“Johnny, wake up,” Dawn whispered.
“What?” I said.
“The power’s out and I want to go to the gym but I can’t open the garage door.”
I stupidly looked across Jay’s and Mary Beth’s sleeping bodies at the alarm clock, which of course was blank. “What time is it?”
“6:30.”
Wow, way past the time I usually woke up. Retirement was making me soft. Or maybe it was the fact I’d only been asleep for three hours or so. Or maybe the it was the chest wound.
“Alright,” I said. “Lemme pee. I’ll meet you down there.”
Instead Dawn followed me into the bathroom and held my cock while I peed. I remembered that she had wanted to do this last night but I had banished her from the bathroom, and I felt bad about that. She had decided that this was great sport ever since she’d seen our neighbor Cyndi Morrison doing it to me. She made lazy figure eights in the bowl until I was done, then lovingly squeezed out the last drops and shook me off and flushed. By the time she was done with me I was hard. We didn’t always fool around when that happened because there are other things in life, and because we knew we’d always be able to find time for each other later.
We walked downstairs and into the garage and while Dawn got into her BMW 3-series convertible I unlatched the garage door opener, grabbed the bottom of the door, and lifted – wincing a little at the pain in my chest. The door rolled up smoothly and I held it for Dawn as she started to back up but then hit the brakes. I looked to the street. Two women in light workout clothes were standing in the sidewalk in the middle of our driveway, mouths open, staring at me.
“Oh, my,” the older one said.
“Morning,” I said.
“Morning,” they said.
“I didn’t think anyone would be out at this hour,” I said.
“He’s harmless, I swear,” Dawn said over her shoulder. “The power is out.”
“We know,” said the older woman.
“You certainly know how to get a girl’s heart started in the morning,” said the younger woman. “Thanks for not putting anything on.”
“This is my usual state around here and it didn’t really occur to me,” I said. I looked down at myself. I was still about half hard. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.”
“We’ll let it go this time,” the older woman said. “Umm… if the power’s still out tomorrow, what time will you be opening the garage door? We’ll time our walk accordingly.”
Dawn laughed. The ladies waved goodbye and walked away. Dawn waved goodbye to me too as she backed out into the street. I carefully lowered the garage door, then paused to look at the cars.
We had too many of them. There kind of had to be at least one for each of us and we also needed the occasional special-purpose vehicle. Our lot had plenty of unused land and I’d paid a contractor to expand the garage to accommodate eight automobiles. With Dawn’s car gone there were still four in the garage: my Crown Vic, which I refused to get rid of; Mary Beth’s VW Beetle; Jay’s BMW SUV; and my latest toy and daily driver, a black Cadillac CTS-V sedan. It had come stock with 556 horsepower but I’d immediately tossed the powertrain warranty and shipped it to Lingenfelter for tuning and they’d gotten it up to something over 800 rear wheel horsepower and a ton of torque. Then I’d taken it to a body shop friend and now it also had an easy-to-access hidden compartment that held a small armory. I had concealed carry permits courtesy of the LAPD chief of police and the heads of various Southern California law enforcement agencies that he held sway with. So did Buddy and Meyer and Jen and Georgia.
Realistically I could be driving anything at this point. I had a stupid amount of money between the competent investing that Richard Morrison had done with the cash that Dawn had given me a year ago and the “Stupidly Aggressive Tactical Action Fund” that I had told Morrison to go crazy with and which he had very quickly somehow turned into close to three hundred million dollars. Which was now the operating fund for Rand and Associates. Which I owned.
Dawn, Mary Beth, and I had had a serious money talk with Jay. It had taken a while but we had beaten down her resistance and the result was us giving her enough money that she’d never have to work another day in her life. So she sold her limo but bought an SUV because she still enjoyed driving us all around. It had a cooler in the back that could store champagne for the passengers the way her limo had. Strictly illegal in this type of vehicle, of course, and I was worried that one day we all might get caught at it, but we hadn’t so far. It probably helped that we drank it out of coffee travel mugs. I had given up my Barefoot Bubbly and we now stocked somewhat more expensive champagne. Not the most expensive stuff out there, though: we’d learned through experimentation that there was really no direct link between price and quality, and that some of the stuff the experts extolled the virtues of simply wasn’t to our liking. We settled on the varieties that we liked the best and paid the price required to have them. The learning process was fun.
I could be driving a Bugatti Veyron, I thought, and tried to picture it. Couldn’t see it. I had grown up poor, at least in the beginning, and hadn’t gotten used to being a bazillionaire yet. I probably never would. At least not in that way. There was just so much money, and it came so quickly, that it didn’t seem real to me yet. The CTS-V was the nicest thing I’d ever owned other than this Malibu house, which I really just had part ownership of along with Dawn and Mary Beth, and now Jay. I might think about leasing a different car every once in a while, though; the business could absorb the cost and there were tax advantages. I had my eye on the Jaguar F-Type R. But part of me rebelled against driving a car that I couldn’t get all three of my women into.