BigTitsRoundAsses Violet Myers Where The Fuck is my Nurse
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The phone woke Paul. The first thing he noticed was the girls were gone. When he picked up the cordless phone from the table (funny, seems like I left it out front), pushed the button, and answered in a voice thick with sleep, he heard his mother. "Paul, you're not still sleeping are you? It's almost noon."
"Yeah, Mom, I had kind of a late night."
"Was it a date? Was she a nice girl? You know, since Jean you haven't found anyone."
Paul wondered what she'd say if he told her it was two nice girls, and more than fifteen years younger than him. "Yeah, Mom, she's nice. How're you doing?"
"I'm fine, but I wanted to let you know, yesterday two men were here, FBI, asking about Uncle Andy."
"Uncle Andy? He's dead, six months ago."
"More than six months. You remember, it was last year. Well, they seem to think he's alive, and they're looking for him. Of course, I told them he's dead, I've got his ashes in the back bedroom. But it sounded like they might want to ask you about him too. So, just so you know in case they show up there."
"Okay, thanks Mom. If they show up I'll just tell them that as far as I know Uncle Andy is dead."
"That's good, cause he is. Now if you find a nice girl, you let me know."
"I will, bye Mom."
"Bye Honey."
Paul surveyed his bedroom. Yeah, the girls were here all right. A few of Nikki's blonde hairs and Kim's longer, darker ones could be seen on the pillows and sheets. On the other bedside table, where Kim had put it, was the closed tube of K-Y. And where did it come from? He had never had any. Throwing aside the covers, he looked at his naked crotch still wet and matted with a variety of fluids, and his dick still had some lubricant on it.
He got up, grabbed his shorts from the floor and put them on. In the kitchen, the coffee was turned off but the pot was half full, all three mugs were rinsed out and set on the counter. Next to them was a note:
Paul Darling,
It's almost 11. We have to go now. Thanks for a wonderful time. See you later today.
Love you,
Nikki and Kim
After their signatures, they had drawn two small hearts.
He filled his mug with coffee and heated it in the microwave. While the coffee was heating, he checked the front door. Today, the chain was off, so they must have left that way. Did that mean that from now on the real girls would be the Nikki and Kim who had sex with him and not the girls who hardly knew he existed? Guess I'll find out.
In the bathroom, he found a variety of lotions, makeup, and other female necessities, Nikki's things she had missed the other day. He didn't remember seeing them when he went to the bathroom this morning. Didn't he notice them or weren't they there then? That must be how the K-Y got here, the same way Nikki's things appeared.
He took a nice long shower, working up a thick lather, getting a good wash, not that he felt dirty about anything they had done. With the warm water flowing over his body, he thought about Uncle Andy.
Uncle Andy lived in Las Vegas and was a small time hustler and gambler. And then, more than six months ago, late at night, on a rural road outside of Vegas, he ran his fifty-six Cadillac convertible off the road and into a gully, flipped over, and was very dead when he was found hours later. The police didn't have a good explanation - he hadn't been drinking, there was very little traffic on that road at night, and no indication of foul play.
Uncle Andy was gone, and with very little to show for his nearly sixty years existence on this planet. Despite having been married, and divorced, three times, he had no children. As his closest living relative, Paul's mother got the proceeds from the sale of Uncle Andy's small condo, and she got the few possessions worth keeping, the rest were sold or donated to charity. As for that beautifully restored Caddy Uncle Andy loved so much, it was totaled.
Paul shaved, brushed his teeth, then dressed in shorts and a tee-shirt. He put the K-Y back into the second drawer of the bathroom cabinet (though as far as he knew, it was never been there before), then went to the kitchen. He threw two slices of bread in the toaster, fried up some bacon and eggs, and fixed himself a bacon and egg sandwich. He had one more mug of coffee, chips, and an ice-cream bar for dessert.
He was feeling good after his shower and lunch and sex with two coeds. Paul slipped on his flip-flops and went out to check his mail. He only checked it every few days, so there was a lot to go through as he stood by the mail boxes. Nearly all of it was junk, which he tossed in the trash bin the management had placed there. By the time he was done, all he kept were two bills and a postcard notifying him of an overdue library book.
He headed back toward his apartment. At the pool he could go left, toward the front door of his apartment, or right to the parking area and the girls' apartment. He turned right.
At the parking area, he paused for a moment standing next to his car. Nikki's car was still there, parked behind his. And a little ways away was those college guys' pickup, still where it was yesterday. So they spent the night, he thought, feeling his face grow hot with jealousy.
Paul spun around and went to his apartment. He slammed the door behind him, grabbed a beer from the fridge and turned on the TV. He was able to find a game, and was just starting to calm down as he wondered how the girls could have been both with him last night and with those college guys. But were they with him last night? They thought they were, but he was only sure about this morning. He was still worrying over the enigma when there was a knock on the door. He jumped up, hoping it was Nikki.
It was the FBI. There were two of them, both dressed in suits and ties, like in the movies. Agent Wurtz, older, white, seemed to be in charge and asked the questions, while Agent Grant, younger and black, said very little.
They showed him their identification, though Paul wouldn't have known if it was fake. Then Agent Wurtz said, "We want to ask you about Andrew Carlson."
"What about him? He was my uncle, my mother's brother, but he's dead now, last year in an accident. My mother had him cremated, and we settled his estate. That's all I know."
Wurtz looked into Paul's face. "Mr. Carlson has been reported to have been seen in Las Vegas recently. Do you know anything about that?"
Paul was about to answer when there was another knock on the door, followed by Nikki's voice. "Paul, it's us."
He let them in. Both girls were dressed in shorts and tee-shirts, the little tents their nipples were making in front of their shirts indicating they weren't wearing bras, and each was carrying a laundry basket with folded clothes in it.
The girls looked at the two agents for a second, then turned to Paul. "We washed and folded your clothes. We'll put them in the bedroom," Nikki said. They went into the bedroom, clearly familiar with the layout of his apartment.
When the girls returned, there was an awkward pause as they and the agents stared at each other. "Uh, this is Mr. Wurtz and Mr. Grant," Paul said. "They're here about my Uncle Andy, who died last year."
"Oh, I'm Nikki Lampson, and this is Kim Taylor." Turning to Paul, Nikki said, "Our place for dinner, at seven, okay?"
"Okay," Paul said.
"See you then," Nikki said, kissing his cheek, turning to leave.
"Don't be late, we'll be expecting you," Kim added, she too kissing his cheek. Then both girls were gone out the door.
The three men turned back from watching the girls leave. Wurtz seemed to be suppressing a smile as he cleared his throat. "Mr. Brandt, I asked you about reports your uncle, Andrew Carlson, has been seen recently in Las Vegas."
Paul looked at Wurtz, then Grant, then back at Wurtz. "Listen, as far as I know, my uncle died last year, you can ask my mother. We arranged his funeral, we had his body cremated, my mom has his ashes. We're a long way from Vegas, maybe you should be asking about him there."
"We are," Grant said.
"All right, it looks like you don't know anything about him," Wurtz said. Then taking a card from Grant, pulling his card out of a case, "Here are our cards. Just give either of us a call if Mr. Carlson tries to contact you or you find out anything about him."
"Okay," taking the cards. "I'll let you know if he comes back to life."
"Thank you, Mr. Brandt," Wurtz said, giving Paul a crooked smile, before turning toward the door. "Yes, thanks," Grant said, and then they were gone.
Paul picked up the can of beer and took a swallow. This was the first time he had seen the girls go out the door, and this morning the chain was off. Did that mean they were real now? That his Nikki and Kim were the real Nikki and Kim? But what about the pickup? And what about the FBI asking about Uncle Andy? Curiouser and curiouser.
He went into the bedroom. On the bed were the two clothes baskets with his neatly folded clean clothes. In one basket was underwear, socks and other items that didn't need to be ironed, the other held his shirts and slacks. As he started putting away the clothes, hanging up the shirts and slacks, he thought about the strange occurrences of the last few days.
First, Nikki showed up Thursday with the idea they were in love with each other. She gave him a blow job, they had sex, then in the morning she was gone, with both doors locked on the inside. Friday, nothing, but this morning he woke up with Nikki and Kim in bed with him. They both seemed to think they had sex last night. Then he had sex this morning with both girls, and when he woke up later, they were gone, but today the chain was unlocked. And there was the call from his mom and the FBI asking about Uncle Andy. Finally, those college guys' pickup was still parked out back, the girls washed his clothes (would have been nice if they ironed them too), and invited him to dinner tonight, and they left the normal way, with the chain off, like apparently happened this morning.
That was it, wasn't it? Wait, what about his improved fitness, his muscles? No, they were from his new exercise program. He began nine months ago, before any of these weird things started happening. Except for his dick. He just noticed that the other day, the same day Nikki came over. He thought it might be a little bigger because of his exercises, but maybe that was part of the strangeness too. Yeah, in the shower he wrapped his hands around his erect dick and it seemed longer.
With all the clothes put away, Paul went to the extra bedroom he used as an office and found a ruler in the clutter on top of the desk. Carefully, he wrapped his hands around the ruler, starting at the bottom, left above right, like he did in the shower. It looked like his two fists added up to a lot more than six inches.
When he and Jean first got married, she decided she just had to measure his erection one time - it was a little under six inches. Of course, Jean said that was big, and she loved him, and because his penis was so long, and thick too, sex with him was the best ever.
Did Jean get the measurement wrong, or was he really bigger? He was older now. Wasn't it supposed to get smaller as you aged? From what he could see, at least that wasn't happening, not yet. Feeling pretty good about that, he decided as long as his dick worked okay for him and his partners, he wasn't going to be concerned about it.
Paul put the ruler back on the desk and went out front. He turned the game back on, and began grading papers on the coffee table, half watching the game while he worked. After a couple hours, the game was over and the graded papers were put away in his briefcase, ready for school on Monday.
He went outside and walked to the parking area. It was still too early to go to the girls' apartment, but he wanted to check on the chance they would be there later. There was Nikki's car, parked in its usual space, and no sign of those college guys' pickup. Maybe his girls would be there at seven.
He went home, got out the iron and ironing board, turned the TV to another game, opened a beer, and ironed three shirts and a pair of trousers - enough to get him through the beginning of the week.
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