Chapter 6

It was several hours after the shooting incident that Maureen Epstein, found me far from the camp site, staring off onto space, trying to forget my actions when those morons came for the girls. She was the only girl, who appeared to like boys, that I hadn’t been with. My brain wouldn’t release the image of a head exploding into a red mist, scattering brains and gore all over the one closest.

I shot him next and then each of his companions. The image was like a deadly film loop that kept repeating over and over and over.

My lives were filled with violent confrontations. There seemed to be a never ending line of killers trying to hurt those that I cared about, only to be replaced by more predators, who showed up to ruin those few moments of peace and sanity in whatever life I lived at the time.

The slideshow of death wouldn’t let up.

There seemed no way to erase the images of the people that I made dead.

‘Hey,” Maureen spoke softly as she slid in beside me, wrapping one arm around my waist. “You were so distracted when you walked off. I’ve brought you some hot soup and cheese.”

When I failed to respond she squeezed. Her touch was surprisingly comforting, and I leaned towards her, hungry for contact ... any contact. Her fingers gently brushed the hair off my forehead, and her voice soothed some of the disturbance rioting through my soul. “Are you going to speak? Or are you one of those deprived monks that hide out in caves and eat crickets, and moths, and things?”

That made me smile.

Her voice raised an octave in pitch, and many decibels in volume. “You actually smiled! Tommy Morrison can smile.” She held her face in her hands like Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm. Her crooked smile was just comical enough to break my mood, and I was excruciatingly grateful for that. I swept her into a hug, spilled the soup, knocked the cheese off of her lap, and used the distraction to adroitly remove her blouse and bra. When my lips made contact with her engorged nipple, her sigh was both exciting and strangely calming.

Instead of the usual, teenage, wild, sweaty, panting sex, we were in no hurry and I spent a good hour bringing her to the pinnacle of her pleasure so many times that we both lost count. Maureen came until she simply went limp, unable to speak, blink, or otherwise communicate. Rather than take advantage of someone so completely spent, I held her naked body in my arms and crooned soft words of comfort into her ear, while inwardly praying she would recover enough to continue what we started.

Maureen was a bit of a blond. Her hair had lots of brown highlights, along with some in between hues. I would guess her hair was defined by a number printed on a bottle of Clairol, but her pubic hair was all brown, which told me her natural shade. Her scent was clean and fresh, almost virginal, but her body yielded to my probing fingers without a hint of hymen, so she’d traveled down this road before.

All these thoughts entertained me until she shook her head, swept the perspiration off of her brow, and jerked me to the ground, then mounted up cowgirl style, and took off like I was a bucking bronco and she a horse tamer. All of my patience paid off, as Maureen turned into a sex machine, determined to pound me into complete submission.

It worked.

We finally burned off all the excess energy and then started in on our reserves. Eventually, even that ran out, and we slept on the ground, recovering our breath, our strength, and our sanity. Sex with Maureen was more a marathon than a sprint, but her finishing kick about killed me.

So there you go.

As we quietly walked back to the cave I saw Judy slip inside. It was clear that she was making sure that I was going to be all right. After killing another set of crazed rapists, and making love to the human sex machine, I believe I was...

... all right - that is.

In fact, I felt just fine.

Maureen apparently had no intention of spending the night. She kissed me quickly and darted inside the cave as we approached. When I climbed into the fifth-wheel I found out why.

Our two Sapphic lovers were awaiting me, wrapped naked together, and wet in all the right ways. Belinda was several sizes larger than Kate, and her pendulous breasts flopped around as she squealed in delight at my apparent interest. Kate was nearly eclipsed by her rotund friend, but her ebony skin was covered with a light sheen of sweat, highlighted by the glow of the camper lighting.

The scent of female arousal was so potent that I paused to open a few windows to get some fresh air flowing through, and while I did that, I shed my clothes to present myself in a more appropriate fashion. Belinda was the one girl that had the fewest arrows in her quiver with which to attract a boy. Her hair was too long and not long enough, while her bottom was out of proportion to her chest, which was smaller than the average thirteen year old girl’s bust. She was simply a bunch of unmatched spare parts, cobbled together into a seventeen year old woman.

That said, the picture of her fully engaged in lesbian love with a truly tiny girl, and being completely dominated by the little thing, was endearing, or adorable, or intriguing, or just plain hot.

Take your pick.

For whatever reason, I liked what I saw.

Kate stood a full four-foot nine, or ten. Her weight was somewhere between skinny, and scrawny, but her breasts were lush and heavy, and literally dripping with Belinda’s sexual juices. She was busy trying to fit her entire breast inside Belinda’s vagina when I came in, and nearly completing her task. Belinda was desperately trying to hold herself open enough, and be helpful enough to discover what it was about things shoved in and out of a woman that was so attractive to her classmates. Between them there was an aura of sexuality that had my exhausted friend, Mr. Johnson, suddenly standing tall and proud.

Kate spoke first, and obviously as the one in charge.

“If you are going to be any use to us at all, you need to lose the rest of those clothes, get hard, and stick that thing where it will do the most good!”

I can take a hint.

Belinda sucked in a huge lung full of air as Mr. Johnson breeched her heretofore virgin passage. I could feel the tension as she waited for it to hurt. My lovers rarely experienced anything resembling pain, unless that is their explicit desire, and Big Belinda was no exception. Her previous lesbian encounters must have never touched her like I did, because she shrieked as she came, bellowing in Kate’s ear as the torrent of pleasure assaulted her from below. By the time she begged for surfeit, she was reduced to whispering, cringing, and crying, because she had no strength left to do more.

When I rolled away to give her relief, Kate straddled me with a bit too much skill and went for a cow girl ride.

This one played for the both teams.

As a former girl, I felt a bit of camaraderie for Kate, we both had been the beneficiary of the other team’s best players, and when she screamed out her orgasm, I joined her and filled her to overflowing.

Because I’m very mean, I made Belinda sleep on the wet spot.

So there.

When I woke up it was with Carrie beside me, not Kate and Belinda, or Judy, or Cheryl for that matter. Don’t ask me about the strategy there. It will never make any sense, but Carrie was energetic and devotedly determined to make it good, so I went with the flow and, John Lennon would say, “Let it Be.”

Later – much later that day – I realized that the night was exactly what I needed to break the icy sorrow that enveloped me after killing those cretins. Judy’s hands were all over that and I promised myself that she would be very deeply thanked ... over and over again.

Which I did.

It was ... special.

Afterward, Judy was overheard wondering how she gave up her one remaining virginity without a second thought.

It was special.

So sue me.

Sometimes something comes along and breaks the cycle of how things are going. One minute it seems like the road ahead is set in stone, and impossible to alter. And then some small pebble disrupts the flow of things and from that moment forward everything takes a new, and completely different road.

When I rejoined the girls that day, every single one of them seemed to see me differently. It was as if seeing me kill for them in such a brutal and dangerous way, changed, forever, their perception of me – Tommy – me – one - or both of us. Knowing how the violence hurt me inside, and the lengths Judy, Maureen, Belinda and Kate were willing to go to help me over the wall of my sadness, was some kind of cathartic for us all.

The girls were more talkative, friendlier, kinder, much more helpful, and seriously interested in how I felt about little things. None of that was true a day earlier, but having been through that horror together, melded us into more of a family, and less of a group.

I liked it.

Time passed slowly as summer plodded toward fall. The plague finally burned out. Between Mother Nature, the antidote, and the inevitable erosion of potency, the germ that made up the plague simply surrendered in stages. The U.S. pulled free first, because Americans are in better health, generally, than most of the rest of the world. Europe stumbled for a few months then recovered as did Asia. The Middle East and Africa were hit hardest and had the toughest time emerging from sickness.