Chapter 2

The hike was long, hot, and rugged, of course, but we brought plenty of water along to refresh and rehydrate. The last thing that any of us wished was to suffer heatstroke. Still, it was good to get some exercise, to burn off some calories, and just enjoy each other’s company while my dick and their holes recovered from so much wild sex so as to be ready for more. Seeing the wonders of nature didn’t hurt, though we had a slight scare when Moira saw her first coyote and got a little too close. We wisely backed out of what turned out to be the territory of a mother and her cubs. That was when we agreed that we’d had enough and climbed back down to end the hike.

Having been particularly good about our exercise that morning, when we saw a Lenny’s, we were quite ready to stop in for a nice, greasy lunch. We ordered our food, which Shiraz paid for, since she had rich parents, something that I didn’t know just yet. I just knew that she seemed to have no shortage of cash flow. I wondered about that, but kept it to myself for now, instead preferring to enjoy her treat, which in my case was a Hickory Burger (a burger with a BBQ sauce and many other toppings to boot) and some wonderful fries with a chocolate malt.

“God, this Polish sausage is to die for, though for me, the tastiest weiner I’ve ever sampled was Jewish,” Shiraz teased me a bit as we ate ... she had elected onion rings with her Polish sausage as well, washed down with a root beer float.

“And his name was Anthony,” I quipped, making Shiraz giggle, but shake her head.

“Nope, he was named after a certain general and President,” she winked at me.

Moira blushed at that comment, as did I a bit, while eating her own chili cheese fries, which was all she wanted or needed right then. Well, she had a strawberry milkshake, but that was to wash the fries down. That was when we got another picture message, this time showing Jane’s tramp stamp, which contained a symbol of a devil’s forked tail, pointing downward, and with the words, “Ike’s Sassy Succubus.” I chuckled at that, to put it mildly, as did Shiraz and Moira.

“Meet us at Lenny’s. Bring your appetite, my naughty little imp,” I texted her, to which she replied with a devil face and a heart.

“Wow, you really want to see that ink in person, don’t ya? I don’t blame you, either. So do I. What about you, Moira?” Shiraz smiled at me and licked her lips.

“What do you think, babe?” Moira snickered as she ran her tongue along the back of my neck, in full view of the other customers.

“Exactly,” Shiraz laughed, slipping her fingers down the crotch of my pants.

I was beet-red by now, but most of the patrons acted as if they had seen nothing, which may or may not have been true. Even so, the ladies kept upping the ante between bites of their food, planting kisses on my lips in turns and slipping me more than a little tongue each time ... That drew a cough or time or a disapproving look, as it was more obvious and difficult to hide that they were both amorously involved with me. They also began French kissing each other, not hiding that or being subtle, either. This brought on even more consternation, yet no one made a move to stop us.

What really fucked with their heads was when Jane arrived and gave me a big, wet, sloppy kiss on the mouth, not even making the slightest attempt to hide what she was about. Then, to add insult to injury, she planted lip locks on Moira and Shiraz, too, which finally drove one other diner to the point that he stood and walked over to us. Turning to each of us, red in the face, he took out some literature and was prepared to cite it, if necessary, I suspected.

“Are you married to any of these women?” the clean-shaven, white-haired man asked me.

“Yes, to all three of them,” I dared any of them to contradict me, and in fact, Jane squeezed hand with pleasure at this surprise, before going off to order her own food.

“You’re a polygamist,” he said that as a statement.

“Yes, I would say that I fit the textbook definition of a polygamist. I practice polygamy. Someday, perhaps, I might even perfect it,” I waxed witty that time.

“It’s illegal,” he noted, coughing.

“Not in the form that I practice it. This isn’t Utah. I’ve researched it. As long as I don’t get a license for any wives past the first, I’m not breaking any laws. Technically, the only law that I would violate then is the anti-bigamy law, intended more to catch men hiding their second and third wives ... or women hiding their other husbands. I am only legally married to Shiraz here, but I am married in my heart to all three of them,” I smiled as I closed the trap on him.

“It’s still against God’s law, then. You know that the Church abolished plural marriage in 1890, so anyone practicing it now is subject to excommunication, especially if you toss in unnatural acts not even condoned by most FLDS groups,” the man retorted.

“Again, you show that a little knowledge can be dangerous. I am not and never was LDS. I’m actually Jewish. My legal wife is a Shia Muslim, I believe, though I’m not sure how devout. I venture a guess that Moira is likely a Roman Catholic, if perhaps lapsed,” I laughed at that part.

“Quite lapsed, thank you very much. Haven’t been to Mass in literal years,” Moira laughed with her melodic Irish accent.

“Ireland?” the man asked her, “I was a missionary to Ireland back in the day. 1969, in fact. The Church sent me there for two years, as usual. And what about you, Miss?”

“Me? I grew up Quaker. Plain and simple folk. Weren’t allowed to curse, swear, drink, gamble, or anything like that. Had to eat in simple contemplation, too. Bunch of fucking hypocrites, of course. Talking of the Inner Light, but never following their own. Well, my Inner Light tells me that this is the way to go. Lots of parallels to the LDS, but we never set plotted to massacre pioneers,” Jane recalled what had happened to one of her ancestors at the Mountain Meadows Massacre.