GOT YOUR BACK by Frank Alexander & Heidi Siegmund-Cuda

Author:Frank Alexander & Heidi Siegmund-Cuda [Alexander, Frank]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Self Published
Published: 2011-04-21T16:00:00+00:00

Not a word was spoken from the back, all you could hear was the smooching sound of kisses, sucking noises, and moaning. I watched as Pac kissed the first girl, we’ll call her “Yellow,” and I could see his hand slip up under the dress of “Ten.” Ten starts moaning and I watch her lean back and push her pussy harder toward his hand. He still hadn’t stopped kissing Yellow, and she had her lips wrapped around his mouth, and they were darting tongues back and forth.

He turns away from Yellow, and begins kissing Ten, with his hand still under her dress. Suddenly, Yellow’s head disappears out of view and now Tupac’s moaning.

I’m looking in the rearview mirror, watching it all, thinking, Oh my God. I’m only human, and this was some of the horniest shit I’d ever seen.

Me and the driver are trippin’ now, we’re snickering and shaking our heads. Ain’t no fuckin’ way this night’s gonna end without him fuckin’ both these bitches, I think to myself.

It was a long drive back to the hotel, and the three of them were all over each other the entire ride, kissing and fingering and who knows what else.

We make it back to the hotel, and by now it’s about five A.M. Michael’s at the hotel waiting for us, and all I’m thinking about is sleep. We’ve got two twin, itty-bitty beds waiting for us—we were way bigger than the beds—and we’d never be so happy to see them.

The car’s still out in front of the hotel, and it becomes pretty clear one of the women isn’t getting out of the car. It’s Ten, and Yellow’s trying to convince her to come with them, but she won’t leave the backseat. Tupac and Yellow are putting up a good fight, trying to convince Ten she’s got to come join the party but Ten isn’t budging. So finally Pac tells the driver to take her wherever she wants to go, and we all walk to the elevators to go to our rooms.

Not so fast, says a front desk clerk. He motions Yellow to come over to the desk. He starts talking to her in Italian, and she speaks back. He turns to Tupac, and in English says, “She can’t come up with you. She’s a whore.”

Tupac says, “A whore? She’s not a prostitute, dude, I met her at the fashion show.”

She begins explaining to the guy who she is and what she does, in Italian, and they still won’t let her in.

Another guy comes over and asks her for identification, and she hands it over. He then has her fill out a form. Then he makes a phone call. I couldn’t believe this shit. If they worked like this in Beverly Hills, the hotels wouldn’t have any business.

I have no idea who you call at five A.M. in Italy to check out if a woman’s a prostitute. I don’t know if he called the police or ran her name through some whore security checklist, but he finally relented.

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