WARNING: The usual.
Italics indicate *thinking* in this chapter.
Chapter Twenty-one
Strip Life
The rest of the evening went along as the twosome rocked methodically to more songs, both a mixture of romantic Italian and some 60s oldies some of the musicians knew. The dessert was exquisite and on Doc's request, was accompanied by a solo violinist. A spiffy black Prius with a white underside. Everyone was focused on Doc and Prince because they made such a unique-looking couple. Cars could live well over one hundred-fifty years if they took care of themselves and Lizzy was a prime example. She wasn't altogether "there" but that had to do largely with her never accepting her husband's death; it made her a bit crazy. Otherwise she was still perky. So Doc had at least a good 80-plus years left in him still. While it was clear he was a piece of steel twice Prince's age, he had a youthfulness that complimented his otherwise noble demeanor.
Certainly he was not "childish" but he didn't believe in acting his age. It was the perfect mix of the two. Prince was a rare species. So few Lamborghinis existed and the majority that did seemed to be very self-absorbed and narcissistic. Not all of them. But plenty gave her kind a snobbish reputation knowing they were coveted. Prince certainly didn't come off as self-centered or conceited. She was very sweet and down-to-earth. She was. Young, maybe not a teenager or in her 20s but certainly not old by any standards. 30s was seen by many to be the new 20s, but at a more mature level. She just seemed like a type of car that brought things out in Doc no one ever knew existed. Knowingly or unknowingly she had him acting in ways and doing risque things no body ever could picture.
It was as if she woke up the naughty boy in the old man. With the dining side, over the two were heading out on the stretch of road back to the Strip field of Radiator Springs. Now knowing some of Doc's and McQueen's background, she had begun taking a serious interest in racing as a whole. It wasn't she didn't like racing; she just wasn't the racing type who could "sit and watch what she described as a bunch of cars running around a track inhaling the fumes of the cars in front of them until someone went over a line painted on the pavement". The statement had Doc laughing. To Prince it just looked boring. But her race out with Doc had now roused her curiosity about it.
He explained the differences between long-lap endurance racers like Lightning and himself who could do hundreds of laps and drag racers like the Delinquents who conditioned for short bursts of sudden speeds. Nearly impossible speeds for just a few hundred yards. Flames and everything shooting from them.
"You have to really build up a strength to drag race. They are really fast anyway. All the fancy modifications they have is mostly for show. It may or may not help them go faster; the rocket flames just helps propel them for a few seconds before their own speed takes over. All of the modifications they have is mostly for viewing pleasure. Even I admit a lot of it looks nice. Now there are some that can go really fast naturally like Ferraris. Any drag racer that's a Ferrari or something like you - a Lamborghini - don't need nothing. I don't know if there are Lam dragsters but I've seen some Ferrari ones and they still have the nitro canisters on em still. Blue/purple flames you name it. They got it mostly for the nice looks; that type of stuff is a crowd pleaser. And a lot of dragsters don't have any flame stuff at all. Not all of them are big on the flame stuff like the Delinquents are. Some have em, some don't. I've seen drag racing on television. Drag racers go so fast that some of them have to use parachutes to slow them down at times. Something like you or a Ferrari could reach speeds of 300 miles per hour easy, where most ordinary race cars usually don't exceed 150 miles per hour on the track." Doc explained.
"Still, 150 mph is pretty FAST, you know. Even for cars like me. " Prince added truthfully.
"Yes. But you, being a naturally-bred design, YOU wouldn't need thrusters to shoot you down a short lap. Most drag racers top out at around 150, maybe 160. A car like YOU; you could naturally get up to 250, even 300 easy if you worked on it. YOU would be the dragster from hell." Doc told her.
He didn't recall seeing any Lamborghini drag racers on TV, but they probably existed, he was sure of it. Probably not common but there had to be at least a couple out there. Most of them just didn't seem to care to race at all, and Doc suspected it had more to do with Lamborghinis fearing how other cars would treat them, rather than them being too haughty to race. Prince smiled to herself.
Doc believed Lamborghinis could possibly make good stock car racers if they worked on their endurance aspect. And he wasn't the only one in the racing industry that believed this theory. Maybe most of them just didn't care to race, they figured. Doc suspected most believed no one would want to race them, since they were so "stuck-up" or too fast. Cars like Prince were put on a pedestal and not by their own choosing; he felt strongly most of them acted arrogant because it was expected of them. Or they probably tired of everyone staring at them all the time. That would grate anyone's nerves.
Aside from Prince, Doc had met only one other Lamborghini in his lifetime, just a few years back at The Nevada 500. An orange fellow with black and gold flames adorning his sides. The gold paint etched in his sides actually glowed at night, along with the neon orange rims on his tires. On top of these he had expensive "moonwalkers", also known as floaters, rims which were similar to spinners, but virtually held still even when the tires were in motion. They too were fluorescent glow-in-the-dark orange. He had a spoiler similar to the one Boost had on his bumper and attached to either side were small canisters that spat out white/ orange neon flames at night. He also had a sizable panel on either side of him somewhat similar to DJ's but were lower to the ground. This Lamborghini was mightily tricked-out and even Doc had to admit he was delicious to look at. He had pitch-black windows. All of his windows were opaque; even his windshield shade was so black his eyes couldn't be seen through them. When he activated them to lift up he had rather attractive eyes. His eyes were jet black.
Doc forgot his name; but he distinctly remembered he was a Lamborghini Aventador, a 2007 year model. Very, very sleek-looking fellow like Prince. Slightly different features from a Murcielago design but a Lamborghini nonetheless. They all had the same basic body shape, regardless of class. No other cars looked like Lamborghinis, period. And despite being the rarest-known cars in existence, they were easy to identify no matter what model class they fell under. This orange one Doc met once was a Florida dragster like the Delinquents but gave it up after his little girl begged him to. The thought of her father crashing scared her, so he quit. He brought his daughter and wife along to the 500 and Doc met them also. Just six years old his daughter was the most adorable-looking child Doc had ever seen. She was a little 2008 Honda Fit, destined to be a compact car like her mother. But she had her father's eyes. Doc recalled distinctly when he introduced himself to her she confided in him that racing scared her and she didn't want to lose her daddy to a car crash, or her mother. She did like the tuner culture and expressed wanting to be a tuner like her parents. Just not race. So she begged them to quit. When Doc looked at the Aventador he appeared somewhat sad but content, simply telling Doc.
"Sometimes you have to give up what you love to love what you love most."
Just for his daughter he gave up drag racing like her mother. But he was still a follower of the drag racing culture, clearly by his appearance. The Lamborghini's wife, who was a Prius, was also an ex-drag racer who also gave up racing for her daughter, but like her husband kept her fabulous modifications. She had a toy blue theme with her paint job and she was as souped-up as her husband. And absolutely gorgeous; Doc had to admit tuners were pure eye candy. This Lamborghini and his Prius wife made an attractive couple. Both simply attended as spectators now, and no longer as competitors. Many were sad to them quit but they understood why. They were especially saddened to see the orange Lamborghini quit racing as he was the only known dragster of his type in Miami, perhaps in all of Florida. And he was a crowd favorite. He was a terrifying dragster.
But Daddy's little girl convinced him to give it up. He wasn't famous; just an ordinary spectator at the Nevada 500 who managed to get into the VIP section simply because he was a Lamborghini, and he confided in Doc that he hated the special treatment. He was a very friendly guy, young, around Lightning's age. It turned out he was a huge fan of Lightning McQueen, The King, and Doc. He confessed to watching the videos of Piston cup races religiously, including the old ones of Doc. Doc talked with the Lamborghini ex-dragster for a good forty minutes or so, as did Lightning. Though a regular face at the Drag Racing circuit in his home town of Miami, he rarely attended live stock car matches, he explained, because he was sick of the "Oooo-ing" and "Aw- wwing" looks he received in public. Drag race crowds in Miami were used to him thus payed him no mind.
It was another story when he ventured out into the bigger racing venues, even as a simple fan. While he appreciated the adoring looks he got, he admitted that it was tiring keeping up the facade of being civil to everybody when all he wanted to do was spend time alone with his wife and child. The wife understood it but his little girl was intimidated by all the attention and this, very understandably, aggravated him. Yet he kept his cool. In his mind, he was simply just another car but to everyone else he was a sort of deity because of what he was and he despised it.
In fact, he rarely attended any public events because he was sick of the gawking. Something as simple as going to the gas station annoyed him at times, he admitted. This really struck Doc. He was astounded to learn from this fan that most Lamborghinis had attitudes because that was what everyone else expected of them. They weren't supposed to be down-to-earth, according to him, but act like "all of that" because they were treated like they were all of that. This orange Lamborghini admitted that most of his kind, regardless of their make, just went along with the false stereotype to get the zealous admirers to leave them alone. They weren't even celebrities yet cars followed them around just to glimpse them. Most Lamborghinis wanted to live out normal lives like everyone else, but couldn't because they were constantly being stared at, gawked at, touched, groped and everything else. Constant unwanted physical contact and invasion of personal space. So many of them resorted to rudeness, "uppityness" and other tactics to get the inconsiderate eye ballers off of them.
Most Lambos didn't consider themselves to be "better". But the excess attention drove many of them crazy. Doc could understand this. The orange Aventador was very polite and friendly, but a crowd had gathered around him sure enough— to stare at him. After all, he had a sweet paint job and the whole nine. And….he was a Lambo. He took it in stride and certainly displayed no rude behavior to anyone. Even without all of his fancy get-up, he still would have gotten gawked at just because of the type of vehicle he was. Doc signed an autograph for him as did Lightning and took photos with him and his daughter.
Then he went on his way, politely excusing himself through the crowd of secret admirers he had collected. As Doc watched him go, even he was guilty of ogling the guy. He was a wicked-looking car. Just like Prince. But really souped up like a dragster. And he was a former drag racer. Doc had just never seen one on TV. Of one thing he was certain; in his former dragster life this one must have terrified would-be competitors into not even racing against him. The match was essentially over before he and the other car took off. Doc grinned at that.
"Yeah. Maybe I would be good." Prince said quietly.
x
"I'm sorry I didn't recognize you as the Hudson Hornet. I heard that name in Vegas a few years back when they had the that huge Piston race that shut down the country practically. They even cancelled all of our shows because of it. Of course I didn't mind it; it was an extra day off for me. " Prince said. She had yet to properly meet Lightning, since she thwarted that chance by fleeing from the cafe the other night. Doc still wouldn't let her live it down.
"You should have seen the look on your face kiddo; I might as well should have been your father." Doc chuckled. Prince found the whole incident quite amusing, now that it was over.
"Well, if you liked what you saw then it makes me feel much better. It really was meant to be a private show. So, tell me about this 'Strip'."
"This is my first time at the Strip too, but from what I hear this is where the "in" crowd goes. I think you'll like it. I'm quite curious to see what this is Strip is all about. This is my first time going here as well."
They entered the Strip amid thousands of swarming vehicles. The capacity didn't include the AXLE club next door which likewise was jammed with party goers. Prince was already getting pschyed up-this was her kind of crowd indeed. Still she was infatuated to realize that there were many cars-like Doc- here as well. It was not at all unheard of for younger cars naturally take on an older-style model as toddlers if their frames developed in such a way. The older "period piece" look was in, that is the types like Flo, Sheriff and Doc; those models never phased out. Many styles from the 40s right through the 60s and 70s were still in demand by parents whose infants leaned towards a "period piece" look. Those looked were always in and never went out of style and never would.
There were teenagers who had a 40s style to them. The other way around held true as well: some cars well over fifty and sixty developed more modern looks. The truth was, most vehicles accepted and liked themselves as they arrived in this world, no matter their makes or models. Most were happy as they were. And many simply upgraded their outer casings each year to match the current year. Many did not. It was always possible for a younger car to be born with a natural frame that turned it into a an antique model like Doc or Flo. It DID happen.
There were cars there who clearly were in Prince's age group, even younger who had the body styles of 1950s and 70s designs. And she saw at least one modernized Nissan truck that clearly was like Doc, he had that "fatherly" image but had the build of a 1999 Nissan bed. Prince found out he was nearly 50 years old. Prince looked around her in wonder as she stayed close to her date. Then out of nowhere a loud fluorescent-purple corvette rolled right up on her, so close that when he spoke he was practically on top of her.
"Hey baby so whats YOUR name?" He flashed one of the 22-inch spinning rims on his wheels in her face. While they were nice to look at Prince cringed. The harsh reflection slaughtered her eyes. "You looking real good tonight baby doll you know that?"
A startled Doc just sat watching. Quickly overcoming the sudden rude interruption his face changed to annoyance and then... humor. This gent was acting so stupid it was hard for him to really get irate.
"Please sir; let me go. I'm with somebody else. Now could you please-" Prince started politely as she could. The corvette was dragging her away as he continued with his pathetic pick-ups. Prince was looking at Doc with a look of "Help?" But he seemed amazingly unconcerned. *Wow, even in a hick-town like this I get no peace from the guys.*
"Yo man ain't my problem baby; what he don't know won't hurt..."
The brazen show-off was suddenly cut off by the powerful roar what sounded like a racing engine at full blast. It was so loud that he and Prince jumped simultaneously, as did a slew of other vehicles gathered nearby. They both looked to see Doc just sitting there, staring at the car dully. It was hard to decipher what he was thinking or feeling. He didn't look upset, not even irritated. He looked stoic yet there was a spark in his eyes that warned the unwelcome suitor to expect no further warning from him next time around.
Inch-by-inch Doc started to creep forward, never taking his nonchalant stare off of the unnerved intruder. Even by today's standards, Hudson Hornets' twin-H engines were viewed as the Harley Davidsons of car engines. And they sounded like Harleys. Doc's wicked engine was rumbling in such a way that it quaked the ground beneath him, and vibrated across the ground into both Prince and her self-imposing admirer. It sent an almost erotic chill through her as she felt his pulsating throttling so near her but the car gawking her felt an entirely different sensation. The aura he picked up from Doc's twin-H engine was "Back the hell off of her." And that's exactly what the Doc was thinking.
His looks were deceiving: the sound of this old timer's engine warned him that, despite the corvette having the age advantage, the Hornet would do more than run him over if he didn't back down. The more he looked at Doc the more Doc looked as though he was packing heat. Of course firearms were forbidden anywhere on The Strip except for the police presence who helped security keep too-rowdy Strip goers in check. But this guy, this black Hudson Hornet, looked like some type of high-end maffia boss. Or a well-off gangster from the sixties who never quite gave up that life. It was a Scarface-like demeanor this '51 Hornet had and even the gathering crowd picked up on this. He didn't look like someone to tango with. It was rather hard to guess his age just by looking at him but the Corvette suspected he was much older than the cutie he was trying to hit on.
And it was clear in this case, his age meant nothing because Doc appeared ready to throw down. He didn't seem to care about potential witnesses should he choose to whip out his piece and unload lead on the guy. Or better yet, beat him to a purple heap of scrap. Doc was in supreme physical shape and still had plenty of fight left in him. And he was a dirty scrapper in the few altercations he was involved in his lifetime. He had no desire to cause a scene because it certainly would look bad for his image if he got embroiled in a confrontation, but he was ready to have a piece of Prince's harasser if it came to that. But someone of his stature really didn't need to be sitting in Sheriff's impound lot with a boot on him, either, charged with assault.
Doing community service on the roadside with a pink bow on his top like the ones he sentenced. What a glee that would be! The paparazzi would really have a field day with him. Doc's calm gaze said it all. The 'Vette came to a conclusion that Prince was hellacious, but she wasn't worth getting beaten to a pulp over. Certainly wasn't worth getting shot over. He could lose his life if he didn't back off he figured. As Doc got closer the pulsating thrumming of his blocks and pistons vibrated the corvette's own engine, and as if to drive that point home Doc let out a series of mini-revs for good measure, causing the flashy corvette to cower and retreat into the crowd. Doc's eyes stared him all the way back into the crowd as 'Vette backed up in reverse, etching a stupid grin on his face as he retreated. It was so hilarious to watch Doc's approach, to see him clearly aggravated by what he was seeing and still keep a collective face as if nothing was going on.
The gentle yet overpowering low growl of Doc's engine was like some sort of low frequency sonar. It was rocking the entire body of Prince inside and out as he pulled up beside her. On top of all of this her "sacred temple" as Doc called it, was still tingling from his earlier episode of licking her up and now his engine was escalating the aftereffects of that tingle. She swore she was about to orgasm for a second time right next to him. One of her back wheels twitched. He sat idling next to her totally unaware that he was having such a carnal effect on her due to Prince picking up on his seismic shaking. But Wingo who had been watching the entire scene play out burst into his maniacal laughter. The Hornet's entire frame vibrated silently against her body, merely hinting at the monstrous horsepower underneath. Prince was relieved Doc came to her rescue.
"You know who you remind me of? You remind me of Sam Elliot's character from 'Tombstone'. Whichever Earp brother Sam Elliot played; you're him and Prince is the wife he had." Wingo told Doc as the two rolled up.
"Sam Elliot huh?" Doc questioned dully.
"Yeah. No, I stand corrected; you kinda' had that Tony Montana stare look going for a minute." Wingo changed his mind. Doc was still staring in the direction the corvette disappeared to before batting his eyes slowly.
"He got the message, that's all I care about." he commented.
"Um... yeah. I think he did. That was some Tony Montana shit you pulled off just now." Wingo didn't argue. "Now you see why I painted that tear on you, don't you. The way we fixed her up for you you needed it." Doc nodded slightly.
"...Yeah." he murmured, still scanning the crowd for the corvette who had long disappeared. Tear or no tear, he would have wiped the asphalt with that 'vette if push came to shove." And Wingo was right because several folks came up to Doc to inform him that he pulled off a sweet "Scarface" stare-down.
x
"Yo Doc'co! Prince, glad ya two made it. So, how ya' like the Strip?" Boost rolled up.
"I love it!" Prince immediately chimed in.
"It's interesting." was Doc's only answer, his version of "Well, I guess it's okay. I like it. I really do." He did like it. DJ and Tia pulled up squabbling about something as they usually did. As always painted to match her man Tia kept her black top however, but she looked so cute, and almost too small for DJ who practically towered over her.
"You are such a FREAK, DJ. That hurts, you know it does."
"No I wouldn't know because I've never had it done to ME. I'm a guy; I don't have have an opening like you do. Guys can't get it up them cause we lack the necessary equipment. We ain' supposed to have shit going up in us anyhow; WE stick our shit in. But you' the GIRL - you can handle it. It ain't like I wasn't gentle. Baby, you know I'ma take care of you but fo real tho, stuff bigger than THAT comes out of you naturally. And don't act like you didn't like it because you know you did. " he fired back at her. She blushed and leaned up against him. He was right.
Wingo and Doc had heard some of their conversation and immediately got a hint of what the topic was. Clueless as usual, Prince didn't. She also didn't know just how open the Delinquent Road Hazards -or the twins-were on the issue of sex, but she was about to find out.
"I have yet to have one of those okay, so nothing that big has come out of me yet okay?"
"If I get my way it will happen one day." DJ retorted.
"Not if you damage me to the point where I CAN'T give you one." Tia, like her sister and the Delinquents had no reservations about bringing up such a topic even in the presence of another female. Girls were like guys; they always talked about what their boys did. Prince personally found it distasteful to discuss private love lives because she was commonly subjected to her Show Girl pals discussing it. Maybe her strict upbringing had something to do with her revulsion of hearing about it. Tia didn't know Prince was so "behind" on the making out thing. Right away she shot at Prince. "Prince! Have you ever been rimmed up before? Doesn't that hurt? "
She didn't know about Prince's upbringing or the fact that Prince didn't exactly live the wild girl image in Las Vegas. But like most females, naturally Tia assumed Prince had to know what that meant. Prince was genuinely confused. She really had no idea what Tia was referring to. Wingo was completely unfazed by Tia bringing it up. Doc was only mildly shocked, more so that Prince seemed so puzzled by Tia's question. He had long grown accustomed to the blatant straightforwardness of the Road Hazards' discussion on the art of love.
But even an old-timer like him knew what "rimming up" was. He had done it to some girls back in his wilder 60s days. It was a very rare fetish; the vast majority of cars never engaged in it because it was just too out there for most of them, most girls were not brave enough to take something that large inside of them, and honestly, most guys were reluctant to jam their front rims into a space that seemed so small to them. Simply put, to most now like then, it was viewed as just too sadistic. Unless being operated on by a surgeon, most vehicles believed that one's ENTIRE rim simply did not belong in THAT part of a lady's undercarriage.
Even so, EVERYONE knew what a rim-up was. Whether they had done it to someone or had it done or not. No one could be that dense, could they? Was this Lamborghini really this clueless? But then Doc remembered that she didn't know what going down was either, which was nowhere as extreme as rimming so it was no longer that surprising. She really had no idea what Tia was talking about and proceeded to throw the small car a dumb look with a muttered
"Ummmm."
"Look, if a BABY'S HEAD and a baby's BODY can come out of you- which is way bigger than somebody's tire and rim then you can take it up the pan, right?" DJ countered to Prince. Doc struggled not to laugh as he saw Prince's face change colors, catching on to what the question was.
"Why would you want to do that?" she was petrified and disgusted. Next came the expected physical reaction; hood blush. She looked from DJ to Tia several times, seeing how small she was compared to him and tried to picture him putting his whole rim up in her. Newborns were the size of two tires, so maybe it was possible.
"It feels good after the first several times once you get stretched open." DJ added.
"Oh like you know? You've been doing something I don't know about?" Tia mockingly accused. Doc found Prince's ignorance of sex so cherishing. He couldn't help but love her for it. What a night, what a night this was going to be.
"It sounds painful." was the only lame answer the Lamborghini could make.
"It IS." Tia grumbled.
"But it felt good after a while didn't it? You sho' as heck was acting like it. Telling me to go deeper-" DJ was cut short by Doc who cleared his throat.
"I'm going to go get us drinks . You two want anything?" he asked the young couple.
"No thanks, I'm good." Tia responded.
"We' good." DJ followed suit. Wingo just shook his head, completely unbothered by the graphic topic. Grinning, Doc drove off to the bar.
"As you can see DJ is… frank." Boost told Prince.
"So are you, dude." The Scion retorted.
"Yeah but not like YOU as in believing some of the shit you believe in. Friends with benefits and all of that."
"Hey! It's doable; I did it! Before I met Miss Tia, I mean." DJ quickly added as he looked to Tia. Prince wondered what that was.
"Friends with benefits." she repeated thoughtfully.
"You can have friends that are beneficial to you from time to time. IF you're single an' da other party is too. You know what that is, right?" DJ asked her. Actually Prince didn't know and was about to ask him when Tia interjected.
"If you have a friend, a female friend, you don't sleep with your friend." she eyed DJ. Prince was stumped. Falling in love with a friend and becoming a couple was even unthinkable. Sleeping with a friend? She had male friends and they were just that, friends.
"I say yeah you can." DJ eyed back at her.
"No you can't, alright?" Boost jumped in.
"A friend you don't 'sleep' with 'em, man! You keep friends on one side and lovers on another; somebody that's your friend-friend you shouldn't rev' em! You DON'T engage em man! They're FRIENDS!" DJ was looking at him casually.
"I did. In my world you CAN." Boost just shook his head. "You know," Even Wingo had to side with Boost and Tia on this one.
"You guys can be lovers, break up or whatever, and become friends… I have an old girlfriend that I'm cool with now; we're friends now. But you don't... take your friends to the mat homie; you just don't do that shit to a girl you are friends with. You SHOULDN'T do it! It's tacky! You could ruin your friendship doin' that, man." he attempted to reason with DJ.
"It worked for me back in the day. Like I said I had lady friends that I got with from time-to-time 'cause we were just cool like that. We were real friends; actual friends. We just got a lil' close for comfort every now and then. I don't see nothin wrong wittit dude; we took care of each other cause we were friends; we cared bout each other. They were single like me; I wasn't dating nobody; they wasn't' dating nobody; we were all available to each other so when one of us got the urge the other would fill that need at that point in time, you know?"
DJ tried to explain in depth why his friends-with-benefits concept could work between two pals of the opposite sex. Prince silently giggled. No, she couldn't picture it but it was entertaining to hear him attempt to convince everyone around him. She was with Boost, Tia, and Wingo on this one. Someone one called "friend" was one nobody needed to approach due to an urge.
"They had that horny urge to do it or whatever; they had no guy to do it with so I was the one that filled that void and vise versus; whenever I got the urge to get it on; I had them. For the three of us it worked." DJ told Boost, who, like Wingo and Tia, shook his head and gave up.
"Dude; they're your fucking FRIENDS. Not friends/slash/spur-of-the-moment lovers." Wingo wasn't giving up.
"There's no such thing as a fuck buddy-buddy DJ." Boost confessed.
"I'm telling you there is. You can to be friends with a female and get some play from her every now and then! I know cause I did it. I knew several females I called friends and most of them were JUST friends. But at least two I had; I hit the mat with them from time-to- time. It wasn't like we were planning the shit out; it would just happen. We would be watching a movie or some shit and… just start rubbin' up on each other and shit got heavy. Or we both got lit the fuck up and started engagin'. Most of the time we was' sober. We didn't feel attracted to each other because they WERE friends to me; I couldn't go there romantically with them on that level. And they didn't like me in that way either. There was no..emotional attachment on their end; we just saw each other as a way to relieve the tension." DJ didn't back down. Boost was shaking his head, hopelessly giving up but Wingo was still trying.
"DUDE! If you fuck somebody that IS takin it to a romantic level dumbass!" Prince burst out laughing and so did Tia. "Revvin' somebody IS a romantic act dumbo; even if you have no romantic feelings for her; what the fuck?!" Wingo snapped. The others were laughing, Prince included.
"No it's NOT, Wingo! You can be friends with a female and engage her to get the stress out your tailpipe." DJ was steadfast. For the record, Boost and Wingo staunchly believed that females and males could be genuine buddies without ever becoming romantically drawn to each other. Both had female friends. Even Tia believed male/female friendships could be platonic. DJ himself believed in platonic relationships between the sexes but saw nothing wrong in the event that the two pals got rather cozy, just for the sake of doing so.
"If you do 'em, and some shit goes down; ya'll get mad at each other like... get into an argument or whatever now your friendship is in jeopardy you know? Now you hate each other; you're friendship status with her is all fucked-up. It's not worth it dude."
"I never fell out with MY beneficial friends." DJ told him.
DJ was a strange one. At least before he met Tia. Of course now he didn't partake in such unions but long before he met her, and right up until he began falling for her, DJ had a concept that male/female friends could be true friends with "benefits". Those benefits being of the sexual kind. There were several options available; he could go on the prowl looking for a hottie in a nightclub to bang, masturbate, or he could use one of his many side piece baby dolls. Any would answer his calls where he could meet at their place, or his, or they could get a hotel. But there were times when he didn't feel like going anywhere, let alone to meet up with one of his willing mistresses. So as a very last resort, if he was too lazy to do any of the former three, he had his two beneficial pals. Two willing female friends to satiate his desires. They seemed to sense when he needed to get it out of his system, and he them. The explicit lovemaking between DJ and these two different girl pals of his was every bit as deep as if they were actual lovers. And yes it was emotional. Engaging was always an emotional act with immense feelings, even for DJ and these two friends of his.
There was always an overwhelming sense of satisfaction for him and the "girl"-friend he just revved on the mat and the two lovingly sought each other's company when the mood hit. The three of them saw it as just "taking care of each other". But afterwards they both instantly reverted to a stage of pure friendship as though no graphic connection had ever taken place between them. When one of them found a boyfriend, DJ instantly put her on his "Don't Touch" list as he now viewed her as taken. Now she was off limits to him because he respected her man. He had one rule for any female wanting to be his beneficial friend: she had to not be in a relationship of any kind. DJ didn't go there with other guys' women. Period. And when Tia rolled into his life, he immediately gave up that clandestine life because he was seriously falling in love with her.
By then he had left California; by the time Tia came along DJ had given up many things. The only one who could benefit him now was Tia, the love of his life. Tia had secretly been checking out the Scion tuner at that Phoenix drag strip. With his cute metallic-royal blue paint job. DJ was no larger mass-wise than his three homies, nor size-wise, but he looked massive to her simply because of his boxy design. He was quite tall compared to her to the point where when she first turned and spotted him he almost seemed to materialize over her. The mischief in his gaze looked like he was plotting something dastardly humorous. He was so cute. Those mischievous-like eyes of his looking dead at her with a genuine smile of acknowledging her. He slightly nodded his head to her in a friendly "What's up."
Caught off guard she swiftly shifted away never intending for him to actually see her staring at him. He was so cute. But she was too shy to approach. He moved first. DJ did a complete 360 when he met her. Love made guys do some weird shit. Wanting to get to know Tia DJ slowed down completely. Fixated on her, he even took his time getting physical with her, dating her for nearly six whole months before he and Tia finally engaged on the mat. That was the longest he had ever gone without "it", and he didn't even miss it. And during this time he didn't even look at other females, let alone hollered at them. He stayed celibate.
He was in no rush to do the horizontal polka and neither was Tia, and when it finally happened she was the one that initiated it. Not that DJ was complaining but he didn't wish to rush her into something she might not be ready for because honestly, she didn't look like "that type". She looked like the type that waited for him to move first and he wanted to be certain she was ready. So he bid his time until he thought it was the right moment. He was pleasantly surprised when she jump-started the action but then timidly backed off when he stopped her. HE decided to take charge and found she was as kinky as he was. So that was a plus. He knew at that point he was meant for Tia only, he was sure of it.
But before Tia breezed into his life, DJ was a wild boy. This was an ex-street criminal who had an insatiable appetite for the forbidden. He ran trains on attractive chicks with a dozen of his fellow Bloods. But even he had limits. The cutie was anything from a regular beau to a gorgeous high-end stripper from a classy Bel Air gentlemen's club like his mom was. She had to be a willing participant because neither he nor his boys played the gang rape. Even gang members had morals; none of them believed in taking a female against her will. No meant no, and if she wasn't down to get ran on it was off. But some shorties were up to the challenge, plus DJ and his entourage were good knockers on the mat. They never left any female hanging; they finished the job and made sure she was peaked. A dozen-plus times over. She might be a bit sore from doing it so long but at least she'd be satisfied.
Blood members involved in running trains always kept in mind that this chick was still somebody's daughter, sister, maybe even somebody's mother because some of them were single mothers. She was respected. She might have been down to get dug up and revved down by nine or twelve thugs in one night and enjoyed it but she still deserved to be viewed as a worthy individual-and she was. And when it was over, someone would even see to it that she safely made it home under their escort. Clearly most females were put off by involving themselves in such a lewd escapade. And truth be told, most couldn't handle that many tail pipes in one night, no matter how accustomed they were to "doing it". A girl's pan canal could take so much penetration in one night. Few physically could endure it, and those who could treated it like a badge of honor. Even bragged to their pals about it. Big girls DID cry, but they took all of it. All ten in a row including DJ who had his share of involvement in these.
Plus he had a literal harem of dozens of lovers who crossed all walks of life. A whole army of them, from corporate office female executives far older than him to comely beauties younger than him who were Hooters waitresses, to a Pastor's daughter, they all were his own little clan of "side pieces"—lovers that he constantly hooked up with. The one rule was they couldn't have any boyfriends or husbands because he had zero tolerance for love triangle dramatics. They had to be single, available only for him and he didn't tolerate jealousy between them either. Most of them knew he was seeing others because he made it clear to every single one he wasn't interested in a one-girl relationship. He splurged cash on them, wined and dined them, but that's not why they loved him. He was a gentleman. He was a great lover. Period. And he was a lot of fun to be around.
DJ had all of them under his tires, sprung to him. Ballin' Mack Daddy. He was a big-time pimp meister and they accepted it. He liked having his cake and swallowing it, crumbs and all. Finally, he had his friends with benefits. Two of them. Like the Crips, Bloods who wound up seriously falling for a particular girl no longer participated in the wild actions of the others; DJ could understand. Like his friend Ghost Dog who upstaged even him in the promiscuous category until the future mother of his sons entered his life. He dropped everything to become monogamous. Faithful to her, only her, never cheated on her. He told DJ he'd quit too once he ran into the right female. He too would stop acting like a boy-ho.
x
But even Ghost Dog and the other Bloods couldn't roll with DJ's belief that it was acceptable to bang one's "friend". His horde of side pieces, they could understand, but not the friend thing. They, like Wingo and Boost believed that any girl you considered a "friend" you just didn't take it there with them. To them, friends didn't sleep together but in DJ's universe they did and still stayed friends.
"Like I said before it wasn't like… we planned for it to happen. I wouldn't go to their garage or, they wouldn't come to mine with the intent to do it; it wasn't like we were plottin' to do it that day. Or that night, or at that point in time; we would be doin' shit and…it would just happen. I can't explain it dog; I would go to their place to kick it, they would come to mine we'd be just talking, I would be fixing something for them that broke and… it would just happen. Not all the time. Most of the time didn't shit happen—seriously. About ninety-six percent of the time NOTHING happened. But sometimes… it did. One would be cooking in the kitchen and I'd come in there and… she looked enticing. The food smelled good and… I don't know it just got me in the mood to nuzzle her. Or she would move first and she'd turn the stove off and we'd go get busy." DJ said.
"The smell of FOOD cooking turned you on, man? That's what would trigger your urge?" Wingo was staring at him. The others could no longer keep their composure. "So, smellin' food cooking got you aroused... am I to understand that correctly?" Wingo reiterated theoretically. Now he mimicked such a scenario: "Ooh, baby you smell just like that sauce in that pan; come here so I can do you." Boost exploded into laughter and so did Tia. Even Prince lost it. She covered her mouth with a tire, her eyes watery with tears. Tia motioned near her, face the same as hers. "So that was your cue; she'd be standin' there cooking and that was enough to get you in the mood." Wingo smirked.
"You know whutta' mean." DJ told him.
"Na'll. I don't know whachu' mean."
"She would just be standin' there COOKING, an I could read her; I could tell when she wanted it is what I'm sayin." DJ fervently described. Doc had returned with a small tray he sat down. DJ wasn't finished. "Or we would be playin' video games; both of em were into video games; we could play for hours on end. Be playing Grand Theft Auto and all the jumpin around n shit gettin' into the game and all that; we'd end up rubbin up on each other; we'd end up close to each other. Drop the remote; I had that look, she had it, and we did it. Watchin the car fleeing; Idunno it would get us in the mood n' shit. The tires screeching or whatever man. Idunno." DJ shrugged, not knowing how else to explain it. Wingo started right as DJ made a hopeless point to throw in a final declaration: "IT JUST HAPPENED…!" Wingo's eyes were rolling in disbelief.
"*Sigh* Nigga... YOU. ARE. SAD. You know that? Playin' a fucking video game is a trigger for you to start revving a female? " Now the duo temporarily got into an argument of sorts.
"It CAN be done, dog!" DJ sniped.
Prince unintentionally ended up between them somehow, too overcome in her uncontrolled laughter to notice that she did so. "DJ! Are you listening to yourself dude? Seriously DJ; do you eva' just listen to what you say? That shit sound's fuckin retarded, man! What? You were watching the cars in the video driving and were like: 'Damn this game is getting me horny; I wanna do you right now.' 'The guy fleeing the cops is just so hot to watch; let's go fuck.' "Yo that cop right there got me hornier than a motherfucka; I wanna fuck you. RIGHT NOW. Lift that bumper up! Put that shit in the air; Face down, bitch! C'mon, give it to Daddy!' *tsk*... Man, you-!" As Wingo went in on his buddy, the others completely lost control of their jolly amusement and were all over the place with their laughing. "I've heard it all now. I thought I knew you well yet you surprise me. If playing Grand Theft Auto put you in the mood to get it on then you got issues." Wingo told DJ.
"Are they always like this?" Prince quietly bit through her cramping sides. Tia, who was leaning on her nodded. She was unable to vocally respond. Doc just shook his head with a smile as Boost rested on him for comfort. Whatever they were talking about it clearly was making his date's night.
"The point is we would be doin' shit like friends do and it would sometimes turn into us gettin down-n-dirty." DJ argued.
"I don' know about you sometimes DJ. You scare me dude. For real you do. I know you got some fetishes but goddamn." Even Wingo eventually gave up trying to make DJ see the light. What a riot this conversation was; Prince was loving this immensely. Although too shy to pitch any advice in, she was enjoying this conversation with the Delinquents. At their least they were guaranteed to make one smile for the rest of the day. At best they were just downright awesome.
"So Prince, you like our Strip?" Boost changed the subject.
"Actually I do. This is quite an amazing set up here. I didn't know places like this existed."
"Maybe you need to get out more." Wingo told her.
"We loosened Doc up; he's gonna loosen you up," DJ began informing Prince while Wingo and Boost began staring just ahead of Prince at something behind her. "He'll get you out more just watch…" DJ's talking died down as he too now stared at the object of interest behind her.
"What?" Doc asked them, and then turned around with a curious Tia and Prince. Slowly approaching them was a car, a nice-looking yellow one that looked like Lightning's make. Attached to one of his front wheels was a beer can. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot red, indicating he was clearly under the influence. Whether it was the alcohol or something else combined with it was unclear, but what was clear was the whole time he leveled a deep-seated glare right at DJ. The first two to notice was Boost and Wingo. It was what got their attention, then DJ's. Tia and the dating couple spotted him finally as well. Confused, DJ just stood there, cutting the stranger a puzzled stare. He raised one side of his windshield up as if to imply a questioning of "Do we know each other?". Doc raised his too.
The crasher was seriously mad dogging DJ. His front tires appeared wobbly as he slowly cruised around DJ, never taking his eyes off of him, even stopping behind DJ momentarily to eye him up and down from the back. All the while the confused Scion's eyes were the only things on him that followed the menacing figure while the rest of him was frozen on the spot from bewilderment. Wingo started smiling. Boost and the others were still a bit too taken aback to form a reaction yet. The weirdo then slowly cruised around to the front of DJ, looking him up and down.
"Yew muther'fhhucker." he slurred out and then backed away, still mad dogging him. That was it. Tia, Prince and Boost all collectively lost it. Even Doc could no longer hold out a flurry of chuckles. For his part, DJ raised his eyelids up in utter confusion, saying nothing the entire time. He didn't know what to say. He couldn't truly get upset. But he and the car were locked in an abnormal stare-down. Maybe he reminded this guy of someone who fucked him over in the past, he didn't know. Clearly he was drunk. The car was now several feet in front of DJ, cutting him one last, hateful stare before finally disappearing into into the crowd. Prince couldn't believe the kind of action she was seeing on this night. This was way better than any club she had ever gone to in Las Vegas.
"WHAT… THE… fffffFUCK?" Wingo squeaked softly in falsetto.
"…Okay...". DJ concluded. Everyone else was too busy chortling at the weird scene to notice DJ coming out of his stupor.
"Dude you're pissing everybody off tonight aren't you?" Wingo gleefully teased DJ. Now DJ flashed his beautiful pearly whites in an amused fashion. Boost was gazing in the drunk's direction but could no longer see him.
"Does he know you?" he asked DJ.
"I don't know that dude! Never seen him before in my life!" DJ admitted honestly.
"Damn he was mad doggin' the hell outta you G. Ha!Ha!Ha!Ha!Ha! Haaaaa!" Wingo roared happily. The old DJ would have retracted a pistol and shot the guy on the spot for staring him down like that, drunk or not. Or beat him into the asphalt at least. It was evident he was seriously impaired so even in his gangster days DJ would have most likely dismissed him as an idiot drunkard.
"What was that all about?" Doc grinned at DJ with a nod of his head in the car's direction.
"I don' even know what all that was. He' way' drunk." DJ spoke.
"Is he on ecstasy or something?" Tia inquired.
"No… he can't be. Ecstasy don't make you act like that. I never heard of ecstasy makin motherfuckers act like that."
"Could be Molly." Boost guessed.
"Not likely. I've never seen Molly do that either. The only shit I can think of is sherm. PCP-laced weed. Or just some really bad weed. He kinda had a weed smell to him just now; and some people have a really bad reaction to weed too. Even good weed. For some vehicles marijuana makes them angry instead of happy; they get pissed off instead of laid back on that shit. Even meth don't make you act like that. Wha'chu jus saw. Motherfucker's drunk; that's obvious but he must be on something on top of that. It COULD be Molly; I take it back. Maybe he did hit Molly up AND... ain't nobody out here playin no hypno Molly music right now and it's pissin' him off right now. Who knows." Wingo educated him and Tia. He was a former drug dealer as a Crip. "That alcohol got lonely and he took something to heighten his buzz. But uh-hh... whatever he's fucking with he should leave it alone, for real." he beamed. "If it's making him react like that, no shit." Boost agreed. DJ sighed shaking a tire.
"What a night." he bemoaned. The group's gathering proceeded without further incident, nor was the car seen again. Perhaps he was found by his friends who escorted him home to sleep it off. Or maybe he got picked up after an incident and was now spending the night in the Drunk Tank section of Radiator Springs Impound, courtesy of one of Sheriff's cops towing him there.