The Swarm Cycle

It was New Years, and the big bash I’d paid big bucks to go to was over. We’d raised Hell and danced and had our fancy dinner and a show and the champagne to ring in the New Year and it was two thirty in the morning. Coming out of the city on the main highway, I rounded a corner to find blue lights everywhere. Shit. Well, I’d had a bit, but I’d eaten well and danced my ass off — and I didn’t FEEL impaired, so MAYBE… It wasn’t as if there was anywhere to go — all three lanes led in one direction, toward the roadblock. The right lane seemed to be moving faster, so I got into it; it wasn’t as if being in the left lane, stopped, was going to get us there faster, despite what the majority of idiots in this state — who all tended to believe they had a God-given right to drive in the fast lane, fast or not — might believe.

The tactic proved effective; I bet we got to the cops ten minutes ahead of those who stubbornly stayed left. I didn’t worry about it because ten minutes one way or the other wasn’t going to save me from a DUI if I was over the limit; if I was going to start the new year in the drunk tank, I might as well get there early.

Mona spent the whole time in the front passenger seat worrying, running just north of hysterics; Bonnie spent her time leaning up to rub her shoulders and soothe her. The other two girls were mostly silent. I could see Lucinda in the center seat in the rearview; she was as canned as I was if the cops got serious, since she was an illegal. Grace wasn’t even visible; she was doing her thing, blending into the background.

The cop was HUGE and all business — not a surprise, actually, given the fact that they were tying up the entire road. “License, registration and CAP card, please.”

“We haven’t done anything!” Mona erupted. She’d had a bit, and she had her own very serious worries about anything that might separate us.

“Shush!” I snapped. Bonnie took the sting out of it by murmuring, “If there is a problem, you’ll only make it worse,” while rubbing Mona’s shoulders.

“Have you been drinking this evening, Mr., ah, Connors?” the cop asked. Mona moaned, but I answered truthfully, “A bit. I think I’m legal, though.”

“Would you step out of the car, Sir?” He stepped back a bit.

“Certainly.” Mona whined again and Bonnie went, “Shhh!” I got out and stepped away from the car, looking around. This was a major setup; there were big, heated tents on either side of the road and a couple of big trailers. Cars were trickling through — reasonably quickly, on occasion — but some were being collected beside the road in a parking area. I wondered if mine was going to appear over there soon. The cop waved me a few feet away from the car and asked, “Will you consent to a breathalyzer test? It will speed things.”

“Certainly, officer.” I was good or I wasn’t…

Then he did something uncharacteristic; he went over and squatted to look in the car windows and asked, “Is this your pre-pack?”

I blinked. “Actually, it is.”

The ‘cop’ turned to me and grinned, uttering that classing George Peppard line, “I love it when a plan comes together!” He hopped up and crossed back to me, murmuring, “If you’ll call your concubines out of the car, we’ll get this show on the road!”

I got it. This wasn’t about my blood alcohol level, after all — or it might have been if my CAP score wasn’t seven point six, but in this case… “Ladies…?” I beckoned and the doors came open.

Mona was first, dashing to me as fast as her chunky legs could carry her, wringing her hands and crying. I cuddled her to me and whispered, “It’s all right — in fact, it’s GREAT, Sweetie. Just settle down…”

———————————-

Mona was unusual — and looks had very little to do with it. She was twenty-four and five feet five and daintily built — above the waist. But she had a big ass and sizeable thighs before everything shrank back down to calves and feet that matched her upper body. She was a brunette with pixie features and a bit of Italian swarthiness and high-riding grapefruit-sized titties — but that ass kept the boys away.

It didn’t keep ME away, however; I tend to find something to appreciate in the majority of women — but the whole thing STILL wouldn’t have happened without the Swarm. You see, when it became more important for a woman to get noticed than it was for her to compete on an equal footing with a man, the ‘politically correct’ custom of pretending to ignore women in public settings fell into disfavor, to be replaced by something long practiced by Hispanics and Italians — and perhaps the French — overt appreciation. The ‘wolf whistle’ has resumed its place in the male arsenal — and women were finding reasons to dress naughtily and show off their wares — reasons directly linked to survival. Suddenly, telling a strange woman she was hot got dimples instead of a glare and ‘sex object’ wasn’t the negatively freighted term it had been only recently.

I met Mona in a grocery store, of all places. She was going over the produce on one of the tables — yams, I think it was — while I was hunting Vidalia onions on the other side of the table; I glanced up and my eyeballs rolled down into her soft, round cleavage. She was wearing a pink and white striped tube top under an open hoodie — which was somewhat modest and offered an opportunity to be more so while displaying her breasts and midriff quite provocatively. I said, “Wow! Nice rack!” — something that would have been seriously distant from anything resembling politically correct a couple of years before — and she smiled shyly, blushing, while I watched her nipples stiffen.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, regarding me with doe-soft eyes.

“Thank YOU!” I replied, rounding the table, the onions forgotten. “Are they real?” Pretty rude, huh? I’ve gotten better, but I’ve never been gifted at romantic conversation. The negative parts were visible before she turned to face me — her butt made her lean forward a bit and resemble a duck — but I was past the point where I was going to be concerned by a little extra padding in the fundament; this chick’s whole vibe was throwing out the welcome mat, and I was NOT inclined to turn such a thing down!

A note about me, I guess. I’m thirty two, about six feet, one eighty or so, rangy, not muscular looking. I have bland brown hair that’s thinning on top embarrassingly and a baby face that requires a moustache to ensure that you realize I’m not a college kid. Otherwise, it’s a pretty nondescript face, though, and I don’t have perfect shiny white teeth, so I don’t smile much. I did some time in the military but got out when it became apparent that my horizons were too limited; now I’m a tech geek — well, actually, I always was.

The point is, Superman wasn’t bearing down upon her from around the produce table — but Mona’s eyes said she liked what she saw, and that was unusual in my experience, to say the least! My next utterance — “Can I see them?” — should have killed things, but it didn’t; she just looked up at me, wide-eyed, and said, “Uh huh.” Later, Mona told me that we were a done deal the moment I put my hand on her bare waist as I asked her that question.

I broke my gaze away from her hypnotic eyes and glanced around; some dried-up looking forty-something bitch was glaring at me, but nobody else seemed to be paying any attention. I slid my hands under the hoodie and under the sides of the tube top, and then lifted it forward and away from the cutest set of brown-capped globes…

My delighted visual and tactile examination was interrupted by a rasped, “Young man! MUST you make a spectacle of yourself in a public place?” Forty-something was glowering at me disgustedly.

I glanced up and down the aisle; there were a couple of teenyboppers in transparent blouses and more than one MILF showing the entire top half of her titties — down to the nipples. I snarled at the busybody, “I see at least three other sets of tits visible at a glance; just because you can’t compete doesn’t mean SHE can’t!” Ignoring old grouchy, I returned my attention to the chubby pixie in front of me, “Baby, these are SWEET!” They were soft and round and firm and drooped just a bit out of the support of the top — and they felt wonderful!

Mona played with her fingers then ran her hands down my chest and belly, mumbling, “I’m glad you like them,” while looking at my crotch — which was bulging.

Reluctantly, I wormed my hands back under the top and re-settled it over her breasts. “Got a boyfriend?”

Mona cocked her head, surprised. “No.” Her tone said, ‘How on Earth would I attract a boy?’ as clearly as if she’d said it out loud.

“Want one?”

You’d have thought I’d slapped her. Her face tightened up and her lower lip came out and she said, “You’re teasing me. Have you seen my…” She looked behind her.

I stepped in and ran my hands over her stretch pants, taking a big double handful of ass flesh. “Your ass? Yeah, that’s a party, I bet…”

“Wh–what?” Mona looked up at me in wonderment.

I was discovering ass — and lots of it — more or less for the first time. I slid my hands under the waistband of her stretch pants and her panties and squeezed the soft flesh. “Do you like having it played with? I’m having a ball, here…”

Mona said, “Ummm…” and pressed herself against me and slid her hands up under the sweatshirt I was wearing to rub my back. “Oh, oh, oh…” After a few seconds, she pushed back so she could look up at my eyes and said, “Were you serious?”

“As a heart attack!” I insisted, nodding. From my perspective, it was ‘love at first feel…’

“Okay.” She took the basket I’d dropped on the table and transferred the contents into the cart she’d been pushing. “Do you like yams?”

“They’re okay. I don’t cook them.”

“You won’t have to.” She took my right hand and shoved it back down inside her stretch pants and we moved off slowly down the aisle, me moving on her left. That hand didn’t leave her ass until we hit the checkout. Thirty minutes later, I sat watching her as she put OUR groceries away in MY cupboards and refrigerator, wearing nothing but her little rubber flip-flops with the pink and yellow sunflower or whatever sprouting up between her cute little toes. She’d followed me home in her drab little Nissan and carried two bags of groceries to my one as we went upstairs — and when I said something about being unable to wait to see her naked, she’d stripped down to nothing in the entryway, blushing but grinning like a pixie at the look on my face. I had a hard-on that could drive nails in concrete — but I was waiting for the dream to be over. I figured I would bust a nut all over myself and wake up when the goo hit my belly and chest… Sure, she was being all domestic — but I was looking at the puffy lips of her hairy, wet snatch and the crinkle of her anal ring as she bent to put lunchmeat in the meat drawer of my refrigerator… Shit, I didn’t have to FUCK her — just remembering this would do me while I jerked off until I had blisters…

She looked over her shoulder at me and a little furrow developed between her eyebrows. Turning to face me, she said, “What?”

I blinked. “Nothing.”

“Something is wrong.”

I sat looking at her, my eyes moving from her cute pixie face to her sweet titties, past her little puffy belly and the thick gathering of curls over her puffy pink snatch, right on down over her knees to her meticulously red-painted toenails. “Not wrong, exactly. Too right. You’re the first woman who ever darkened that door,” I said, pointing at the entrance to my apartment, “and I’m wondering when I’m gonna wake up and find out that I’ve been mauling a pillow or something.”

She came over and knelt before me, worming her way between my legs until her breasts were on my thighs and looked up at me with big brown eyes and said, “I’m twenty four years old, and you’re the first guy outside my family to tell me ANYTHING about me was attractive. And you are ABSOLUTELY the FIRST guy EVER to treat my ass as ANYTHING but a joke or something awful to look at! I promised myself…” She swallowed, choked up. “I promised myself that if some guy ever said anything seriously nice about me — ESPECIALLY my ass! — I would offer him whatever he wanted, even if he looked like a Wookie and smelled like old motor oil!”

I chuckled, embarrassed. “With a little luck, I might exceed that standard…”

“Omigod!” she exclaimed, her hands under my sweatshirt, “You’re sweet and hot and hard and handsome…”

“Huh?” I blinked. “What? Sweetheart, how long has it been since you’ve had an eye exam? I’m not handsome. I might not be THOROUGHLY homely, but handsome? Let’s just say my track record argues against it.” I paid for pussy, one way or another, period. Maybe it was a hooker, maybe it was in booze or whatever for a one- night-stand with some drunken barfly as desperate as me (and usually older), but there was, historically, a direct connection between large outlays of cash from my wallet and wrapping my cock in anything warm and wet. I’d never dated in high school or college — oh, there had been a few group outings, but in every case, if there were females present, they were attached to someone else. The military had been worse; the areas around military bases tend to be places where serious competition exists for any pussy that doesn’t have a bar code tattooed on it — Hell, even THAT doesn’t come cheap, in some places. Even now, I didn’t go out much — it was a waste of time — and Swarm or no Swarm, workplace policies forbade anything smacking of ‘sexual harassment’ through the sheer inertia of the legal system.

Okay, I know what you’re thinking — ‘So why did you go nuts on some strange chick in a supermarket?’ Well, I was just coming off a weekend with a couple of crazy guys who managed to make the whole ‘wolf’ thing work and I was pumped up by their success; it seemed like suddenly chicks were willing to up some, rather than pretending to be drones or something. I’d only been an observer, too fearful that I would fall flat on my face in front of them and give them reason to give me shit about it until the end of time, but things seemed to be looking up. The other thing was the fact that Mona just tripped my trigger…

Mona’s answer was, “You’re handsome to me…”

Somehow, I couldn’t argue that. I chuckled and said, “As long as you think so, I’m good to go, I guess. Let me know before you go to the eye doctor, so I won’t be surprised.”

“My vision is fine,” she insisted, “or, at least, no worse than yours. My ass…”

“I see it,” I replied. “So what?”

“It’s always been more than enough…”

I cut her off. “It IS more than enough — question is, is it too much? I don’t think so.”

“You would be the first,” Mona asserted.

“I doubt it,” I replied. “I’m just the first guy to TELL you so.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Mona replied. “You win the prize, such as it is.”

“And what’s the prize?”

“Me,” she said simply. “As much as you want.” And she turned those hypnotic brown eyes on me.

To say that I was taken aback would be to traffic in understatement. “Tonight?”

“Until you tell me to go away.” She cocked her head, watching me like a hawk. “You asked me if I wanted a boyfriend. The answer is yes.”

“Well…” Part of me was thrilled to death — and part of me wanted to run! What had I gotten into? What was the downside?

Mona interrupted my confusion with, “Can I suck you now? I’m not very good, but I’ll get better — I just need practice…”

“Uh, sure…”

Permission came while she was already opening my pants. When my fly was open, Mona tugged at the elastic of my boxers, revealing my probe, and whispered, “Omigod!”

Now, no woman I could remember had gone all reverent when faced with my dick — but then, I suppose all of my sex partners to date had seen it all before. I’d gotten comments, here and there, from hookers — and figured it was all part of the service, if you know what I mean. ‘Pump the guy up over the humongous size of his little cocktail frank…’ To be fair, it was bigger than a cocktail frank — even a normal Oscar Meyer was going to be eclipsed — but I didn’t figure I was hung like a horse or anything. But both of my heads swelled as Mona regarded my meat with wide eyes. She started dragging at the waistband of my jeans, so I lifted my ass — and she dragged those suckers all the way to the floor. Then she gently pulled my cock down and away from where it was pulsing against my belly and slid it between her puffy red lips…

Her opinion of her abilities as a cocksucker aside, I lasted about six incredible seconds before flooding her mouth with jizz — to my COMPLETE embarrassment!

Mona, however, was pleased to death, smiling as she swallowed a larger than usual load of my babymakers, then continuing to vacuum my still stiff erection. “Ummm, still hard! Can we go to bed now?”

DUH! I waved and croaked, “That way!” and ninety seconds later she was on her back on my unmade bed with her feet up as I crawled between her legs. I stopped to give her a little lick (highly appreciated) but we were both in a hurry and she was plenty wet…

There is no way in the world I could have gotten into that thing on the first pass without blowing a nut while still at the gates! Later on, Mona told me that she’d had sex — well, heterosexual sex — once in her life and it had hurt like Hell and lasted ALMOST as long as my blowjob. The guy doing it had only been looking to put a notch on his gun belt, so once he got his, it was over. All I knew is that I’d been in pussy that was snug before, but usually because it was dry. Mona’s tunnel was lubed with hot oil and tight enough to make every inch of my necessarily slow penetration exquisite! I took it slow because I had no choice — I was opening up territory that might as well have been virgin — and I stopped at every little grimace, but every time I did her little hands urged me forward, deeper, until there was nothing left of my length to seat. I ground my pubic bone against hers and she moaned, “Yessss…” — and we were off to the races! I started slow, but Mona wanted more, then I wanted more, then Mona wanted more… Pretty soon, I was cycling like a sewing machine! We lasted maybe ten minutes, blowjob or no blowjob — but I watched Mona get hers twice before I lit off. Mona wouldn’t let me get up; I drifted off to sleep at probably eight- thirty at night with my dick still buried and my seed soaking into Mona’s womb.

I woke up about two a.m. on my back. I had to piss, but there were lips around my dick. That’s one of those unsatisfactory situations where there doesn’t seem to be any way to get everything you need; blowing a nut isn’t possible while you have to piss that bad, but pissing means removing those Heavenly lips. Later, Mona offered me a solution, but that night I had to gently disconnect her and go take care of business.

When I got back, the time for appetizers was over; Mona was on her back, asking, “Please, do me again…” I managed to last half-again as long as the previous effort, with an appropriate increase in the number of orgasms produced in my little lover; once my balls were drained, I rolled us over and she collapsed atop me, damp and sweaty and cuddly and beaming. “I’m in love,” she announced. I opened my mouth, but she covered it with her hand, saying, “No, I know it’s too early and I’ve just scared you — don’t say anything. Just let me be happy for a while.” Fuck it. I didn’t argue. We went to sleep until the alarm rang.

Mona never left. Well, technically, she did, I guess, but when I got home that night, her shitbox Nissan was in the other parking space assigned to my apartment — and it was full to the gills with her shit. I pulled up and she got out of it and stood there, head down, looking up at me with those eyes — and I just opened a door and collected an armload of her clothes and headed for the door. I rearranged my dresser and my closet and by eight or so I was sitting on the couch watching TV and listening to Mona hum as she fried something for dinner. We didn’t discuss it — we didn’t set rules, or expectations — she just moved in. When we did get around to it, several days later, I learned that rules were my problem, and obeying them was hers. That night, she cuddled up to me on the couch and said, “I’m a little sore, but I’ll be glad to suck you — or…”

‘Or…’ turned out to be opening that ass for business. I opted for that — and enlightened self-interest dictated that I make SURE she enjoyed it, so I went slow and gentle and lubed her like crazy and made sure she was hotter than a pistol before I even THOUGHT about nosing my cock against her little rosebud. The results were gratifying; Mona LOVED having her back door probed, and I loved doing it, and another use for what she considered a useless part of her body was discovered. Everything was rosy.

Now, I know, some of you are going, “What are you — nuts?” But this is all about something that guys know instinctively, but women forget regularly. Basically, it’s simple: Guys are simple creatures, even if gals aren’t. Suddenly, home-cooked meals started replacing the litany of “Whose take-out do I order tonight?” — and there were NO dishes afterward. My dirty laundry started disappearing and turning up clean in my drawers. The sink wasn’t full of dirty dishes and the toilet and shower were clean without any effort from me. And last, but by NO MEANS least — I was getting my balls drained regularly — and very pleasantly, too, I might add! ‘No’ wasn’t a word in Mona’s vocabulary — worst case seemed to be, ‘That receptacle is out of service, please select another…’ Let’s face it, that one item is THE key to the domestication of the male; keep his dick drained — and keep him enjoying it and operating under the impression that YOU enjoy it — and everything else is gravy. If I had to put up with a reduction in essential services, I could clean or do laundry or do dishes — or even cook (or order take-out) — but having my joystick played with on a regular basis was a fine incentive to learn to share my bed with another warm body. Women get tied up in domestic this and that and self-actualization and such and totally forget that the smell of wet pussy is what nailed their man’s feet to the floor — until the corollary slaps them in the face; once regularly supplied, men don’t willingly do without, and if he can’t smell yours, he’ll follow another piece home, sniffing, unless powerful incentives are provided to keep that from happening. Temptation is just around the corner…

Here we get into how women are different than men; women will say, “That’s what marriage is for.” Wrong. That’s what DIVORCE is for — it’s the stick you beat him with for following the fresher scent — but it is closing the barn door after the horse has left. Sure, you’re punishing him — and for what? Breach of contract? What happened to YOUR end of the bargain? “Well, I cooked and cleaned and kept house…” Uh huh… Ask him — would he rather have a clean house or wade through piles of dirty laundry to get between your legs? Priorities… his are SO simple — how on Earth do you lose track?

There is another possible issue, here — an obvious one, actually. ‘Clearly,’ you theorize, ‘Mona moved in because of your CAP score; she was looking for her ride off-planet.’ Sorry, that ain’t it. How can I be sure? Because CAP scores didn’t come up between us for three solid weeks — and what she did AFTER she discovered mine makes it very clear that she wasn’t aware in advance…

Anyway, back to my story — if not back to New Years yet…