Ride On A Unicorn Pt 03

Readers please note:

I am relatively new here and as my "Ride on a Unicorn" three-part series includes a loving wife, romance, threesomes, lesbians and even romance, I picked what turned out to be the wrong category (Loving Wives) for the first two. I am asking the editors at LIT to move Parts 1 and 2 to Erotic Couplings.

Thanks for your patience.

********

By the time I got home from my spy mission, one of the subjects of my surveillance was missing. Ginny explained that Angel had to go spend some time with the friends she'd actually come to visit -- it would raise suspicion otherwise.

"Just you and me," she breathed as she homed in for a kiss.

I stopped her short and pointed down the hall to the ensuite. "After running 10 miles, I am funkier than a pack of hyenas on a dead water buffalo. I'm going to do us both a favor and hit the shower."

As I hurried down the hall and got under the jets of hot water, I reviewed the strange events of the morning and wondered how it would all play out. I knew I was doing the right thing by reaching out to Aubrey, but the thought of cops swarming the condo and seeing a hurt Ginny being stuffed into the back seat of a police car might be more than I could bear. The smug look on Mrs. Dill's face as her no-good neighbor got his comeuppance would be hard to stomach too.

Oh Ginny. How could I be with her now, not knowing what machinations were going on in the background? And how long could I duck her advances?

The answer to the last question was 30 seconds. I heard the shower door slide open behind me and felt Ginny's arms reach around me, her hands kneading my chest, then my stomach, then my...

"Well, hello there Ms. Harper," I said. "I know it's in short supply in the islands, but here in Canada we have the third-largest supply of fresh water in the world."

Ginny began kissing her way down my back while stroking my hardening, soapy cock. "Just shut up and fuck me," she growled. I put a pin on the pressing issues of crime and punishment and began mounting the woman with an intense interest in water conservation. Ginny leaned over a support bar as I entered her from behind, and as I caressed her breasts, I saw again the discoloured burned skin from her branding and her other war wounds. I touched and kissed each of them tenderly and felt sorrow and regret even as my desire burned for this woman.

We dried off before we got wet and sweaty again in the bedroom. Catching our breath at one point, we started to talk about the previous night's surprise encounter in the boudoir. I told Ginny I didn't have to pinch myself that it was really happening because Angel kept biting me.

"I hope we didn't scare you last night," Ginny giggled. "But she was totally into it and she's really curious about you. I think she just wanted to watch us fuck."

I chuckled. "Glad to contribute to her education. Last night was quite the learning experience for this old cis vanilla straight guy. I feel like Marlin Perkins in Wild Kingdom tracking the mating habits of the elusive Colombian Rugmuncher."

Ginny howled and slugged me like Maeve used to do, with just a little more menace. "Be nice!"

"Hey, some of my best friends are sapphic designers," I insisted.

She kissed the spot she punched. "Angel asked me if you'd be interested in doing it again."

"Are you fucking kidding me? Yes, yes, yes!" my mind screamed. "Oh gosh, I dunno, I'm not as young and pliable as I used to be," is what I actually said.

She began caressing my probably empty balls. "She wants to go for a ride when she gets back tomorrow. Just to see what it's like."

I feigned impatience. "Haven't I already contributed my 'Gracious Host' eight-inch stainless steel cocktail muddler? And now she wants more?"

"I said you'd be thrilled."

"You got that right."

We didn't say much for the next hour or so as our mouths were otherwise engaged. But when we came up for air, and careful not to spoil the mood, I turned our conversation to Angel again.

"You say you're just friends, but it's more than that, isn't it?" I said absently as we cuddled.

"How do you mean?"

"Well," I started, "I may be a straight guy and everything I know comes from the highly accurate and deeply researched world of internet lesbian porn, but it's obvious you really care about each other. You kind of...move together like synchronized swimmers. I would go so far as to say you complete each other sentences if you weren't talking at light speed and I could understand what the hell you were saying."

I could feel Ginny nod in agreement. "We've been through a lot together and it all kind of snuck up on us. So, yeah, I guess we're more than friends."

"What does she make of me, of us, together?"

She looked up at me and touched my face. "She's not jealous of you, if that's what you're concerned about. We each see other people, from time to time, but we always come back together."

"So she's staying in the picture. Permanently."

"Yes she is. I hope you can understand that."

I chewed on that for a few minutes. "We're not going to Hornby Island, are we?"

She didn't answer and in minutes we both fell asleep.

Ginny was surprised to see me suit up the next morning but I told her I had to attend an important business lunch. And I wasn't kidding -- I was about to out Angel to the Canadian government agency responsible for busting people in her line of work.

I drove to a steakhouse a few blocks away from Aubrey's office in the city's north end, and she was right on time. It had been a while since I'd seen her and was blown away as she breezed into the dining room, her shoulder length hair neatly styled, her generous lips a vibrant red and her emerald green blouse open about two buttons south of common decency. I got up and instead of the chaste peck I foolishly expected, I got a full-on tonsillectomy.

"Well, hello to you too," I spluttered, now less nervous and a touch horny. But not as aroused as the woman now seated across from me. There had always been a little electricity between the two of us, an adolescent attraction that amused Maeve to no end because the two of them were essentially twins. Aubrey told Maeve they were fortunate to find men who preferred modest-chested women or, as she put it, the "itty bitty titty club."

"Real men only want exploding airbags in their faces for a head-on collision," she once pronounced, and I truly believed Nate and I were auxiliary members of the club. Then Maeve and I were shocked to learn he'd been seeing his suddenly stacked admin -- with surgical enhancements he paid for. Their marriage was over, and Maeve & I made the decision to stick with Team Aubrey.

Aubrey got the attention of our waiter and ordered a bottle of chardonnay. I was used to seeing her and Maeve crush bottle after bottle of this stuff in the past and knew I wasn't up to carrying on that tradition. Besides, I had to keep my wits about me to talk about the serious business at hand.

But before I could launch into my incredible story, Aubrey reached across the table and gently sealed my lips with her index finger.

"I know what you're going to say. And I know why we're here."

I frowned. "You do?"

She smiled. "I've been keeping an eye on you, Pete. You've been under surveillance, mister."

I was in shock. "What, really? How? So you know about--"

"I know people. Your admin at the office. Your partners. Even that old bag neighbour of yours, Mrs. Dill. We talk, about you. And how lonely you've become."

Suddenly I understood that Aubrey had absolutely no idea what we were (supposed to be) doing here. But she was on a roll and I waited patiently for her to run out of breath and for me to get my opening.

"I also know that I'm your number 3. I'm flattered. And I'm reporting for duty."

Now I was confused again. "I'm sorry, you're going to have to run that by me one more time."

She raised a finger. "Number one: Gillian Anderson. Good choice. Brainy, elegant, a 32C which is optimal boobage...like mine. I know you're looking at them right now -- pervert."

I forgot that was her favorite word.

"But she's totally unavailable."

She raised a second finger. "Emma Stone. Cute, also smart, but a little young for you though. What is it with you and these unattainable reds? She's a 32B -- also optimal -- and you're STILL staring at mine. Pervert."

I put my face in my hands as I finally clued in. While some people like to play the Marry, Fuck, Kill game, Maeve and I would regularly review each other's Top 3 list of Future Marriage Prospects -- should the other give up the ghost -- for the other's pre-approval. Maeve's trio tended to fluctuate but the last time I checked it was Justin Trudeau, Pete Buttigieg and the Dalai Lama. My list pretty much stayed the same: Anderson, Stone and Aubrey.

The way Aubrey and I flirted outrageously back in the day, when it was still the four of us, Maeve could only agree we were meant for each other in some bizarre parallel universe.

And it figured that Maeve would share that embarrassing bit of information with her bestie. Of course she did.

"And just so you know," Aubrey continued, "you've always been number one on MY list -- with a bullet." She let that sink in. "Well ahead of Chris Hemsworth and Channing Tatum."

I sighed, and pulled out my phone. "Aubrey...my love...there is something I must tell you."

Aubrey's bright demeanour clouded over. It must have been the look Nate got before she pushed him down the stairs with his luggage and bowling trophies.

"I see," she said crisply, turning her attention to the menu, and belatedly buttoning up her blouse. "Where's that wine?"

I quickly called up images of Ginny and Angel that I screen-captured from my front door security video earlier that week. I was surprised neither of the hyper-paranoid women I was sleeping with noticed the small cam I'd installed a couple of years before after we were victimized by a porch pirate. The resolution was remarkable. I turned the phone around and put the screen in front of Aubrey. She squinted at the faces.

"Who are these bitches?" she said, her smile still AWOL.

"I am actually hoping you can tell me, because right now they are living under my roof and I believe this one" -- pointing to the picture of Angel -- "is an active member of a Colombian drug cartel while the other is an old friend who seems to be entangled in some scheme about to go down."

"Old friend, huh?" Aubrey said skeptically as she re-examined Ginny's image.

I rocked back in my chair. "It's a long story, but until I bumped into her this week in a second-hand bookstore, I hadn't seen her in 30 years since Maeve and I met her in Saint Lucia."

THAT got Aubrey's immediate attention and her eyes widened. "The Unicorn!" she gasped. "You are fucking kidding me!"

My jaw dropped, again. "Is there ANYTHING Maeve DIDN'T share with you?!"

Aubrey's smile returned. "Nope. So what's the deal with Horny Horse?"

"It's Ginny, please." I took a deep breath and began briefing her on the incredible chain of events that began in the bookstore, to a summation of Ginny's own checkered past leading to her escape and current life below the radar, right up to my following the women to their suspicious meeting in the sandwich shop. Aubrey had already pulled out a pad and was scribbling down my information furiously, twice shooing away our waiter so I'd keep rolling without distraction. The more I spoke, the more ridiculous -- and dangerous -- my situation appeared to be.

Trust Aubrey to keep it real. "So, what I want to know is..." She leaned over the table, her large, piercing blue eyes trained on me. "Did you fuck her?"

"Aubrey!"

"It's important to the investigation!"

People were beginning to stare. "WHAT investigation?" I hissed.

Aubrey held up my phone with Angel's stone-cold face staring back at me. "This chick is part of the drug cartel. I don't know how deep she's in or what she's up to but from what you've told me, I'm pretty sure she's not in town for the jazz festival."

I took my phone back and swept Ginny's picture back on the screen, and turned it to Aubrey. "It's very important that this woman not be harmed."

"Because you love her?" Aubrey watched me closely.

I was gobsmacked -- did I? Can you love someone after being out of the picture for 30 years, with so much to hide and carrying more baggage than a Kardashian heading to Vegas for the weekend?

It was right about then my internal analysis was interrupted by a familiar disembodied voice in my head. I could hear Maeve, as I often did when things got tough. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think you need to listen to Aubrey," said the voice.

"Okay love, but did you have to tell her everything?"

Silence, then she spoke again. "Gillian and Emma won't take my calls."

"Hello, Pete? Woo-hoo?" Aubrey was waving her napkin at me, her patience with my reverie at an end.

I knitted my fingers together. "Look, Aubrey, she's been through a lot, and she's made just about every mistake a woman can make in this world, which may include sleeping with me. I think she's suffered enough. That's all I gotta say about that."

Aubrey nodded and put her hand out for my phone. She downloaded the images of my houseguests to her phone and fired them off to the office. "I'm going to need a few hours," she said simply. "Be available, OK?"

I nodded my assent.

"And Pete? Don't fuck her again."

"Which one?"

It was Aubrey's turn to be floored. "Are you shitting me? Another threesome!"

I shrugged. "I'm weak. Certainly weaker than Angel."

Aubrey pulled out her pad and began writing again. "What happened? Who did what to whom, step by step. Every. Detail."

"Wait, what does this have to do with anything?"

"It could be very important to the investigation," she insisted, "and speak to the relationship between the women. Who's the alpha, who's really in charge? Interpersonal dynamics are key here."

I spluttered. "Uh, well, they seem very close and, uh, attentive to each other's needs in bed."

"Uh huh, uh huh, go on." Aubrey went back to scribbling but I couldn't help noticing after a while her left hand had disappeared under the table, and I was also fairly certain this interrogation would conclude with a puff of cigarette smoke in the alley.

I didn't have to wait long for Agent Matheson to get back to me. That night after Angel returned, she, Ginny and I were curled up on the couch watching Gloria, a steamy Chilean film about a sexy older woman having a fling. At least, THEY were watching it -- my peripheral vision was working overtime taking in the 3D sexo going on next to me. I got a text from Aubrey demanding my presence in the park down the road in 10 minutes.

Thinking quickly, I excused myself to hit the corner store for junk -- the perpetually famished Angel had emptied my cupboards -- and I ran to the park where I found Aubrey sitting on a bench.

"Why the hell are you wearing sunglasses?" I asked as I sat down next to her. "It's 10 o'clock at night."

She continued staring straight ahead. She then pulled a file out of her handbag and dropped it on my lap. "This is the woman you've been fisting."

"Oh gawd Aubrey, you really have a way of..." I opened the thick file, stamped INTERPOL, and there at the top of the pile of documents and photos was a mugshot of Ms. Angel Guerra. Drug trafficking. Racketeering. Extortion. Murder. I flipped page after page, as if I was desperately searching for evidence she might also be a soup kitchen volunteer or organ donor.

"Well," Aubrey said, still wearing those stupid glasses like she was Ray Charles or something, "it would seem Ms. Guerra is doing more than fetch coffee and Danishes for the boys at the table."

I closed the file. "I feel like you just fisted me."

She returned the file to her handbag and pulled out another one. "All in good time, sweets. Now, check out this one on your unicorn."

My hand was shaking as I took the file from her and found it a good deal lighter than Angel's damning track record. There were only five pages in it, and just a couple pictures of Ginny and Angel on the street, taken with a long lens. I dug into the scant evidence and found no mug shot, no arrests, no convictions, not even a parking ticket. Just guilt by association, as far as I could tell.

"So she's clean?" I asked hopefully.

Now Aubrey took off the Raybans and turned to me. "Oh, Virginia Harper is a model citizen -- could do a better job of picking friends. We did learn some interesting things, though. She's a frequent flyer to a spa in Switzerland where she's undergone a number of procedures. Facelift. Nose job. The next time you're burying your face in those jugs, you should know they've been altered too. And do you know what a vampire breast lift is? She's had those puppies injected with plasma."

"Still -- nothing illegal?"

Aubrey nodded. "Sure, she's clean. Now Anne Sedgwick, on the other hand, total badass. If you're wondering where she got that deep throat technique, it could have something to do with all those condoms she's swallowed to mule smack across the border back in the day. She's graduated to other stuff. And don't get me started on Julie Barnes or Huguette Brassard -- total cunts. I'd need a forklift to bring you those files."

I closed my eyes. "She showed me her British passport and alias at the start. She told me she used these fake IDs to hide from the cartel. "

Aubrey snorted. "She uses aliases and hideouts to hide from us. The good guys. The good guys with natural tits." She unbuttoned her blouse again to give me a hint of hers.

I sighed. "Now what? Are you going to arrest them?"

She shook her head. "No, you twigged us to that meeting in the sandwich shop and we were able to get CCTV footage of those animals your friends met with. Total different operation. Now we're talking human trafficking, fentanyl. We need to know more. We need to bug your place."

"Oh for fuck's sake! How are you going to do that? At least one of them is home all the time."

Aubrey put her hand out for a shake. "Meet your sister-in-law. She's coming to dinner tomorrow night. She's been worried about you since her sister died last year and wants to make sure you're okay. Eating right, taking care of yourself, not fucking women on the FBI's Ten Most Wanted List. You're going to fire up the barbie and cook up some steaks. I'll bring 'em. Rib-eyes. I like my meat well done." She smiled. "As you will learn."

"Uh...okay?"

"And while everybody's having a great time on your deck, I'm going to go inside to drain the lizard and bug your guest room. Won't take a minute."

I stood up. "Six o'clock?" Aubrey nodded and put the stupid sunglasses back on. I turned to leave.

"Wait, you'll need this." Aubrey reached under the bench and gave me a plastic bag.

"You told them you were stepping out for snacks. Here they are. They can't suspect anything."

I looked in the bag and found a crushed partial bag of pretzels and a can of Pringles chips. Which was half empty.

Aubrey shrugged and got up to leave. "What? I got hungry."

When I got back to my townhouse I was worried my prolonged absence would have been noticed and uncomfortable questions would be asked. I'm a terrible liar. But I needn't have worried. I could have gone to the Leafs game -- in Montreal -- and not been missed. Angel was going down on Ginny and time appeared to be standing still. I looked at the TV screen and saw Pauline Garcia going at it with her co-star, so clearly the action on the couch was cinematically inspired.

Ginny opened her eyes and smiled as I waved at her weakly before putting my pathetic loot on the kitchen counter. Then I heard hushed talking and giggles. "Pete, Angel has something she'd like to discuss with you."