Joey Cloudy online

TRAMP

“Hotel, Motel, Holiday Inn, 

If your girl starts acting up, then you date her friend.” 

-The Sugar Hill Gang/Rapper Delight 

Laurel, Morgan and her boyfriend Jimmy arrived at the hotel room after the reading at Insomnia ended. Laurel and Morgan were girlfriends who each kept boyfriends as well. From downtown it was a twenty minute drive North up 75 central to the room at the Hearthside Hotel just off highway 635. They didn’t mind because they lived another twenty minutes north of the hotel, all the way out in the fucking burbs, in Addison. Laurel and Morgan were a couple of third wave punk by number suburban mega-sluts.

Both were recovering Mormon chicks turned hardcore hedonist, completely dedicated to getting their kicks while they could. They were both eighteen. They had recently come to the realization that soon they would look like their mothers. The thought of that impending reality shattered the little princess fantasy and filled them with a foreboding sense of abject terror. They no longer impotently raged at how unfair life was, they were both trying their damnedest to have as much fun as possible before they moved away in a few years to go to Brigham young and get their MRS.  

Laurel was a cherub faced red haired cherry, at the beginning of her chemical romance. While her best girlfriend Morgan had been a well known party girl since the seventh grade. Morgan had been launching herself onto whatever was around since junior high screwing high school boys since she was twelve years old on account of the fact that she had developed a rather impressive set of tits by then and most guys have an if its old enough to bleed it’s old enough to breed view of sex being a unpublished part of the churches culture.

Morgan should have been at choir practice tonight instead of a poetry reading in a coffee shop but, since she had just been kicked out of their church choir she needed to find something to do with her new found free time. The reason for her sabbatical stemmed from an incident that occurred during her brief stay in England with the church choir over the Christmas holidays. Specifically the Vicars wife discovering a teenaged american on her hands and knees in the garden behind the chapel with the Vicars cock shoved up her ass. The unfamiliar Yank anus in question belonged to Morgan the familiar penis inserted into it belonged to her reverend husband.

After they returned to the states, Morgan was pissed because they kicked her out of the choir. It really hurt her feelings because she loved to sing, almost as much as she loved to sport-fuck. Morgan’s singing like her fucking wasn’t anything spectacular but she was young and enthusiastic and youthful enthusiasm will often get a girl further than talent any day of the week, while it last, but don’t take my word for it look at any Hollywood celebrity magazine or the fucking pop charts.  

Laurel, a thickset freckle faced redhead with large pendulous national geographic breast that were already beginning to sag a bit so that her nipples pointed more down than forward and a ghetto booty with a tattoo of a cerulean blue dolphin on her right ass cheek was our mutual girlfriend. While there was nothing conventional about this relationship, it wasn’t exactly sexual anarchy, there were absolutely rules but they were never talked about, at least not in Aarons presence. He just figured it out as they went along.

As best as he could figure the rules of their relationship were; Laurel could fuck Arron, Laurel could fuck Morgan, Morgan could fuck Laurel and Arron could fuck Laurel. They could fuck Laurel together or separately without any problem, but under no circumstance were Morgan and Aaron to ever fuck each other. Over time he sort of pieced together the rules through trial and error while they were together. At times while all three were going at it hard on the floor the apartment, he would ram his fingers up Morgan’s snatch while Laurel sat on her face or slide his cock in between their mouths while they were making out. 

They would both begin to suck on his bone for a moment before Laurel would shoot Morgan a panicked look that he never quite caught. Morgan would reluctantly remove her mouth from his joint and graciously feed it into Laurels pouty mouth before returning her attention to any part of Laurels body that didn’t have Aarons prick in it at the moment.  

The party started immediately after Laurel put the do not disturb sign outside on the door handle, while Morgan quickly produced a sign on a scrap piece of cardboard with a fat tipped marker that she placed in the hotel room window for the eyes of the residents that might walk pass to view that read;  

“Beware! Future corporate raiders of America!” 

Aaron grabbed four bottles of Shiner out of the mini fridge and passed the beers around while Jimmy sat on the edge of the single large bed rolling a joint. They were celebrating his moving into the new room as if they needed a reason to get trashed. The bottle of cognac circling the room had been a gift from his new best friend girl Tavah, who had moved down from New York a less than a year ago. One handed push-ups drinking, smoking weed and taking pictures so they would have a record of this to remind them that it was real, that they were once the wild ones, the young savages of this city.

The girls began to get wilder French kissing the boys and each other as the evening went on, soon both were chanting.

Take it off! Take it all off!

Show me the monkey!

Aaron and Jimmy began to strip drunkenly to Nine Inch Nails ‘Closer’. Doing their best impression of Chippendale dancers. Those gym bunnies had nothing to worry about from either one of them. Still, they were all having fun showing off for the two girls doing all the stereotypical exotic dancer moves as they undressed more or less in time to the music. Aaron unbuttoned his black western cut shirt with exaggerated slowness, turning his back when he got to the last button as if he were suddenly shy, building a little dramatic tension. The girls were eating it up, whooping, hollering, and shouting encouragement from the bed where they sat screaming and laughing with drunken joy.

As the music’s tempo built, he waited for the chorus to begin again before spinning back around as he snatched his shirt off with a flourish. Aaron flexed his pecs and struck a most muscular pose as Laurel and Morgan screamed, giggled and tickled each other. Occasionally, one would grab the others face and slid her tongue into their mouth always careful to make sure they had the boys attention.

Laurel took pictures while Morgan found her purse and leaned across the bed to stick a dollar bill half way down the front of Aarons jeans. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and she pretended to faint as he swung the shirt over his head like a lasso and slapped himself on the ass as he slowly rotated his hips in wide sensual circles. not to be out done Jimmy decide to show off his guns, but first he ripped his khaki shirt off, sending the ecru colored plastic buttons flying all over the room. Laurel and Morgan went berserk screaming hollering and encouraging their private dancers with loud catcalls and shouts of take it off baby show me the monkey and shake yo money maker cheering them both on.

Outside it sounded like there were twenty people partying in the little room instead of just the four of them. By the time was the song was over one of the girls had turned the lights down and both were naked on the bed kissing, mauling each other’s breast with their fingers buried in each other’s crotches. Jimmy, unsure of how they should proceed looked at Aaron.

Do you think they’re for real?

He glanced at the two nude girls laying across his bed making out before he replied.

I don’t know but I say we find out for ourselves.

The king sized bed was a tangle of legs and arms and calves and thighs and moans and giggles and orgasmic screams of ecstasy. Aaron did his best Tarzan yell before drunkenly diving into the sensual swell bodies like Errol Flynn.

-about the author JD Cloudy’s poetry has disappeared in the literary journals; Fatfizz, Mad Swirl, Texas Beat Anthology, Danse Macabre, Du Jour, and Death List Five. He has won no literary awards, entered no slam competitions, and never completed college. He lives to write in Dallas, Tx.