The Sidecar Tales 04 - Ti Pao

She grinned up at me, saying, "I really rike, I mean like, to walk around, no crows, I mean clothes, an' think of doing fuck here and there and over on top of that."

She looked over at me, as I struggled to stay awake, saying, "You not mad at me for terring, I mean telling, you about all the men I fuck?"

I'm not the most diplomatic of men, but I knew I had to handle this one just right.

I said, "Well, I've had other women, but first, let me ask some questions."

"Huh?" she said.

"So, first, where was I about half an hour ago, and what was I doing?"

Ti's (or was it Pao's?) brow furrowed, and then cleared, as she giggled out—making her small but pointed tits jiggle, "Right here, in bed, pumping your mon-ster penis into me so good. Then you cum, an' I feel all your hot jism shoot into me."

"OK, you get an A+. Now, who else was here with us?"

"Nobody else, you pervert. I not like gang-bang. Too damn much to do, everybody get in the way, and all the men competing with each other to see who can get in next and be crudest. Two get inta fist-fight over who I get to fuck first. I like one fuck at a time."

"So," I went on, slowly smiling, "if there was just us two, screaming and cumming, then all the other guys you've had were inside your memory. They aren't here, with us two! Right then, I was the only one inside you, and I'm still here, watching my jism ooze out of you. And, I don't give a flying fuck about them, because they aren't here."

I finished, "Keep on telling me about yourself, including all the dicks, and I'll keep on listening. Does that help?"

She giggled again. "You are one strange dude. I want your mon-ster penis back inside me, as soon as you're strong enough. You like pretty divorced Chinese lady Ti Pao naked?"

I grabbed her, forced my newly-risen mon-ster penis back into her pussy, and showed her exactly how much I liked to see her naked.

The rest of the night was gone for me, as I was passed out after sexing my new Asian fuck-buddy twice. I struggled awake at eight o'clock, the next morning. Ti (she confirmed that it was 'Ti') fixed breakfast—American style, not rice gruel—and we talked for awhile.

I had to explain about Mom, which took some time. This led to an explanation of why I was a nomad and my former over-spending spouse and the divorce trickery. I tried to keep it brief, but Ti was fascinated by the details.

"The up-shot," I concluded, "is that about half the time, I'm her Oochums-Smoochums Witto Baby Boy, and I'm about five years old. The other half of the time, I'm evil incarnate, I'm disowned and disinherited and Mom keeps thinking she's spying on me and reporting to her 'best friend in all the world who would never, ever lie to her'—my ex-wife."

"Sylvia, I think, is still extracting every cent Mom has, even as we speak right now," I added, sighing.

"Whatcha gonna do about it," Ti asked.

"Not much I can do, so long as Mom is competent, and dealing with her own finances. One of the things that brought me out here, though, was a claim by her lawyers for over twenty thousand dollars for 'un-paid legal fees.' Mom has a new court date in a couple of weeks, 'cause she just ignored the last two. This time, they're sending a bailiff or sheriff to 'escort' her there, and I don't know what to do?"

Tai said, practically, "You need a lawyer. I got one for you. He's smart. Not cheap. You call now!"

Within about ten minutes, I'd engaged Norman Choi to act as my attorney, paid him a retainer from my current funds, and made an appointment to see him the following morning.

Ti Pao may have been a pretty, divorced, Chinese lady; an exhibitionist; and a hot-tail fuck-buddy, but she was also one smart cookie.

Norman, as a 3rd generation Chinese-American lawyer, was exactly what I needed. Within a couple hours, we'd concluded a strategy to deal with Mom and her lawyers, Sylvia and likely court demands, and still protect my identity and finances.

We'd agreed that I should execute a 'quitclaim' on Mom's inheritance and assets. This would do two things: first, it would take the threat of Mom's and her lawyer's repeated dis-inheritings off the table, so to speak, and second, worded as Norman had it done, it relieved me of all responsibility and liability for Mom's actions and financial problems, both immediately and into the future.

I retained what would be considered a son's concern for her physical well-being, but made absolutely no claim on any of her money, forever.

Following these meetings, Norman just told me to go off and rest until the date of the hearing. He did instruct me in one very unusual request: I was to wear a 'football-player's cup,' held in place with a jock strap, under my regular suit of clothes.

He didn't tell me why, but he insisted, and so I promised, wondering who was going to try to kick me in the balls during the proceedings.

So Ti and I had a week off, and I just said, "Let's tour around the county and see what we can see." Ti was in the side-car before I was half-dressed into my riding armor. We did the usual things: the San Diego Zoo and Wild Animal Park; Balboa Park; the Old Spanish Lighthouse on Point Loma; the long Harbor Excursion; the downtown tour; Spanish Landing for overpriced tourist stuff; and stuff like that.

The oddest thing was that Ti Pao, my pretty, divorced, Chinese lady and lover mostly just wanted to ride around in the side-car and do outrageous things. What things? Oh, like pulling up her top, bare-breasted and screaming as we cruised along Mission Boulevard and down the beach community alleyways. Like puling up her skirt and spreading open her no-panty legs—wide—as I barreled up I-5 and I-8, to the tunes of truck-horns and cat-calls from open cars full of young people.

I had to 'fly' the side-car—with her in it—to get away from several testosterone-fueled pursuers, down a one-lane road and paralleling an irrigation culvert.

On one trip, we ended up on Mount Soledad, just above Pacific Beach, overlooking La Jolla. It was late in the afternoon, and, as Ti got out of the side-car, wearing a bare-midriff top and a screaming red micro-mini skirt, I caught her giving me 'that' look. You know, the 'we'd better find a flat spot in the bushes or you'll be screwing me between the white lines in the parking lot' look. The trouble was, there was another car in said parking lot, but no one around that we could see.

Ti and I scouted around the central platform at the summit of the drive, where the cross was, and finally discovered a faint trail that led down in the chaparral. Mostly, we found the trail because there were little things dropped beside the trail. Things like a sweater, a little purse, a man's t-shirt and—oh, yes—a bra. Nice cup size, too (guys can determine cup size in a quarter of a second). Another turn and there were our other lovers. A couple of twenty-somethings, thoroughly entwined. His Caucasian blond head and mouth down on her C-cup size swollen ebony boob. Her head thrown back and moaning to the late-afternoon sky. Slender legs kicking and writhing as she moaned.

We made a little noise, coming up behind and to the left of them, and she jerked, between moans. Her lover was oblivious, as he worked over her two swollen nipples. Ti grinned, and shoved me down on 'our' side of the flat rock. She had my swollen cock out of my pants in about ten seconds, just using one hand, because the other was loosening her size zipper of her skirt, which fell with silken fluttering to the ground. Ti flipped it away from her, as she dropped to her knees and started to kiss my cock.

My lover doesn't just suck. Or, at least, not right off. Ti Pao, my pretty divorced Chinese lady fuck-buddy, just loves to kiss.

Mostly, she kisses me and my lips if my clothes are on, but if he has my hard cock in her hand, 100% of all kisses are bestowed on the bulging cock head. She kisses and slurps her tongue around the head, and then rapid-licks over the head, constantly changing the stimulation. I doubt if she ever had the tip of my cock beyond the back of her tongue, but I usually loose track of time, place, and observers, when she works on me. For kisses, she prefers action.

When she says, 'No more kiss, now fuck me,' is when she demands the deepest penetration a man can do.

I came to non-sexual consciousness a little time—or an eternity—later, to see my Asian lady giving a cock-kissing lesson to a very dark-skinned black girl, who knelt beside her, open mouthed, but still holding on to her blonde lover's dick. I caught his eye, and he just gave me the guy's 'what the hell' look.

I gave it back, as I felt a change of lips and tongue. My pretty, divorced, Chinese lady was slobbering and tonguing all over her newly-made friend's lover, while I was subject to an ebony goddess-apprentice who worked on my knob. In between groans of pleasure, I alternately looked at my fuck-bunny girl and then at my new black lover.

Ti reclaimed me, in mid slobber, and in one athletic jump and slither, impaled herself on my aching shaft, and began a very deliberate push in and pull out, letting her ebony-and-ivory audience see how she did it. I looked over at the younger people, every now and then, and saw how his ebony goddess was imitating Ti. Ti was, of course, shrieking and screaming orgasm in two languages, and forcing herself to go faster.

A minute later, I erupted in high-pitched shouting and garbled, obscene English, about 'sluts' and 'fucking Chinese hottie's'. Gasping and groaning, I collapsed on the ground, sliding off the now-girl-goo-stained rock.

When I had caught my breath, I looked up and we were alone. I looked at my pretty divorced Chinese lady, laying up against me, having sweaty, dusty aftershocks.

"We never even got their names," I gasped out.

"Yeah," she whispered, still breathing hard and jerking in little orgasmlets, "Ain't it cool."

A bit later, as the sun was falling into the Pacific Ocean, and dusk was spreading over the evening haze, I poured my Asian lover back into her seat in the sidecar. I said, as I buckled the seatbelt around her dirty waist, "Well, you did say you were an exhibitionist. Had enough?"

She looked up, kissed me lightly, and said, "For now."

I tried to be funny about my up-coming hearing with the magistrate, by telling Ti Pao about baking Dementia Brownies:

REMOVE CLOTHING FROM OVEN AND PREHEAT TO 375.
MELT 1 CUP MARGARINE IN SAUCEPAN.

REMOVE CLOTHING FROM OVEN AND TELL MOM "NO, NO"
ADD MARGARINE TO 2 CUPS SUGAR.

TAKE SHORTENING CAN AWAY FROM MOM AND CLEAN CUPBOARDS.


MEASURE 1/2 CUP COCOA.

TAKE SHORTENING CAN AWAY FROM MOM AGAIN AND BATHE CAT.


APPLY ANTISEPTIC AND BANDAGES TO SCRATCHES SUSTAINED WHILE REMOVING SHORTENING FROM CAT'S TAIL.

ASSEMBLE 4 EGGS, 2 TSP VANILLA AND 1 1/2 CUPS SIFTED FLOUR.


TAKE SMOLDERING CLOTHES FROM OVEN AND OPEN ALL DOORS AND WINDOWS FOR VENTILATION.

MEASURE 1 TSP SALT, 1/2 CUP NUTS AND BEAT ALL INGREDIENTS WELL.

LET CAT OUT OF REFRIGERATOR.

POUR MIXTURE INTO WELL GREASED 9X13 INCH PAN.
BAKE 25 MINUTES.

RESCUE CAT AND TAKE RAZOR AWAY FROM MOM. EXPLAIN TO HER THAT YOU HAVE NO IDEA IF SHAVED CATS WILL SUNBURN. THROW CAT OUTSIDE WHILE HE'S STILL ABLE TO RUN AWAY.

FROSTING:


MIX IN A SAUCEPAN: 1 CUP SUGAR, 1 OZ UNSWEETENED CHOCOLATE, 1/4 CUP MARGARINE.

TAKE THE DAMN CLOTHES OUT OF THE BROILER AND PUT AWAY, FAR AWAY.

ANSWER THE DOOR AND MEEKLY EXPLAIN TO THE NICE POLICEMAN THAT YOU DIDN'T KNOW MOM HAD SLIPPED OUT OF THE HOUSE AND WAS STANDING NAKED IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET, SCREAMING.

ADD 1/3 CUP MILK, DASH OF SALT AND BOIL, STIRRING CONSTANTLY FOR 2 MINUTES.

ANSWER DOOR AND APOLOGIZE TO NEIGHBOR FOR MOM HAVING STUCK A GARDEN HOSE IN HIS FRONT DOOR MAIL SLOT. PROMISE TO PAY FOR THE RUINED CARPET.

CALL NURSING HOME, PROMISE ANY PAYMENT DEMANDED AND ARRANGE TRANSPORTATION THERE ASAP.

REMOVE BURNED BROWNIES FROM OVEN.

The next day was the magistrate's hearing for my Mom. It was a slow-motion train-wreck; a nightmare in daylight. I found out why Norman had insisted I buy the cup (he said I wasn't the first who needed one).

Late that afternoon, I staggered back into Ti's house, and crashed onto her sofa, still dressed. I didn't even get a scolding for not being nude. Ti—herself bare as a button—just pulled off my crumpled suit, and half-dragged, half guided me into the big, oversized bathtub, where she propped me against the back, and ran hot water into. Then she forced me to take a cup of tea, a shot of brandy and two pain pills.

She massaged my back and shoulders, crouching in the same water I was soaking in, and had me take another shot of brandy, cup of tea and another two pain pills. Then I started to cry.

She let me empty myself of grief.

I was able to stand, when she dragged me into her/our bed, with clean sheets and propped up pillows. She fed me just a little rice-and-something and I chewed and swallowed automatically.

Then she cuddled me, bare as she was, and didn't even comment that I held her the way I'd hold a sexless teddy bear.

After a while, I told her what had happened:

It was a hearing, not a trial, and so there was just the magistrate/judge, Norman, me, Mom and her lawyers, and the usual court folks: recorder with her machine, a court officer and a bailiff from the Sheriff's office.

Mom looked over at me, smiled sweetly, and did her usual Oochums-Smoochums thing, which made me squirm, but I suppose the court was used to old-lady verbal stuff. Norman, my attorney, introduced my quitclaim, and, after it was inspected, it was quickly adopted by the court, with no objections from Mom's lawyers. I signed and it was date-and-time-stamped, witnessed and notarized. I'd just signed off on all of my financial inheritance, and I could see the lawyers almost licking their lips.

Mom seemed oblivious to this.

Then her attorney's started on an interview of Mom, trying to establish that they'd done a lot of legal paperwork for her and wanted to get paid. Mom came out of her funk, and demanded to know exactly what they were talking about. It transpired in court, in front of a recorder and judge, that she'd disowned and disinherited me upwards of 13 times, over the last 3 years and had reinstated me in her will and 're-owned' me about 14 times.

The Judge sat up straight when he heard this, since it quickly became obvious that her lawyers had charged her a couple thousand dollars for each sequence of disinheritance and the same amounts for re-inheritance, and that the total extent of their claims on her was for preparations of these all-but-duplicate papers, identical except for the dates.

Then Norman was able to examine Mom, and that's when things got bad. He was polite, as she took clothes from her large purse and laid out a clean cloth diaper, plus a little-boy sailor-suit, short pants and Buster-Brown shoes. Norman asked Mom to tell everybody what these were for. Mom smiled, and said that these were for her Oochums-Smoochums Witto Baby Boy, who needed his Muh-du to do everything for him, and who had to come with her, right now, so she could hold his little with pee-pee and then get into her bed and cuddle with her all night long.

To dead silence in the courtroom, Norman asked her to point out her baby boy, and Mom pointed at me, telling everyone that I was only five years old, and needed his Muh-du, even to change his diaper when he had a bad poo-poo. Then Mom got up out of her chair, and started to leave the courtroom, grabbing my hand to try to lead me out.

When I didn't automatically follow, she started to yank on my wrist, harder and harder. Then—so help me, God!—her hand contracted into grasping claws, ripping at my flesh, and, between one breath and the next, she started screaming obscenities at me. She demanded that I come with her or she'd pull down my pants and give me a spanking, right in public and that she'd cut off my pee-pee.

Then, my own Mother started up in a tirade of lies, confabulations and fantasies about un-grateful children, and she turned to her attorneys, demanding that they make up the papers to have me disowned and disinherited, again, for about the 15th time.

When they refused to do it again, in open court, in front of witnesses, Mom screamed so loudly, and started shivering and stamping her feet, that the judge came out of his astonishment, and told her to be quiet.

This enraged her totally, and my mother threw a full-scale tantrum, right there in court. She threw herself down on the floor, right before the judge's bench, and she banged her clenched fists, and pounded her heels, too. She banged her head back, and arched her back, shrieking and screaming about a garble of baby-talk, demands for child-sex by me, sexual-memories of her husband (now dead for 12 years), plus demands to have her baby boy castrated and made into a nice little girl.

Mom had thrown a tantrum more associated with a 2-year old kid than an elderly adult woman.

I started to get up, and Norman pulled me back, as the bailiff went over to haul Mom up and get her into a chair. Mom, screaming incoherently, reached up with perfect aim and grabbed his testicles, pulling and twisting, and cackling with demented laughter. He screamed, of course, and bent over, vomiting.

Then, my mother, there on the floor, with one hand still twisting and mangling the poor guy's balls, threw herself up, grabbed at the back of his head with her free hand and bit at the guy's nose with her teeth (she still had all of them).

It took both the lawyer's, the court officer and Norman to pull her off, and at the end, we watched my mother give two or three chewing motions and then a swallow, as the bailiff's nose tip went down her throat, her face covered by his blood and vomit.

The Judge was shouting into his intercom, and I pulled away from Norman, trying to get to her, when she seemed to just relax, and start the Oochums-Smoochums routine again.

Everyone relaxed, and then Mom surged out of her chair, hit me full body, knocked me off my feet ... and proceeded to kick me in the groin, over and over (the cup helped a lot).

She was accurate, as she chanted: "My oochum's (kick), smoochums (kick) witto baby (kick) boy need his (kick) muh-du to teach him (kick) how to behave (kick) wike a goood (kick) witto boy (final kick)" as she was pulled off me by four strong men, and tied on a gurney, in five-point restraints.

The judge, not unexpectedly, ordered Mom into psychiatric care, and she was taken away, still heaving and screaming. The emergency squad came for the bailiff, and he was whisked away, for human-bite wound care and some plastic surgery.

I was escorted out of the court, and vomited on the grass outside. After a short while, I was rescued by Norman. We left the court in a taxi. Norman said that the jockstrap and cup was mine. He very pointedly didn't tell me how he knew that I was going to use it.

I still wonder about that, now and then.

He did say that he'd suggested to the judge that Mom should have a full STD (sexually transmitted diseases) panel done with her admitting blood tests, to the psychiatric unit. He also told me that he'd suggested that a full CPA audit be done of Mom's assets.

After I told my story to Ti Pao, I cried some more, and then the brandy and pain tablets took hold, and I slept. I was numb the next day, eating, drinking, pissing and shitting automatically, and I passed out again in the early evening.

When I woke the third day, I saw a lovely Asian woman: a pretty, divorced Chinese lady, with utterly erotic bare tits and a fantastic bare pussy leaning over me. I took her in my arms, rolled her over, ran my suddenly huge erect cock into her, and had sloppy sex for an hour. I came three times.

You'd have to have twenty arms, and five fingers on the hands at the end of those arms to count the number of her cums, while I utterly ruined my mon-ster penis inside her.