Edward Lee - Family Tradition

Dimensions seemed to stray, sound seemed to echo. Now the gentle lap of the water against the boat’s hull sounded like hands clapping, and the distant moonlight beamed on them like fluorescent tubes. They lay nude in the bottom of the boat. Sheree on top, in the position often referred to as A69.” Carol’s tongue delved deep into Sheree’s pussy, while Sheree jerked the abundant foreskin of Carol’s cock back and forth over the gorged shaft. Eventually she stuck it all down her throat like a South Beach coed in a Kielbasa swallowing contest.

Sheree was winning the contest.

Carol sucked the tender pink meat of Sheree’s sex like warm taffy. Sheree came in her friend’s face twice, her legs widely spread as if sitting on the seat of a Harley panhead. When the sensations of sheer sucking became too painful, Sheree moved her rump off, concentrating on Carol’s long, night-stick-thick cock.

“Jerk it,” came her friend’s feminine plea. “Jerk it right off!”

By now, Sheree’s mouth tinged with the salt-taste of pre-ejaculatory ooze. Her woman’s intuition told her just the right time to slip off her mouth, and then she jerked the fleshy pole back and forth. Carol’s legs vised and she moaned like a low horn.

Sheree watched the loops of semen shot high into the air, but on acid, each plume looked like jettisons of white, liquid phosphorous. Fluid flares which blew out of the swelled piss-slit, flew over the boat’s side, and landed in the lake water.

“Fuck,” Carol softly gasped.

Sheree gleefully played with the deflating dick as it slowly gave up its turgidity. The great foreskin fascinated her. She squeezed the softening meat, watched a final pearl of sperm appear at the slit, and licked it off.

When Sheree glanced up the slope of Carol’s perfect female body—perfect save for the cock she was still licking—it looked like Carol’s eyes and open mouth were bright flashlight beams.

“God, that was good,” Carol slurred.

When Sheree raised back up, her mouth drooped. The lake, now, looked kaleidoscopic, the moon a long white bar smeared across the sky. She could see silver-orange waves of heat waft off of Carol’s taut body. Then, squatting, she glanced at her own vagina and saw something that looked like eggshell-white light beaming from a bald, wet tart.

“Christ,” she remarked. “This is good acid.”

Next she was standing upright in the wobbly boat, vising each nipple between thumb and forefinger. The most minute magenta sparks seemed to shoot out.

“Yeah, damn good acid.”

“Be careful!” Carol warned. The boat began to rock as Sheree continued to stand, maintaining her footing.

Sheree heard a flitting sound, like baseball card running through the sprockets of a bicycle wheel, as she roved her gaze ahead of her. A great bulk seemed to stand before her. “What’s that?” she half shrieked.

Carol looked behind her. “How do you like that? While we were fucking around, the boat drifted all the way over to the island.”

Sheree saw traces of sparkles seem to crawl up the old wood pilings. The dock shimmered as if made of dark gold.

They both put their clothes back on, then Carol took Sheree’s hand and helped her off the boat. “Come on,” she said through a glowing grin. “Let’s check this place out…”

««—»»

Ashton’s head throbbed like a beating heart on the verge of infarction. When his eyes pried open, at first, all he saw was black.

Then the black was pierced with pinpricks of light: stars.

“Bobby, Bobby!” he shouted, stumbling across the deck to jostle hid brother. One thing he stumbled over was the high white bucket full of several dozen empty Holsten bottles. “We passed out! Bobby! Wake up!”

Eventually, Bobby did. His eyes spread on the sky. “Aw, man. It’s nighttime.”

“Damn right it is!” Ashton bellowed. “Come on! Shag ass! We gotta get back to the Winnebago! The girls’ll be pissed!”

At least they’d dropped anchor, they hadn’t drifted far. Ashton hauled it up and turned on the deck lights. Bob staggered rearward, started the big Evinrude motor.

“Head on back,” Ashton advised.

“Wait a minute,” Bob reminded. “We still have traps in the water, don’t we?”

Ashton thought about it. “Yeah, but—shit we haven’t caught anything all day. Fuck the traps. Let’s get back to the girls.”

Bob sucked on his cottonmouth. He spat, then emptied the bucket of beer bottles over the side. “What’s five minutes? We might as well check the traps.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Ashton snapped on a flashlight, roved its bright beam across the water. They’d used empty gallon milk bottles for buoys, and there one bobbed just over the side of the boat.

Ashton grabbed it, pulled up the long wet rope. Feels heavy,” he said.

“Don’t say that!” Bob declared. “It’s bad luck!”

Ashton hoisted the dripping trap out of the water, slammed it on deck.

Bob flicked his own flashlight down.

“Jesus Christ in a whorehouse,” Ashton muttered.

The boxlike wire trap was full of Crackjaw eel.

— | — | —

Chapter Nine

“Come on,” Carol urged. Once on the island, they ran away from the pier toward the bait shop, two sprites in the night.

No lights on in the bait shop. Before them the darkness stood, blocked with shapes that were more buildings beyond. The moon continued to hover over them, a limed face.

“What are we doing? ” Sheree inquired.

“Just snooping around,” Carol replied. “What the fuck?”

Still high on LSD, Sheree followed. The dark forms around her seemed to percolate, to swell. Anything Carol said back to her seemed to slide out of her mouth like a balloon of faintly glowing oil and wrap around Sheree’s face. Sheree inhaled the liquid words into her nostrils, like gas.

God, I’m fucked up, Sheree thought, wobbling onward.

They stepped across dirt and rocks, hiked over driftwood and washed up pilings. Sheree had no idea what the purpose of this excursion was, and didn’t particularly care. Every step she took forward brought a motion of surrealistic trails. Her footfalls ground up and displayed vaguely exploding shapes before her eyes. The sound of her own huffing breath, too, exuded a shape: like sperm in a pool, she thought.

The darkness was dark light; the moon seemed amplified a hundredfold. As her breasts rode up and down beneath her haltertop, the fabric felt like coarse tongues trying to lick out milk, and the crotch of her shorts was a rough finger.

“Holy shit,” Carol whispered.

Next thing Sheree knew, they were at another shack, deeper into the woods behind the bait shop. Carol was gazing into a lit window.

“He’s…jerking off…with worms.”

With WHAT? Sheree thought. She stuck her face right up to the shack’s window, and what she saw….

The redneck from the bait shop—Esau, she thought his name was. He was lyng back on a stained bare mattress. The foot of the bed pointed toward the window, affording Sheree and Carol about as direct a view as one could want—er, that is if one could ever want such a view. GrrrrrrrrOSS! Sheree thought.

Esau lay naked save for his workboots, his great belly spread like a jumbo white beach ball half deflated. Raisin-sized moles dotted his body along with smudges of dirt, but even grosser and more bizarre was the fact Esau seemed to completely lack body hair. The bottom of his gut rolled down so low that it almost prevented masturbation. Almost. The dirty hairless scrotum bounded below his pumping hand. Not much dick, either, at least by what they could see. But Carol was right about one thing—