“R-ight,” Rat said.
“Dude, just shut the hell up and drive,” I commanded.
After we reached a few more miles toward home, Rat began navigating his car through a residential street. Without saying a word, Dirty handed to me a folding army shovel that he had transported in the back of Rat’s car. I unhinged the scoop of the shovel and locked the passenger door. As I was rolling down the window, Rat slowed his car and began driving very close to a row of mailboxes. I hung my torso out the window and batter-upped with the shovel. Swinging at the first mailbox, I entirely missed the target. With my second swing, I managed only to scrape the side portion of the next mail receptacle. I struck out on my third attempt, only being able to bash the shovel against the metal pole that secured the final mailbox, which caused my arms to reverberate with pain.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Dirty accosted me. “Those mailboxes are so close that my mirror is damn near touching them! And you can’t hit them with that shovel?”
Despite the notable exhilaration of the situation at hand, I felt very relaxed. Every muscle in my body felt like Jell-O and my limbs seemed to move at slow motion. Nestled into the resolution phase of my sexual response cycle, all I wanted to do was go to sleep in my post-nut haze. “I’m just feeling a little tired right now,” I mumbled to my friends, attempting to defend myself.
“Bullshit,” Dirty countered. “You just got through blowing your wad with that wetback hussy and now you can’t do shit. Rat, pull over. Let me show you boys how to play some mailbox baseball.”
Rat did as Dirty told him to and I switched seats with my friend. Once Rat resumed driving down the residential street, nearing the next row of mailboxes, Dirty began smashing the targeted mail receptacles with great ease. He ripped through the aluminum of several mailboxes, slicing them with the edge of the shovel scoop. Dirty then turned the scoop vertically and bludgeoned the next row of targets, each of his swings landing perfect hits. With the three of us laughing up a storm, I quickly felt that Dirty was taking up all the fun.
I convinced Rat to pull over once more so that I could redeem myself with our mailboxing activity. With the army shovel again in my grasp, Rat navigated his car down a new road. I started to swing at the fast approaching mailboxes. But, much to my misfortune, I struck out again. Hanging my head in shame, I handed the shovel back to Dirty. “Sorry, guys,” I managed to speak. “I just don’t feel up for this right now. I feel too relaxed and weak to do anything. I need a refractory period before I can perform again. Just give me a few minutes.”
“That does it,” Dirty stated. “No more hooking up with females before we go out and have fun! You need your vandal stamina!”
The rest of the drive home was spent in silence, largely because I had fallen asleep while Rat was driving. Since the conclusion of that evening, it was firmly decided by all parties involved that the mixing of female companionship on the same nights that devious endeavors were conducted would be strictly prohibited.
~*~*~*~
Not long after my foiled mailboxing activity, I was sitting in my bedroom late Friday night, listening to the title track from Digital Underground’s Sex Packets album when my thoughts started to drift away into lasciviousness. The sullen beats of the song’s bass loop, combined with the sexually laden lyrics, caused me to reminisce over the tangy taste of Sofia’s fly catcher. I considered making a booty call but then realized that I had no means of transportation to my mistress’ house at the midnight hour on such short notice. I could usually manipulate Rat into bumming me a ride on such occasions but not tonight; he was in Florida for family vacation. Then I remembered that Rat usually kept a spare set of keys to his shitbox Chevrolet hidden inside his car just in case his father took away his driving privileges, which occurred rather frequently. Since Rat was unavailable to help facilitate my wanton needs, I decided to borrow his car while he was away enjoying his holiday.
To sneak out of my parents’ house, I removed the screen from my bedroom window, crawled up through the window well, and pulled close the glass behind me. Keeping to the shadows, I chugged down the street toward Rat’s house. I quickly located his vehicle that was parked on the curb beside his home and found the doors unlocked. With a quick search of the interior I located the spare key that was found hidden in the ashtray. The car started right up and I swiftly drove it out of the neighborhood. I waited for a few blocks before I activated the headlights and picked up speed.
Several minutes later, I arrived to the adjacent town where my hyna lived. I stealthily parked the confiscated vehicle a few houses down the street from her parents’ residence. I then made the rest of the journey through the dark streets on foot. Jumping the yard fence, I crept across Sofia’s lawn toward her basement window and made my presence known with a small knock. My Latina girlfriend quickly came to the window and slid it open.
“Keaton, what are you doing?” she whispered with an amalgamation of worry and excitement.
“I came to see you,” I smoothly replied. “You gonna let me in or what? It’s cold out here.”
Sofia cleared off the top of her dresser, which just so happened to be placed immediately below her bedroom window. I crawled through the window opening, crouched atop her dresser, and then hopped down upon the floor.
“How did you get here?” Sofia asked while hugging on me.
“I have my ways, baby,” I responded, while feeling a rush of blood surge into my hungry belly breacher, anticipating what was about to unfold. “You know that I can’t stand being too far away from you. I go through withdrawals and stuff.”
The Hispanic hussy shivered from the chill coming through the open window. “It’s cold,” she said, grabbing her arms together. I closed the window, just as Sofia jumped back into her comfortable bed. In a moment’s notice, I stripped off my clothes and joined her beneath the covers. Making out maneuvers commenced. As my hands were roaming around lusty Latina’s soft body, I came to the pleasant discovery that she was not wearing any undergarments beneath her oversized, baggy shirt.
“Hey, isn’t this my shirt?” I said to Sofia after I noticed that she was wearing a shirt of mine that had mysteriously came up missing from my bedroom a few weeks earlier. “I was wondering where this went…”
“I was going to give it back,” she replied, while moving erotically in response to my caresses. “But it smells like you and it’s real comfortable.”
“It doesn’t fit you,” I said, while slowly removing the article of clothing from off Sofia’s bare torso. “I want it back.” I repossessed my stolen shirt, wadded it up, and tossed it on the floor beside the bed. “That shirt looks much better on the floor,” I commented, glancing over the chicana’s nude body through the moonlight that shined through her window.
Before I could heave in another breath, Sofia pushed me to my back, grasped my erect taco jabber, and straddled atop me. She hoisted herself up on her knees and inserted my bratwurst into her soggy snatch, pausing every inch or so to brace herself from the massive girth that was probing into her body. Once she managed to sheath the entire length of my baby leg, my hyna began to ride my long ranger with undulating hip movements. Her rhythm became increasingly faster until the box springs of her daybed started to creak and then finally caused the headboard to break loose from the frame bolts on one corner. While still inserted inside her dripping doughnut, I pulled Sofia’s body into me, held her by the waist and stood up from the broken bed. I then kneeled down on her floor and splayed her finely sculptured body out before me. Caressing her firm breasts, I sunk deep into her, tickling her belly from the inside with my beefy pole.
Over the next thirty minutes or so, I turned Sofia’s darkened bedroom into an adult filming studio, concocting every position imaginable. After I worked the luscious Latina