"Experience and a few surprises it feels like."
Six fucking weeks is a long ass time to go without... well, fucking ass.
Alright, in the scheme of things, waiting out the full six weeks for my various piercings to heal isn't THAT bad, After all, it was only late spring and, in spite of a few warm days and one very hot outdoor adventure (Thank you again Ashley!), I wasn't missing much of the dating/hookup scene.
Well, yeah I was. It's har... not easy to go through a day without seeing something even slightly pornographic- from burger chains using models to proclaim how 'juicy' their burgers are to opening an email from Jessica to find it's a new photoshoot she just did and I'm getting free access to all the pics. Sort books? I just bought four full totes of titty mags from the woman who...I can't even piss without being reminded of getting ridden like a racehorse before it appeared.
Why didn't I say 'no thanks'? A tattooed Amazon who just swallowed my dick and balls whole before flattening my face under her concrete ass purred in my ear while I was drunk on Jack and afterglow, that's why.
Not that I'm complaining or... know what, that's a fucking lie. Of course I'm bitching about getting a rod through my dick. Up until then I'd been very active sexually. Seriously more active than I'd been in my whole life up until that point. This was the equivalent to racing downhill on your ten-speed and locking up the front breaks. Ass over teakettle and road rash for days if you survive the landing.
That might be overselling the point, but you get my meaning.
So, I took the time off from SI and focused on my work. My vanilla work since I couldn't really do much with the Baskervilles save cobble together a bunch of potential plotlines. I did mention that I usually dream up the sex scenes while jacking off, right?
I plowed through Book Fifteen in vast, very productive chunks. What would have taken me six months or more to assemble took weeks of late nights and weekends I would have rather spent elsewhere. I like pizza and all, but when the stack of boxes could build a decent fort for a toddler? Time to vary the menu.
Now, to be fair, I could have probably gone the shorter route and gone out at the four-week mark and been fully healed and fine. However, by then I was building up a good head of steam and wanted to push my enforced celibacy the full six weeks so I could not only be sure, but also celebrate by finding some anonymous Slut in a club willing to give my new jewelry a full-scale workout.
I know, I know- high standards, right?
About eighteen thousand words, twenty-seven pizzas, twelve VERY cold showers, six weeks and a partridge in a pear tree later, I'm woken up from a nap at my desk by a loud knock on the door. I run through the usual- rent's not an issue, paid through the end of the year, Tabitha would have knocked once then let herself in and kicked the chair out from under me, wrong time of year for the Girl SCOUTS selling their for real cookies (I already bought ten boxes of lemon creams off the little pushers back in March!), no voice messages on the phone, not even a missed call... did someone hit my car?
"Ok, hold on!" Quick check... yup, I was decent. Or as decent as I was going to get. Even managed to put on pants for the first time in a few weeks. (I'd been lounging in basketball shorts ya'pervs.) Was I presentable? Up for debate. Was I going to open the door anyway? I did.
Friendly reminder for other city dwellers, if you don't know who's supposed to be on the other side of the door, use the peephole.
"Hi. Yes. Can I help... Roxette?" I didn't have much trouble putting a name to the face on the other side of my door. Standing in the hallway was a... remember the rich bitch on the plane I told you about? The one with all the work done using Daddy's Money? Roxette is the golddigger equivalent of that. Very well dressed in a nice red trench coat and very clingy black dress with her hair done in this very expensive looking pattern of reds and golds (Last time I saw her, she had red hair.). A little more down-to-earth. Mostly on her knees.
"Hello Max-darling! Aren't you going to invite me in?" She didn't actually wait, but breezed right past me, glancing around at the greatly tamed but still plentiful clutter of my living room. I'd cleaned and even put up bookshelves. Hadn't filled them yet but the shelves were there.
"Hello Roxette, you're looking good. When did you get your boobs done?" I remember her as a pleasant B-cup. Today she was definitely in the D-category.
"Three years ago, Maxie." She cupped and shuffled the cleavage in question. "Got everything lifted, tightened and tuned up just for Bobby." I was waiting for her to start popping chewing gum.
"I thought you'd married John Goddard?" Of the Somewhere-Or-Other-Goddards. And somewhere North of seventy last I knew. Roxette's a few years younger than me. "Who's 'Bobby'?"
"Johnny's son of course. Johnny's a sweetheart and all that, but Bobby's a third his age and has a dick like an iron bar." She looked at me the way a predator sizes up lunch. "It's called 'survival', Maxie."
"Of course, how silly of me." I offered her a chair, but she declined. "What can I do for you today, Roxette? We haven't exactly kept in touch since..."
"Since the Christmas Party when I gave away blowjobs to all the boys in George's office for threatening me with divorce?" She started prowling around me, lifting the occasional book or magazine and smiling at the covers. "Pity we didn't have more time that night."
At the time, I was a new writer for the publishing house just having turned in my second book. Roxette had been George's third wife (Second trophy) and had just caught him feeling up his then-secretary Linda (Soon to be Trophy three.). She then proceeded to hunt down and suck off most of the male attendees (Which is how I remember her having red hair.) before George caught wind of it and discovered her getting pounded by a couple of junior office guys who were looking for new jobs before they got their pants up. Since he couldn't exactly question who else of the guests had face-painted his slut wife, so only those two caught the hammer; though I think that's part of why he was always so bitter, knowing that people that worked under him fucked his wife. Oh, what he still doesn't know about Linda and his current Trophy.
