Genel

THE ADVENTURES OF LITTLE DICK – THE WOLFPACK

Babes

THE WOLFPACK

It started with a Reader’s Digest article: Earn A Living Writing Romance Novels.
I was just thirteen but, according to the article, publishers would pay anyone
who could follow their format. I was so stoked I dumped my father’s porn for my
mom’s romance novels. I spent hours writing paragraphs longhand and then rewriting
them from memory. I was convinced I could do this. I was going to get paid!

The Bet

“I’m telling you man, she’s a dyke!” Buck was emphatic, his voice filling the locker
room like the voice of God. His pride was at stake. He was a high school all-american
linebacker; girls were lining up to fuck him, but Debra McCormac wouldn’t even acknowledge
his exisistence. He had plenty of company; Debra hadn’t dated anybody in three years
of high school. Yet her apple bottom and prominent camel toe kept calling the faithful.
Buck had vowed to bring us back tales from the Promised Land.
“You’re going about it all wrong,” I said. It seemed to take me forever to get my shoulder
pads off. I was aching all over. I was proud of the fact that I was the only sophomore
to make varsity, but two games into the season I was beginning to think I was in way over
my head.
“What? Who said that?” Buck asked.
“You’ve got to get up here first,” I said pointing to my temple after stepping into his
line of sight.
“What the fuck do you know about it, Professor? You ain’t had pussy since pussy had you.”
My nickname wasn’t meant as a compliment; I had an opinion about everything. And now, once
again, I’d opened by big yap and pissed someone off. Buck was right, though. I didn’t know shit.
I was still a virgin. But If I backed down, I was going to be his doormat for the rest of the
season.
“I’ll show you what I know about it.” She hasn’t given you the time of day, right?”
“Right.”
“If you do what I tell you, within a month she’ll agree to have lunch with you.
If she doesn’t, I’ll do the “Go! Go! Get ’em!” cheer in front of the whole locker room.
If she does, you have to do it. Bet?”
“Wait. First I gotta know what I gotta to do.”
“You gotta leave her alone. Don’t go near her. I’ll write her notes(if you don’t know,
ask your parents. This was in the olden times before text messaging.), you copy them
in your own handwriting. I’ll deliver the notes to her, and then bring her’s back here
for us all to verify.” Then I turned and shouted, “And nobody breathes a fucking word said
in here!”
I stuck out my hand. “Bet?”
“Bet.” There was a buzz all over the locker room. My heart was in my throat. All I had
going for me was what I had learned in my mom’s romance novels. That shit had better
work in real life or I was fucked.

The Birth of Cyrano

It didn’t take a month. It took just over two weeks. Notes turned into letters and I was
writing and rewriting shit late into the night. But It was all worth it. Buck not only
did the cheer, he did it with enthusiasm, cracking us all up. A teammate started calling
me Cyrano after that and it stuck. Then this guy asked me to write a note and passed my name
on to that guy and so on. In less than ten years I had a built a vast “client” list ranging
from plumbers to the rich and famous. And the perks have been great. I’ve been all over the
world as the guest of millionaires; I get invited regularly to A list parties – even been to
a couple of Oscar parties; a hedge fund manager put me into an i.p.o that paid off my
first house; Not a week goes by that someone isn’t offering me something. One such favor
led to a night out with a wolfpack and a star studded orgy.

The Favor

“Hey, Cryano, you need some suits?” It was Bernie. Bernie’s a tailor at NeimanMarcus – a
damn good one. So good, in fact, that he gets paid thousands of dollars just to sit on his
ass at award shows in case someone pops a stitch.
“Yeah, Bernie. A mailman can never have enough suits.” (Yep, that’s my day job. Instead
or writing novels I’m delivering them) Saying yes to Bernie would mean a trip downtown.
It was Saturday. All I wanted to do was vegetate in front of the tv.
“No, seriously, Cyrano. You can’t pass this up.”

Anybody who tells you what you know is more important than who you know, doesn’t know what the
hell they’re talking about. My two hours downtown with Bernie were eye opening. The markup
on haute couture is insane! Rag men have their own little monopoly like diamond merchants.
Even if you have an eye for material and know your way around the fashion district, you won’t
get the price breaks these guys get. They control supply, and pretty much determine who gets what
when. The upshot of it all was Bernie was able to tailor four, twenty-five hundred dollar
suits for me for two-hundred and fifty dollars a piece – he was throwing in labor for free.
Well, not free, there was this barista he wanted to fuck. But that’s another story.
I put the suits away and didn’t even think about them until months later.

The Wolfpack

Burying a friend is never easy but I’d been on an emotional high for two days because the
old gang was back together. It was like our high school days were just yesterday. We were
going to send our buddy James out in style. Bitter sweet memories flooded me as I picked
out a navy blue suit and red tie for the funeral, which turned out to be an emotionally
draining affair. After the gravesite ceremony, we headed to the casino to hoist a few to
our buddy James and say our goodbyes.

It wasn’t quite five and the casino was sparsely crowed so we had the bar to ourselves.
We were telling jokes and ribbing one another when in walked four of the most beautiful
girls I’d ever seen. I was thinking “girls” because they didn’t look a day over twenty. Skirts
were riding high up their thighs, tits Sex hikayeleri bursting our of their blouses. They walked in like
they owned the place. They were definitely turning heads, disrupting action at the
tables.

“Holy shit,” came out of Buck’s mouth. The rest of us seemed to nod in agreement.
“They’re looking our way, man,” Jeffery said. I felt one of them staring at me.
Did I know her? I didn’t recognize her, and I’m good with faces. Maybe she’s the daughter
or niece of someone I know.
“Man, I ain’t here to chase pussy,” I said. There were some mumblings of “yeah, your right,”
and we went back to our conversation. The girls moved on. Five minutes later they
were back, ordered drinks at the bar, and then headed toward the tables. Again, I felt
one of them was boring a hole in me. Maybe I had lipstick on my face; there was a lot of
kissing and hugging at the funeral. I got up to check myself in the mirror hanging behind
the bar, and then it hit me. It’s the fucking suit! They think we’re rich. Well, two of us
were rich. Buck was ex-NFL and now a successful entrepreneur, and Gary is socking it away as
a real-estate developer. My buddies still hadn’t caught on to what was happening, but I sure
had. We were being hunted. This was a wolfpack.

“They’re checking us out again,” said Buck. By then I had identified the one staring at me
as the Alpha Bitch. Anger started to well up in me. This bitch had me pegged as the weak one;
the one to cull from the herd.
“Wait a minute. I Think they’re scoping Cyrano,” Buck said before they all burst out into
loud laughter – a little too loud for my ego to handle. Buck should have known better.
I hopped off my stool and marched a straight line to Alpha Bitch.
“Hi, I’m Cyrano,” I said extending my hand.
“Kristen.”
“Would you and your friends like to go to a party, Kristen?
“That depends. A party were?”
“Slash.” Their mouths dropped open, and then came the squeals.
“Are you serious!”
“Dead serious. Let me have your number; I’ll call you with the details.” I walked back to the
bar triumphant.
“What the fuck just happened?” Buck blurted out. He and the boys were awestruck. And that’s
exactly the effect I was after.
“Have you forgotten who I am?” I said smuggly.”I’m Cyrano.” Are we still laughing? I didn’t
think so.

Slash

Slash wasn’t a night club. It was a rumor. Everybody seemed to have a story about Slash,
but it was all second hand. Few were actually privileged enough to step foot into a Slash
party. Slash was the brain child of Mr. Chen. It was a brilliant concept, perfectly tailored
for the superficial, status conscious city of Los Angeles. He sent recruiters out for the
youngest most beautiful bodies they could find. No one under twenty one or over twenty
four qualified. Everyone’s personal information was checked before they were put on a call
list. Those on this list were known as “meat.” Pitchmen were then dispatched to the hottest
celebrities in Hollywood to sell Mr. Chen’s meat. Those on this call list were known as
“shoppers”. What made Slash click was its straight forward and brutal honesty: the meat
got to rub elbows with the stars, and the stars had their pick of the most beautiful bodies
in Los Angeles.

Slash had no location. An agreement was worked out with club owners all over the city.
Slash parties rotated from club to club. Nobody but Slash’s security detail and the club
owners knew which club Slash was coming to. And club owners weren’t told until hours before-
hand. Slash’s own employees didn’t even know. Security picked them up from a drop point
and returned them after their shift. The short notice meant that the club chosen didn’t even
have time warn its regular patrons. If they showed up and that Slash logo was plastered
over the the club name, they were shit out of luck. They just had to make other plans.

Slash had no regulars. Security had a dossier on every celebrity. Their physical as well as
sexual preferences were noted and filed. It was the responsibility of security to keep
the right mix of meat at the party as shoppers came and went. The makeup of party
participants was constantly fluid; which often required security walking up and down a
block-long line of Calvin Klein models asking blunt questions: You suck dick? You eat pussy?
You a bottom? You switch hit?

This was the extent of my knowledge of Slash provided by Rick Mason, the head of security and
a client. I was now about to see first hand what all the fuss was about.

A Night Out With The Pack

“Kristen?”
“Yeah.”
“I just want to make sure you know about the dress code. It’s just barely”
“Come again?”
“However you’re dressed it better be just barely.”
“Oh, I get it,” she said giggling. I picked them up a couple of hours later in a limo and
they were definitely up to code. Sitting down without exposing your crotch in skirts that
skimpy must require yoga training.
“I can’t believed it. I didn’t sleep at all last night,” Terri said breathlessly.
Their excitement was palpable. They talked non-stop, pausing only for shrieks that rattled
my senses.
“Christine got in last year and she said… yak yak yak.
“Do you think we’ll see Madonna(Yeah, this was back in 2003)… yak yak yak.
“You hear about the orgies. Ew! yak yak yak
“Cyrano, lookit, we’re not down with whole orgy thing,” Kristen said.
“Look girls, they are no orgies. Those are just rumors.”
“You’ve been to a party? What’s it like! Who was there?”
“Whoa. Calm down. I’ve never been to a party. The head of security is a friend of mine.”
Rick was getting us in but there were two conditions. One was that I had to bring meat – I
had to at least look like a “baller.” The other was that I had to occupy a V.I.P Sikiş hikayeleri booth.
This was going to be an expensive evening. But I looked on it as an investment.

The Party

Slash was being held downtown. We got there around eight-thirty. The whole area looked like
some Mad Max dystopia. We got out of the limo near the entrance which led out into an alley.
Across from Slash it was dark. The homeless were drinking, shooting up, and God knows what
else. The stench of rotting garbage and urine was strong. Even the rats were fleeing that
side of the alley. Calvin Klein models were lined up along a well-lighted wall on the other
side. Their screams sent the rats scurrying back into dark. The Wolfpack strutted and preened
in front of the “losers” on our way to the entrance. A mountain of a man was guarding the door.
He wasn’t very welcoming. I gave him my code phrase.
“Popeye sent me.”
“Enjoy your evening, folks.” The girls started giggling as he opened the door.

Inside, it looked like a movie set had been constructed around a dimly lighted IKEA store.
Gyrating bodies, flashing lights, and loud techo music assaulted my senses. The bass from
the music was so heavy it was thumping through hard wood floors, massaging my feet. Then it
went dark and lasers flashed and stobe lights seemed to float overhead. Then back to the dim
lighting. This cycle repeated all night at different rates of speed, disorienting me at times.
By the time we reached our booth, I was glad to have a comfortable place to sit and find my
bearings. But before my butt could warm the cushions, a bottle of champagne was plopped down
on the table.
“One-fifty, sugar.” The girls were off to the dance floor before the first pour.

I sat there for three hours – and seven hundred and fifty dollars in bottle service – just
watching the door, trying to follow the shoppers. I couldn’t. I guess the light show was
designed partly for this purpose. The stars would materialize and then just disappear. I
thought I’d give the girls another hour and then we were out there.
“AAAAAAHYEEEAAAH!” The yell was high pitched and clear, piercing the music. I stood up looked
to my left and saw a blond male with shoulder length hair standing on a booth table. He had
to be a least six-four. I recognized him from a rock poster but I couldn’t remember the
name of the group. Out came his dick. It was long and fat. It was impressive even from were I was
standing.
“The fountain is open!” he screamed while jerking off. A group of girls – and a couple of boys –
rushed the booth platform, arms extended, mouths open and tongues out. It was time to go.

Stepping off our platform onto the dance floor was not easy. The light show was fucking with
my depth perception. I tripped over someone’s heel. It was an action movie star. He was on his
knees, dentures in one hand, a dick in the other. He was sucking off some kid with a half shaved
head swigging a bottle of champagne. My heart was pounding through my chest; I just knew the cops
were going to come bursting into the place at any minute. I found Jackie and told her to round up
the rest of the girls. If they weren’t outside in ten minutes, they were walking home. I was
making a b line for the exit sign when I bumped into a threesome. A pop diva, who my niece and
I had just watched perform the week prior on The Disney Channel, was blowing a trannie. A guy
standing behind the trannie had his tongue in the trannie’s ear and both hands full of breasts.
I thought about my favorite actress – the eptitome of grace and style to me. I spotted her earlier
in the evening; I was shocked to see her. I was praying that on my way out I didn’t bump into
her doing something unseemly. I didn’t, but I’ve never looked at her the same way since.

I made it. I was outside gasping for fresh air, but my lungs were only pulling in the stench
of garbage and piss. I was still on the look out for cops as I waited for our limo driver.
I took him fifteen minutes. Where fuck did he park? Long Beach? My breathing was short and
shallow until we reached the freeway. I took a deep breath and noticed my hands were shaking.
The girls were right about the “orgy thing.” I had just assumed the shoppers picked up their meat
and went home – or least the parking lot. Thanks for the heads-up Rick. The girls were flush from
the excitement too. They were yakking breathlessly as if they had just survived a wild roller
coaster ride.
“Can you believe the shit that was going on in there?” Jackie said.
“You girls weren’t participating were you?” I asked teasingly.
“Hell no, man, that was nothing but a slutfest,” Terri protested. They went back to gossiping;
I barely heard a word. I kept replaying the whole scene in my head. And each time it ended with
my ass being hauled off to jail. Why hadn’t the cops ever raided Slash?

They Eat Their Own

“What you got planned for this weekend, Daddy?” It was Kristen. It was time for Kristen to go.
The tab for Slash, including limo service, was over a thousand dollars. I hadn’t spent all that
money for a party experience; I intended to fuck one of Kristen’s crew. Taking Kristen down
was going to be my ticket. At least one of those girls had to be thinking she’d make a better
Alpha Bitch than Kristen. I just needed to put Kristen in the right environment to make her look
weak; the fangs were bound to come out.
“I’m going to a party in Bel-Air.”
“Wow!” She just assumed I was taking them.
“Look, Kristen, it’s not that kind of party. It’s a charity event. If you girls are going, you’re
going to have to be properly dressed.”
“You mean ball gowns?”
“No. Look, I’ll take care of it. I’ll meet you guys at your place tommorrow. But you guys have to be
ready to roll at six or it’s Erotik hikaye a no go.”
“No, we’ll be here.”

Unlike the Slash party, I didn’t have to go in my pocket. The rental dresses and limo were all
put on a Sheldon Rivera account. Sheldon, a client, was a couple of years removed from joining
the one-hundred million dollar club. Folks who reach that rarefied air sometimes pick up weird
and expensive hobbies. Sheldon’s hobby was Oscar sniffing. He lived to fuck Oscar winnners. If a
fuckable one wasn’t available, he’d settle for a nominee. If an actress wasn’t available he’d settle
for a writer or a director, and so on. Charity events were his bait. If it was a cause important to the
Hollywood community, Sheldon embraced it wholeheartedly. He used his parties to set up his targets.
And I was his bird dog.

The girls were oohing and aahing over the estate grounds and the tuxedoed car attendants. Kristen
was trying to put up a brave front but I could tell she was intimidated. Once we were inside, though, it
didn’t take long for her to make herself at home. She was flirting with every dick in the room sporting
the patina of money or power. It didn’t seem to faze her that she was being brushed off like a bad smell.
“Doesn’t it bother you when Kristen flirts like that?” The fangs belonged to Terri.
“You girls are young. You’re supposed to flirt. But Kristen is showing no discretion. These people are
friends of mine. I realize now that I can’t take her anywhere.”
“Yeah, I’ve had enough of her too. She’s trailer trash. You want to hang out after this.”
“Okay. After I drop them off, we can go back to my place.”

Sealed With a Kiss

I watched the confusion spread across Terri’s face as we pulled into “my place.” I’m sure she
pictured an estate, not middle class suburbia.
“You live here?”
“Yeah, Terri. I’m not rich. I just know how to live well.” I didn’t have put up any pretense.
Terri didn’t need me to be rich to get what she wanted; she just needed me to be connected.
Her dream was to launch her own fashion line. But she had a childishly naive plan for getting
there; no doubt fed to her by television shows with ridiculously simple depictions of the real world.
“Terri, it takes a lot capital to break into the fashion industry. Do you even have any experience
in fashion?”
“I have a good eye. I always have. I just need to be seen in the right places. Once girls see me
in the pop mags they’ll want to dress like me. I just need to be seen. You can help with that can’t
you, Daddy?” I’m pretty sure my mouth was hanging open.
“After I have a fan base, I’ll be able to raise the money to hire the experts I need.” That, in a
nutshell, was Terri’s “business plan.”

It was educational, but it was time for me to take her home.
“Can’t I go home in the morning?” she whined. “I really don’t want to deal with my mom riding my ass
this late at night,” she added as I put the takeout leftovers in the refrigerator.
“No, I gotta take you home.”
“You sure?” She unzipped my pants, backed me up against the refrigerator, smiling at me. She then
dropped to her knees and proceeded to give me the sloppiest blow job I ever had. This girl knew her
way around a dick. Just as I was about to ejaculate she pulled me out and smiled as I gave her a
facial. These girls have got to stop watching so much porn.
“Are you sure?” she asked again giggling and kissing the head of my penis.
“Yeah, Terri. I gotta take you home.” She jumped to her feet and stormed off to the bathroom.

Alpha Bitch

Terri quickly put together a crew of her own. She didn’t have to tell me the rules: no public
displays of affection, and no pet names. She had to keep her crews’ respect. An Alpha Bitch’s
currency is hope. She’s hot and out of your league. She dangles the possibility of a sexual
relationship to get what she wants. If Terri’s crew thought she was actually trading pussy for
their fun, she wouldn’t be an Apha Bitch; she’d just be a ho. So, I couldn’t show any signs
of possessiveness. She had to be able to flirt openly with her crew when we went out.

But at the end of the day she never wanted to go home. She was even dropping by on weekdays.
I never gave in, but she gave it her best effort:

The Shower Fuck

She walked in on me while I was in the shower and just hopped on me straddling my hips, grinding
herself on me. I felt a warm jet of liquid hit me just above my left hip. That wasn’t shower water.
That was pee! She kept on grinding and squirting all over my pelvic area while biting and licking
my neck. For some reason this made me horny as hell. I ended up her fucking her like there was
no tommorrow.

“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, Terri. I gotta take you home.”

The Bedroom Massage

I’d been in a car accident and I was sore as hell. Terri came over and gave me a massage. She was
really good. A sponge bath followed with her paying extra attention to my ass. That made me a little
nervous. I kept twisting and looking back.
“Relax,” she purred. I couldn’t. I didn’t want any misunderstanding back there. Then she wrapped her
arm around my waist and gently pulled me to my knees. Her warm breath and wet tongue hit me in the cleft
of my ass giving me jolt. I felt her forearm lightly graze my balls as her hand traveled up to my dick.
She then proceeded to stroke and lick me slowly, very softly, giving me the most incredible
sexual experience of my life. These girls have really got to stop watching so much porn.

“Are you -“
“Gimme a minute, goddammit! Let me think…”
“Yeah, Terri. I gotta take you home.”

No Goodbyes

One day I realized I hadn’t seen or heard from Terri in a couple of days. That stretched into
weeks before I assumed she’d moved on. I didn’t check up on her; I wanted to believe that’s
the way she wanted to end it. A couple of months later one of her crew came by “looking” for
her. Within minutes I was fucking her in my foyer. And the cycle started all over again.

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