drunk, Sheree. Makes you a little paranoid. Don’t worry. ”

By now they’d hauled the rowboat to the middle of the placid lake. They stopped. The boat just sat there under the bright moonlight.

“They’re probably drunk too,” Carol added. “They’ll be back in a few hours and have hangovers tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right…”

They sat facing each other in the boat. The boat, riding on the water, gently rose and fell. Sheree at once felt lulled.

“Here ya go.” Carol passed her the tiny snippet of paper. Sheree took it between her fingers.

“Put it face-side down on your tongue, then swallow the whole thing.”

Sheree shrugged, did it, and watched Carol repeat the process. Neither of them noticed, though, that as they sat there, the lake’s mild current was slowly drawing the boat toward the island’s shore.

“Feel it yet?”

“Nuh…no,” Carol said, still buzzed from all the alcohol. She lay back on her elbows.

“Doesn’t take long. Goes straight to the brain…”

Sheree was gazing up at the stars, smiling and breathing in the crisp, clean air. But then she momentarily flinched at an abrupt sensation.

Carol’s bare foot was rubbing up and down over the crotch of Sheree’s cut-offs.

Sheree sighed.

“One thing I forgot to tell you about Bebo,” Carol commented. “It makes you horny.”

Ordinarily, considering all the sexual activity the day had brought, even Sheree would’ve objected. But…

Sheree sighed again. Sensations slithered up to her breasts like warm phantom hands.

Soon the stars turned into fine white lines whenever she moved her head. She was trailing already. She moved her hand from right to left in front of her face, and saw a thousand fluttering duplicates like some surreal card trick.

The moon gazed back at her, an animate face.

All the while Carol’s foot kept pressing against her crotch.

It wasn’t long before the night and its moonlight was caressing them, and it wasn’t long, either, before each of them had stripped off their meager garments like dropping handkerchiefs to the boat’s floor. Sheree’s skin felt coolly ablaze. They embraced, kissing and sucking tongues. Sheree cradled the warm sac of Carol’s balls which felt big as starfruit. Carol’s finger went right up Sheree’s ass.