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Another story in the Dick and Jane occasional collection. The stories are fiction but I hope reflect some universal truth. Best read in sequence. All characters over 18.
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Dick and John go on the hunt, get more than they bargain for, and take home the prize.
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We're on our usual bench in the side hall close to the food court. A good vantage for hunting.
"Hey, John, incoming Dick alert: Two o'clock--30 feet--water fountain--pink camel toe--rear view--presenting--nubile--strong mating pheromones."
Up top, John turns his head slowly on his bull-neck. He doesn't want to draw attention. His eye's rise gradually, drift, focus. No sudden movements.
"Oh! My! God!" he mutters, and I stiffen, immediately, hard as a rock. He twists to adjust his crotch and give me room.
A message from John arrives,
"Hey, Dick, situational assessment follows: By herself--over 18--barely--tucking hair behind ear as she drinks--now stroking her rump absent-mindedly--slight ass wiggle--no one else around--I think she'll struggle--perhaps more than a little--enough to make me pleasantly dominant--and her terrified--then happy as she takes my cock."
Now he's starting to fantasize, or is it strategize. At first the two are indistinguishable, but as I wait his fantasy becomes plan, then plan becomes action. He decides on the
big
storage room with the soft furnishings and hidden corners. It's his favorite and he has his duplicate key from Jack, head of Mall Security. He and Jack have been a team for years.
John's eyes are locked on the target, though he keeps his dark glasses on and newspaper up. First in his imagination and now in fact, he's rising, folding his paper, walking forward so very casually. Practiced. Experienced. Dopamine floods our system. We're intent on our goal. Pink camel toe.
I just hope John can think rationally and not pay too much attention to me. Sometimes he can't handle erection stress and screws up. Then neither of us gets to screw.
But there's not much I can do. It's in John's hands for now. All I can think is,
"Just hold on, John, till we have her in hand, under control and on her back. Then leave the rest to me. I'll be up her like a rat up a drain pipe, no matter how much she fights and squeals,"
"We're moving. Keep moving. Slowly does it, John. We can do this!"
, is what I'm straining to send to his easily distracted brain.
We're advancing stealthily on our prey. Perfect size, sexy top, tight pink shorts, presenting, long hair which I already imagine swinging rhythmically over her face as we mount and breed her. Hell, her mating scent is so strong she might very well conceive this first time, like that bit behind the gym last year.
By now we must be in her peripheral vision. If she wasn't in
estrus
she'd be skittish. Instead, she's still smoothing up the back of her thigh to her rump and sliding a finger under the hem of her pink shorts--a knuckle length from her camel toe--as her other hand tucks her hair back. Even a one-eyed Dick can see the signals.
***
As he strolls forward, John sees them coming fast from the far end of the mall. Three teens, acne, pushing and jostling each other and any passers by who get too close. John sees the tattooed one catch sight of Pink Camel Toe and do a double take. He digs mousey beard on his left in the ribs, and gestures with his chin. Mousey beard punches four eyes, and now all three are staring at Pink Camel Toe.
John was a teen once--in fact he still thinks like one--so he knows what's going through these three tortured teens' minds. He imagines their sudden erections poking down their pant legs. He sees their makeshift plan form, though it's so naive and immature it's barely a plan. They are going to jump her as a group, though they won't know what to do when they have her. They'd just scare her and she'd be gone from the waterhole.
John knows he has to act fast. He straightens up and lengthens his stride--he still looks like he's moving casually but in fact he's now closing the distance rapidly.
He's within two strides of Pink Camel Toe--still oblivious, bent, drinking from the fountain, signaling
estrus
--when the three funhouse lads start their charge. What happens next is a blur in the moment, reconstructed later.
John launches forward, all arms and legs and big brutal bulk, seeking to block access to his claim. He covers her from behind, bends over her back, his arms and hands going down each side in support, protection and possession.
The funhouse lads, crash into him, colliding with his broad back and each other. This doesn't bother John--he's fought off much bigger assaults in the past--but their combined momentum drives him down and into Pink Camel Toe.
She takes the full weight of his sudden mounting and goes forward on her elbows while simultaneously straightening her legs to brace. These instinctual movements combine to dip her back, raise her ass, and position her camel toe to receive incoming, and incoming is me--all shaft, glans and one-eyed blind enthusiasm.
John now has to reset his own stance to prevent the whole lot crashing to the floor, and he grabs at anything he can. In so doing one hand finds a lovely tit swinging free, and his face pushes against the side of the young gazelle's neck. At this point he comes to a complete stop with Pink Camel Toe beneath him, and the funhouse lads sprawled on the floor around them.
He has won the prize.
***
