With a little help from La Pantera Bonita. (Spanish for nice pussy or something) This is the continuing sexual adventures of Naughty Mike. All my stories use the same lead character. They can be read independent of each other or together as a novel. (Like Star Wars these were not written in chronological order.) For those who happen to like my style of writing and wish to read about Naughty Mike in a chronological sequence, it would be as follows: 1.)Terry Takes on the Navy (reader's favorite), 2) Mike Returns Home, 3) Nancy the Drama Teacher, 4) Whoring Night Series chapters 1-10, 5) Three for Tammy (my favorite), 6) Dave Returns the Favor. No animals were hurt during the writing of this story.(I know that last statement sounds a bit silly, but my parole officier says I must add it.)
After I got out of the Navy, I was feeling real sorry for myself. My marriage ended in divorce (See "Terry Takes on the Navy) and my father had died of a heart attack last year. Mom told us the whole story, apparently attempting to alleviate some guilt feelings. We all knew Dad had a bad heart like his grandfather. I called it a smorgasbord heart myself. We knew what was at the root of the heart problems. Abe Stolzfus (my Dad) had retired and moved to South Carolina. He had done okay for himself marrying a woman twenty years his junior. My mother, who was born Sarah J. Acosta (what's in a name?) and her family were immigrants from Aviles, Asturia, Spain. They came over during the Spanish Civil War. My grandfather Abe Stolzfus served as a medic with the Abraham Lincoln Brigade. (Historically speaking my Mennonite ancestor's weren't the best of pacifists.) There he met Sarah's father Jose Acosta Garcia outside of Madrid. Jose was out of ammunition.
Granddaddy Abe stole some ammunition off of one of Franco's dead soldiers and gave it to him. He would often remark how "he took a bullet for him." They became best of friends and Abe sponsored Jose and his family to come to the states, beside he could use some help on the farm. My parents grew up together almost as brother and Sister. My father worked on the farm until he was 40 and never married. About the same time, granddaddy deeded the farm over to him and he married the young Sarah J. Acosta. About that time I came along. (My birthday was 6 months after their wedding. I never mentioned that fact. Mom claims I was conceived by Immaculate Conception.)
The farm was supposed to go to me (as if I wanted to farm.) Dad had to sell the farm for medical expenditures. The family moved south to get out of the wintry cold, but kept their tithe to White Oaks congregation.
Back to the heart attack. Mom claims Abe wanted to get a little frisky. She told him, "The doctor said, 'no sex' it could kill you."
Abe responded, "If I die, I die. I gotta have it."
He then mounted her and had a heart attack while having sex with Mom. She could have just told us he died in his sleep, like other old couples' claim, but she insisted on giving us the details.
Mom hadn't done much since Dad died. She got hooked up to cable and spent most of her time glued to the TV set watching HBO.
My Sister Felicia was another story. She was a hot looking senior in High School and very popular among the boys. Felicia had inherited Mom's Spanish looks, unlike me who took after the German side of the family. Since I got out the Navy, I was letting my hair grow out. Within a few years, people would mistake me for David Crosby, except in Cleveland where everyone thought I was "Jake". I later found out "Jake" was actually Jim Fox, a local, who played drums for the defunct James Gang. While our faces were near identical, the guy must have had six inches in height over me. This didn't seem to matter to the women folk. I wish to apologize now for any paternity suit issued against you, Jim from women you never met. If you want you can kick my ass. It was worth it, being you for a couple of months.
My baby sister, Felicia by contrast had long jet-black hair. She had olive skin and the cutest butt wiggle since the age of fourteen. Her boobs were a healthy "D" cup and she had an unbelievable 19-inch waste, which made her tits look even larger. She didn't look like a Felicia, more like a mini version of Catherine Zeta Jones with a mustache. Unlike Mom, she would not keep her figure later in life. From 104 pounds of explosive T&A, she is now approaching the 200-pound mark-so the rest of you women can stop hating her now.
A week earlier, while Mom was cleaning out Felicia's Chevy Vega, she had found a roach clip. It was a nice silver one, fashioned after an Egyptian scarab. Felicia said it wasn't hers that it had to mine. Mom knew I use to smoke dope before I went into the Navy. As a teenager, she once opened my closet door to hang up clothes and was hit in the head by a small stack of not-so-well-hidden Playboys and a nickel bag. At least that was her story. I accepted the roach clip. The Vega had been a rental car and may have been left in there by a previous customer. Those professional car cleaners with their high-powered vacuums and steamers just couldn't compete with Mom.
It was boring being at home, my new job started next week and I was anxious to make a go at it in the civilian world. Felicia offered to relieve some of my boredom by taking me to a small get together her friends were having. She said Billy's sister who has big tits, blonde hair and loose morals might be there. At this point a promise of hope was good enough for me.
We ended up in a small apartment complex in Inman, South Carolina. A slightly effeminate guy named Dexter owned the place. He had dropped out of school and was a lower tier manager at the Spartanburg Wal-Mart. He recommended it highly as a stock buy. I didn't think they could compete with the local malls and K-mart. I held my tongue. I didn't want to bust the dumb dropout's bubble.
Billy Biggerstaff, Felicia's on again-off again boyfriend, was there too. He was sporting a Carolina Gamecocks jersey. There was something Freudian at work here. Billy's sister, my target for the evening, could not be here. She couldn't get away from her high-pressure job as a door greeter at Red Lobster. Billy had blonde hair also. He was a short wiry type of guy. He liked to talk too and had brought along some pot her had been growing. He claimed he had transplanted some Hawaiian seeds. This was the fifth generation and the strongest of the lot. It was certified "two-toke" weed. Billy said it could make someone "Super Oxide." I had no idea what he meant. He was selling the stuff to his friends for less than half of what I could get for it back up North. Billy was no dummy, having spent seven years in high school. I ended up with a half pound of smoke in my trunk that night. Fuck Wal-mart. I knew how to make some real money.
A big hairy Red Neck named John was there too. Everyone called him Bo. In South Carolina there is a law that requires at least one person in any group of five or more to be nicknamed Bo. Alabama was a similar law called "the Bubba Law.' Bo was wearing bib overalls with no shirt. His back was hairy and reminded me those artist conceptions of Neanderthals. He was a likable type, always smiling. He has heartbroken over the recent Lynyrd Skynyrd tragedy. Everyone one in this group had attended their last concert and was carrying around the ticket stubs to prove it. Dexter had their last album, which they played that night until the record grooves were deep enough to plant potatoes. I asked which members of the band had died. Bo picked up the album jacket and pointed to the guys in flames.
"Jesus! That was fuckin' eerie," I thought.
Dexter laid out an eight ball of coke for us to share. Billy was sharing his pot. I was beginning to love this Southern hospitality. Dexter excused himself and went upstairs to the bathroom as we delved into his powder. Dexter had a cat named Sauli. It was a cute white playful Persian cat. Now mind you, I am not a cat lover. I will confess, against my better judgment, I will slow up my vehicle when I see one in the road.
Sauli was under the sofa clawing at the back of our shoes or boots as the case may be. While Dexter was upstairs, Bo reached underneath and grabbed the cat from under the sofa as it was trying to paw him. Bo picked up the cat, and said, "I hate this cat" and twisted and snapped its neck. He stuffed the dead cat back under the sofa.
