FoA S3 Chapter 10

The ‘Gator Shack’ is a kitschy restaurant deep in the swamp. It has a brightly-painted wooden sign with a smiling alligator. You follow the winding drive to an empty gravel parking lot. It’s too early for the place to be open, but someone should be around. The restaurant itself doesn’t look like much. It’s going for a cheery Margaritaville vibe, but it really just looks abandoned. Maybe at night with all the lights on and stuff, it would seem more welcoming.

Old, brown-painted boards creak underfoot as you go to the main door, which is securely locked. After trying the handle, you knock but hear nothing.

“Someone should be here,” Vicky says, pointing at a pickup truck parked around back.

“Hello?” Joey calls out.

You knock a second time.

Puzzled, they follow you around the building. There’s a second shack in the back, and you see the addition built onto the restaurant. That must be where the alligators are. It seems like the idea with this place is that you eat bad food and get to see a gator. They probably have good ribs or something.

But you don’t see any people. It’s almost eerie. The day is just getting cloudier, and it’s so quiet out here. Your ears almost ring with it.

On your second lap of the building looking for the owner of the truck, you notice something that slipped past you the first time: an innocuous wooden booth near the backdoor of the restaurant.

You lift the latch and open the door to find that you’re right: it’s a tiny outdoor shower like you’d use at the beach. An assortment of hoses hangs on one splintery wall. It’s not for showering, it’s for rinsing off gross things that probably have to do with keeping alligators in captivity, but you don’t care. It’s clear that no one is here.

“I need five minutes,” you say abruptly, going inside.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Vicky says fiercely, pushing in right behind you.

“Me too!” Joey squeaks.

It’s a pitiful and chaotic experience. The booth isn’t big enough for three, but nobody cares. Your existence right now is too disgusting to be ignored. You would take a shower of boiling acid at this point if you had to.

You bump and jostle to get your clothes off in the confined space. The water’s cold, but nobody cares. Joey’s thin, unremarkable body isn’t much of a distraction. Not even Vicky’s body can get your attention away from trying to get as much water as you can. It’s like a mosh pit, but you settle into an awkward little rotation.

Some of the tension goes away with the sweat and dirt.

Joey finally smiles, rinsing her hair.

“Is that a pipe in your pocket or are you glad to see me?” she asks you. Touching is unavoidable. Your half-hard cock slips against her wet hip.

“Grow up,” you tell her grumpily. You are just not in a flirty mood.

“Listen to your mother,” Vicky tells Joey, then slaps her ass, making her squeal and jump.

Joey’s blushing a little when the three of you emerge from the shower. There’s nothing to use to dry off, and the humid air is so heavy anyway. The three of you share a roll of paper towels from a plastic box, then don your clothes again. You’re damp, but noticeably less gross than you were. It’s a huge improvement, and feeling civilized emboldens you.

You go up to the backdoor and check the knob. It’s locked, but this place is just a pile of wooden planks. You test the door with your shoulder.

“Really, Del?” Vicky asks.

“Are we criminals or aren’t we?” you reply. Maybe there’s a landline in here.