Finally, the long day Makennah and Allen had spent at the Nine Cedars Country Club pool had drawn to an end. Makennah hurriedly straightened up the lifeguard office and logged some paperwork while Allen helpfully swam out and set up the lane markers for the adult swim period beginning after Makennah’s shift. He gathered up his things from the locker in the men’s room and met Makennah in front of the pool house, looking impatient. It was 3:50 p.m.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Makennah said, grabbing Allen by the wrist and pulling him at a trot over to her Corvette. When they got in, behind its tinted windows, they started making out. It was a scene of complete and total young lust, the engine idling, the sounds of kissing and soft moaning, and hands impatiently groping every tender part of each other’s bodies as the classic rock station blared a Foreigner song.
Makennah peeled out of the Cedars’ parking lot and headed back on the freeway toward town. But she blew past the exit that would take them to their neighborhood in Calloway Meadows. Allen pointed at it with a puzzled look on his face. “But … you missed—“
“We’re not going there yet,” Makennah said, cutting off the query. She hit the next exit, rolled a stop sign at the end of the ramp, and pounded down the old two-lane highway just fast enough to not get a ticket. Passing by a diner and a pawn shop, it dawned on Allen where she was taking him.
“The Sleepy? We’re going to the fucking Sleepy Inn?” Allen said, incredulous. Why wouldn’t they just fuck in her house or his bedroom? “Why are we going to a motel?”
“Because even if my Mom or your parents don’t catch us fucking,” Makennah said, “a college junior hanging out with a high school senior is going to raise questions I don’t want to answer.”
If you only knew, Allen thought. Your Mom would probably want to watch.
Makennah ordered Allen to wait in the Corvette while she booked the room for two hours, plenty enough time for Allen to plow her through the creaky mattress and still make pillow talk. She asked for a room upstairs and on the rear of the building, away from the main parking lot and facing the hills rather than the highway. Makennah paid for the room with a twenty, having left a check in the petty cash box back at the lifeguard office.
Makennah came trotting out of the office with a silly expression underneath her mirrored shades, dangling the room key from its fob for effect. Allen bolted from the passenger’s side of the Corvette, leaving his damp beach towel on the seat. Holding hands, they scampered around the back of the Sleepy Inn and up the stairs to their room. It was the so-called “bridal suite,” No. 319, the one with a coin-operated, magic-fingers-style vibrating bed.
The room was even sleazier than Allen had imagined. He’d heard stories about hookups and trysts at the Sleepy, but obviously had never been party to one himself. The room was dark and decorated in 1970s earth tones to match, lots of burgundy and mahogany with avocado trim. The carpet looked like it was bought used after a Fremont Street casino’s renovation. There was a cheap, particle board desk with an empty ice bucket and an array of complementary lotions and oils, plus several airplane bottles of gin, vodka, and whiskey sitting on a chrome plastic serving tray.
As soon as the door shut with a heavy thud, Makennah grabbed Allen around the neck and began exploring his mouth with her tongue. Then she turned him around at the foot of the bed, shoved him backward onto it, and began removing her basketball shorts and lifeguard swimsuit once more. Allen sat up and shed his tank top and then his board shorts.
Once both Makennah and Allen were fully nude, she scrambled over him from the foot of the bed on all fours, moving all the way to the headboard, which she gripped with both hands. Makennah arched her back and put her butt high in the air, exposing her pale, tan-lined ass and damp pussy to the frigid hush of the window air conditioner.
“Do me,” Makennah commanded.
Allen scooted underneath her on his back like he was about to change the oil in her Corvette. He propped his head up with two pillows under his neck, and Makennah lowered her pussy onto Allen’s mouth and began riding his face, raking her rough patch of pubic hair over his nose and chin. Allen surrounded her pussy with his mouth and slithered his tongue over her lips, now opening like the petals on a morning flower. He was powerfully turned on himself, and started jerking off while Makennah rode his face.
“Fuck yes, eat my pussy, baby,” Makennah grunted. “Oh, God, Allen, where have you been all my life …”
She reached down to spread her hood and reveal her clit for him to lick; Allen took the cue like and expert and brushed Makennah’s clit back and forth with the tip of his tongue, sending shockwaves of pleasure all the way from her pussy, through her spine, almost into the back of her skull. “Oh, God!” Makennah moaned. Allen continued masturbating but now pushed his right hand up over her ass and gently fingered her butthole with his index finger. This boy is a fucking natural, Makennah thought.
The shitty, sleazy bed creaked and groaned as Makennah humped Allen’s face. She was now rattling the headboard for effect. The room was a symphony of sex noises, Makennah gasping, Allen slurping, the bed squeaking and the headboard thumping the wall. That plus the sensation of Allen’s velvety tongue flicking along her clit and tender, cotton-candy pussy lips, then slithering inside her musky wetness to probe her sugar walls, sent Makennah over the edge into a full-blown orgasm.
“Oh God, oh my God, I’m gonna cum, oh fuck, yes, yes, yesyesyes,” Makennah moaned. She was now strumming her clit as Allen tongue-fucked her all the way through her quivering orgasm. “Oh, my Godddddd,” Makennah moaned, rolling off Allen’s face and collapsing in a pile of sweat, tousled hair, and burning muscles, trembling and trying to catch her breath. Allen let go of his dick, which lay flat against his stomach with a loud slap.
“My turn!” Allen said, turning over to mount Makennah. She had no energy, so this was going to have to be all Allen, she thought. Allen positioned her knees up, parted her legs, and lowered his pelvis to meet hers while closing in for some deep open-mouth kissing, sucking out her lips and along the ball of her chin. Makennah smoothed her hands over Allen’s taut back as he rubbed the length of his shaft over her mound, teasing her. Then he drew back upright, placed his palms on both of Makennah’s knees, and spread her legs. Pushing down on the base of his cock with his right thumb, Allen gently, tenderly, slipped that beautiful mushroom head on his cock just inside Makennah’s gushing wetness. She was so wet that Makennah took him all the way inside her despite his attempt to just tease her with the tip.
“Fuck me,” Makennah purred. “Fuck me, baby. Oh God, your cock feels so good.”
“Your pussy is so hot,” Allen replied. He was new to the dirty talk game, but that was a statement of pure fact. Makennah’s scorching pussy shrink-wrapped Allen’s dick in a sheath of white-hot sex.
“Do you like my pussy? Do you like my big tits?” Makennah asked, breathy and almost detached from reality.
“Fuck yes, baby,” Allen said. “God you are so hot.”
“Fuck me more,” Makennah said. “Don’t stop.”
Allen continued pumping Makennah but slowed his pace. Though his testicles were practically empty after a week of explosive, thrilling encounters, even a dry orgasm would bring a screeching halt to the pleasure of their lovemaking. Allen continued his thrusts, then felt himself go past the point of no return. Still, he pulled out, finished himself off with his left hand, and dribbled the tip of his exhausted penis into Makennah’s cute belly button.
Now it was Allen’s turn to collapse, and he did. He rolled off Makennah to her right, and they lay side-by-side, panting from the effort of their fucking and trying to recover their breath. “Oh my God,” Makennah said. “Oh fuck, that was awesome.” She curled up next to Allen and rubbed his chest. Allen fought a yawn. He did not want to be a two, or three, or even a ten-pump chump and fall asleep after fucking a girl like her. But damn did it feel like she had drained every atom of energy from him.
“That was crazy,” Allen said. “That’s the hottest thing I have ever fucking done.”
“Did I take your virginity, baby?” Makennah said, almost hopefully. Allen froze at the question. Fuck. He thought. Wasn’t expecting that.
After a beat, Allen replied, “You think a virgin fucks like that?” Perfect deflection! Kick save and a beauty! He steeled himself for future questions that might reveal his sexual experience, which would inevitably bring more questions and might trick him into revealing his affair with Makennah’s mother.
Allen scanned the room for something to change the subject. Ah, the magic-fingers coin box … “What the fuck is this thing?” he asked.
“Oh, that,” Makennah snickered. “It’s a vibrating bed massage. Apparently this was all the rage in the 1970s.”
“Does it still work?” Allen asked. “I guess so,” Makennah said. She got up and went over to the desk where she left her zippered wallet, returning with a quarter. She put it in the coin box and pressed a button. The room was filled with a loud hum as the bed vibrated against the wall. Allen felt like he was inside a paint mixer.
“Th-i-i-i-i-is i-i-i-is th-e-e-e-e-e-e du-u-u-u-u-m-best th-i-i-i-ing I-I-I-I ha-a-a-a-a-ave e-e-e-ever s-e-e-e-en.” Allen said, deliberately letting the vibrating bed distort his voice. Makennah started laughing. It was like speaking into a box fan. “I sound like the aliens from V: The Final Battle,” Allen joked.
“Oh my God, the Lizard Lady!” Makennah laughed. “I’m not going to eat a mouse, baby.” She threw a leg over Allen and smoothed her hand over his chest, nuzzling into the side of his neck and lightly kissing him along his jawline. Allen felt like such a stud. All those years of humping his fist desperately, wondering if he would ever lose his virginity, and now in the span of one week he was getting more pussy than Frank Sinatra.
Even though it was clear Maria had fixed him up with her daughter, or at least made the connection, to dispose of a potentially scandalous relationship, Allen didn’t mind. When Makennah went back to USC at the end of the summer, he figured he would be right back in Maria’s bedroom after soccer practice.
Makennah got up and turned on the television set. It was one of those closed-circuit TVs that showed cheesy softcore porn — in this case, a couple were on a bed humping each other, but both were wearing blue jeans. "They don't have cable here?" Makennah asked, rhetorically. The bed massager came to an end after 15 minutes. Allen realized he was actually quite thirsty now. “Babydoll,” he said to Makennah, “I really could use a glass of ice water.”
“Oh, for sure,” Makennah said. She knew where the ice and vending machines (which, of course, sold cans of tonic, club soda, and bloody mary mix) were. “Wait here, baby, I’ll go get us some.” She stood up, put her basketball shorts on, then slipped into Allen’s tank top, clutching at the front to cover her tits as best as she could. Makennah grabbed the room key and left for the vending area on the lower level. Glancing at her watch, she saw it was about 4:40 p.m. Plenty of time to spare.
The ice machine was one of those upright deals that dispensed one bucket at a time, to keep folks from raiding an entire bin all for themselves. Makennah put the ice bucket in the bay, slid its clear plastic door down, and punched a button, which deposited a full bucket of ice. But naturally the goddamn plastic door got stuck as she tried to lift it back up.
“What the fuck,” Makennah muttered.
Then a young woman’s voice behind her said tartly, “You have to jiggle the door a little to get it open.”
Makennah froze solid and wheeled around. Jane?!
Jane from the Sentinel, who had been Makennah's journalism advisor before she graduated, and proctored her matriculation exam, was standing right behind her, wearing a bathrobe with no belt and holding it closed with one hand. She held her own ice bucket in the other. Her hair was in a towel turban and she wore big movie-star sunglasses, an ensemble that practically rendered her anonymous on sight.
“What are you doing here?!” Makennah hissed.
“I think the question,” Jane replied, “is who are you doing here?”
