THE GOLDEN RULE CLUB
Jo Raye, me, and Fasola Tito are sitting together in my parked truck. Fasola sits between Jo and me on the bench seat. Fasola wears a skirt. Jo smokes a clove cigarette.
It is raining gently but we are warm. Lady Gaga is singing You and I on the radio, FM 104.3. Fasola sings along, “…it’s my daddy, Nebraska, and Jesus Christ.” Fasola is Jo’s Google+ friend from Macedonia, a part of the former Yugoslavia.
I hook my right hand over Fasola’s inner thigh. Jo hooks her left hand over Fasola’s inner thigh.
Fasola gently lays her hands over our intimate fingers. She keeps singing and she keeps looking ahead at the big raindrops dashing themselves into silver mandalas against the windshield.
When You and I finishes playing, I reach to the dashboard with my left hand. I turn the radio to FM 91.5 where Haydn’s first string quartet is playing sweetly.
Fasola closes her eyes.
My knuckles and fingers dovetail with Jo’s knuckles and fingers. Fasola lays her head back and blows softly through her lips.
Jo extinguishes her cigarette with her right hand and turns to engage Fasola’s blossoming mouth. I now kiss the curves of Jo’s right ear.
The windows glaze inside with warm moisture. I can hear the pop of the intermittent rain droplets through the radio music like the scratches on an old vinyl record.
Jo steadies herself as she coils around Fasola by placing her right hand on my upper right thigh and then with her fingertips she coaxes me. I tense my butt and I push upward. With my left hand I unzip my fly-front trousers. I free myself. Jo then restrains me with her right hand. She conducts me to the rhythm of her and Fasola’s tongue duet.
Fasola is breathing fast through her nose. She unbuttons Jo’s blouse and both of Fasola’s hands frantically circumnavigate Jo’s breasts. Fasola then unbuttons her own blouse and pushes her own breasts up against Jo’s breasts. Fasola is now stroking with both her hands back and forth, up and down, along the saddle of pressed breasts.
Jo releases me and tugs Fasola’s skirt up and Fasola arches her back and allows it. Jo holds onto Fasola’s arched waist and guides her over my lap as I scooch to the right. I slide my hands down Fasola’s outer thighs, taking her panties to her knees. She settles down onto my lap with a side-to-side swishing of her hips and she moans. She leans back against me and I kiss her ear, her cheek, and draw her lips around to my straining tongue.
Jo then slides down off of the edge of the bench seat. She sits “side saddle” on the floor hump of the truck’s driveshaft between Fasola’s legs that straddle my own bracing legs. Jo bows down and settles her vagrant lips and tongue against Fasola’s secret lips and against my strenuous interjections.
This heated three-way exchange ends in yelling.
Fasola and I deflate convulsively. Our passion condenses into droplets on the inside of the windows and slides slowly down. Jo strokes both of us gently.
Fasola whispers in punctuated breaths to Jo, “What, about, you, Jo?” and she smiles at Jo and then Fasola turns her smile to my face.
Jo arises from the floor hump and slips back onto the truck bench seat beside Fasola. I see that Jo’s pants are unbuttoned exposing askew panties. Her Fire-Crotch flames tattoo is unveiled.
Jo grins and says, “I finished myself,” and she lights a clove cigarette.
I say, “Let’s get it together. We still have a four-hour drive. Jo, this meeting of the Golden Rule Club is adjourned.”
Fasola says, “No Rule there is but Death and no Goal there is but Power.”
I joke, “Easy there, ‘Yoda’.”
Jo says, “She’s right.”
I ask and instantly regret asking, “Are orgasms ‘Power’?”
Jo laughs, “All other Power is a substitute for orgasms.”
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